Firebrand

About two months after solstice, two travellers knocked on the gate to the estate of House Fontaine. The spyhole was opened by the guard on the other side; despite the narrowness of the window, they could see his eyes widen. “Pardon me, milady, but I’m not allowed to let you in.”

Eleanor gave him a look. “You think you can bar my passage? If you do not open, I will simply break it open.”

The guard swallowed. “Forgive me, but I can’t.”

“As you wish.” Eleanor shielded herself and gave the gate a punch with such empowered strength, it burst open, breaking the chain that kept it locked.

As they walked through, the guard lowered his spear with shaking hands. Martel glanced at the weapon and ignited the haft, making the fire burn through the wood so speedily, it broke apart. Leaving the dumbfounded guard to stare at his ruined weapon, they walked onward.

They had barely reached the entrance hall before the majordomo came running. “Milady, I beg your forgiveness, but we didn’t expect your arrival.” The words flowed like a flood. “Perhaps if you wait outside in the gardens?” He glanced around anxiously.

“Tell my family I am home. All of them, if you would be so kind.”

The servant wrung his hands. “Certainly, but until then, might I persuade you to wait outside? I will tell the master of your presence, and perhaps –”

“We shall wait here,” Eleanor informed him.

“I’m not sure – that is, I don’t know…” “I do. Tell them now.”

Coughing but unable to refuse any further, the majordomo hurried away. Martel glanced around, looking at the house where he had been a guest a few times. He wondered how it felt for Eleanor, who had considered this home but been barred from visiting here for over a year.

“How dare you show yourself!” Coming from upstairs, the legate’s voice preceded his arrival. He thundered down the stairs, looking ready for a fight.

“Father, I have come to pay my family a visit.”

“Nether take you if you think you can stroll in here!”

“You need not participate,” Eleanor told him coldly, staring him down. Although shorter, she stood confident and collected, looking up at him.

“Richard? What is this?” The lady of the house appeared at the top of the stairs. “Eleanor! My child!” She hurried down, followed by her other daughter.

“Restrain yourself, woman!” the legate yelled. “She is no child of ours! She is not worthy of our name!”

“Father, be quiet.” Eleanor’s calm words cut through the shouting. “Do not force me to humiliate you in your own halls. Stay away if you must, but I will speak to my mother and sister.”

“How dare you!” he reiterated.

“Richard, enough. I am tired of living like my child is dead. I did enough of that already,” his wife admonished him.

While the lord of the house sputtered in incoherent anger, his eldest daughter strode past him to take her mother and sister by the arm. Together, they walked up the stairs.

Lord Fontaine stood indecisively for a moment until, with clenched fists, he took a step up the stairs as well. “I will not –”

Martel’s staff flew out to block his progress, barring his way. “I suggest you go anywhere else. Your house is big, after all.”

“You dare tell me where to go in my own house?”

Martel’s eyes flashed from blue to red. “Yes.” Sparks appeared in the air around him. “Accept defeat, legate. This is not a battle you can win.”

He stared at the battlemage for the longest moment before he finally turned around and strode away. Martel watched him leave with a smile and slung his staff over his shoulder.

Leaving Eleanor to her visit, Martel returned to The Golden Goose – he refused to use its new name – to relax and enjoy the company. He had other friends to visit; he needed to explain his abrupt departure from Sindhu to Rana, in case that had ruffled feathers, and Martel would not mind either seeing some old comrades from the legion, such as Henry or Valerius. Spending time with Starkad had reminded him of the days in Esmouth, and he wondered how his friends fared these days.

Enjoying an ale in the common room, watching the actors rehearse a new play, Martel immediately noticed someone approach from the side, and his instincts flared up. Restraining himself, Martel released a pulse of magic to sense that they carried no gold, weapons or otherwise, and he could tell by the heat of their body that they walked casually, rather than with determination like someone about to carry out violence.

“It’s been a while, Martel.”

He did not recognise the voice immediately, although familiar. Turning his head slowly while keeping his senses sharp, Martel was still taken completely aback, and he forgot about the outside for a moment. “Atreus!”

“The very same. Mind if I join you?”

“Of course, take a seat. So strange, I’ll never cease to be surprised when I see you.”

The spellbreaker laughed a little, sitting down opposite Martel. “It is my habit to step in and out of the shadows, I admit. And I’ve had long travels, as you have, I’m told.”

