Firebrand

For the third time in his life, Martel sailed east from Morcaster. His first journey had been him going to war, the second had been to sign a peace treaty, and now he sailed to build a city. Armed with plenty of remedies against nausea, he occasionally watched the coast pass them by, at times recognising features of the landscape.

Eleanor joined him once or twice, and they reminisced about past travels; the rest of the time, she checked ledgers and discussed matters aboard with the captain or their settlers. Martel was not idle either for most of the journey; he spent hours enchanting lightstones, having received a large number of suitable stones prepared by Henry. Heating stones felt too risky to create aboard wooden ships, but at least they would have plenty of light once they arrived. Orıginal content can be found at novel⁂fire.net

As they approached the Savena delta, Martel could recognise more and more. Esmouth stood as it always did, a walled town that had to be nearly empty with the departure of the legion. A few fishing boats lay moored by the small pier. The wooden bridge that once spanned the river had been removed. On the Khivan side, a watchtower rose, keeping an eye on both the sea and the other shore. As the three ships entered the delta and began sailing upriver, flags rose as signals from the watchtower.

“I wonder how the Khivans will react to us,” Martel mumbled.

By his side, Eleanor narrowed her eyes, trying to discern the flags. “We shall learn soon enough. With that signal system, they know to expect us upriver.”

It took them days to sail the Savena, the wind pushing them against the current. Still faster than on foot, especially with the marshlands that lay in this area; Martel had spent more than enough time in the swamp, and he was only happy to watch it slide by. And a fiveday after they left the open sea, the city of Nahavand came into sight.

Martel stared at its walls. It had become something of a fable in Asterian circles. The city that the legions had besieged for a decade without ever coming close to seizing it. With his experience in warfare, he understood why. The river protected its entire western side. The walls rose up high that cannons could shoot across the gap of the waters and strike anything on the other shore.

Thus, in order to attack the city, the Asterians would have to cross the river and ferry all men and supplies across, maintaining a foothold next to a large garrison with the ability to make sorties. It was a nightmare and no doubt the reason that the city had been built this way. Martel was glad the war was over and that such concerns no longer mattered.

As their small fleet of three ships came near, a boat set out from the docks that filled the eastern side of the river. A Khivan lieutenant in uniform stood at the bow, accompanied by several soldiers equipped with muskets. The sight unnerved Martel, even though he knew he had nothing to fear. He had