“Told you what? Are we that famous that our every step is recorded?”

“Depends on where one goes and who one talks to. I’ve heard rumblings of a firemage causing a stir in the far North. Wielding a staff of black wood.” Atreus glanced at Martel’s staff, leaning against the wall next to him.

“Well, you’ve left a few traces yourself,” Martel shot back, and for once, he got the feeling that he had surprised the spellbreaker, given the look on Atreus’s face.

“Truly? How so?”

“Eleanor and I visited an old Archean outpost. In the depths of the ruins, we found the very amulet that you took from the body of the maleficar. The one we faced in the catacombs beneath this city.”

“I remember,” the spellbreaker replied dryly. “Not like we’ve faced other maleficars together.”

“Don’t evade the question. How did it end up there?” Martel asked with a challenging look; for once, he would get some answers from the slippery Archean.

“I placed it there for safekeeping. I couldn’t destroy it, so I figured I’d be safe there. Did you slay the guardian of the labyrinth?”

“Well, he got in our way.” Martel had to control himself from shivering; despite his light words, the memory was evil, and he regretted bringing it up. As much as he wanted to know more about the ruined outpost, he no longer felt like asking further questions.

“Well, I suppose that hiding place is a lot less safe now. No matter. Yes, as you surmise, I’ve been busy as well, visiting the old outposts of Archen. Seeing what could be salvaged.”

“What have you salvaged?” Martel asked, glad to take the conversation in another direction.

“So little it amounts to nothing,” Atreus admitted. “But I have other plans.” Latest content publıshed on novel★fire.net

Martel could not recall the spellbreaker ever being this forthcoming. “Such as?”

“I’ve yet to summon the courage to visit the one place I must go.”

It took Martel a moment to understand. “Archen.”

Atreus nodded. “Yes. I shiver to think of the suffering that lingers in that place. The responsibility falls to me to end any torment – and lay any evil to rest that may have arisen.”

Martel could scarcely imagine what awaited any who visited that dreaded place; he and Eleanor had almost died visiting just a ruined outpost. Despite all he had done in war or on his travels, Martel did not feel like it could compare. “I admire your courage, travelling alone to take up the fight against such dangers.”

“It was my hope I shouldn’t do it alone.”

Staring at the spellbreaker, Martel finally realised why he had been approached. “You want me and Eleanor to go with you.”

“You must be the strongest mages in Aster at this point. A powerful knight and a firemage – your strengths would complement mine well.” Atreus smiled to himself. “If I believed in fate, I would invoke it now.”

Martel did not hear his last words; his mind reeled from just the idea of going to Archen. He had no idea of what they would encounter. It seemed more dangerous than anything else they had faced. Undead monsters or dragons, volcanoes or berserkers – Archen promised to be more, for better or worse.

“I understand if you must take some to consider it.”

“I’ll have to ask Eleanor.” As he said it, Martel could already imagine her response. Visiting the Archean outpost had been her idea, wanting to discover anything related to the old city; how could she resist exploring the city itself?

“Of course. We’ll meet again,” Atreus told him; with a smile and a wink, he got up and left the tavern and a battlemage deep in thought.

“Did he say exactly what he intends for us to accomplish?” Eleanor asked.

Martel shrugged. “He was scarce on details. You know his nature. He’s not the sort to volunteer information.” He gave her a scrutinising look. “Regardless, what do you want?”

She let out her breath. “Well, it is Archen. To my knowledge, none have gone in centuries – or if anyone did, they did not return. Danger is guaranteed, and it is doubtful anything of value would have survived the long years.”

“The same could be said for the outpost we visited, which did not discourage you.”

“If there is a chance…” Eleanor regarded him with a flicker of hope. “Even if we find nothing, simply seeing the city with our own eyes will be something. I have read so much about the place, I sometimes forget it exists outside of stories.”

“I suppose if there was ever a time to visit Archen, it would be in the company of a local.”

“And for all his furtive behaviour, I trust Atreus to have good intentions. If we can aid the spellbreaker, I think we should.”

Martel bowed his head. “So be it. Archen awaits us.” As he spoke the words, the sounds and music of the tavern’s common room seemed to fade, as if the very mention of the name conjured a menacing spirit; one hand gripping his black staff, Martel extended the other to grab Eleanor’s. One more adventure awaited them.

Firebrand will continue in The Sage!

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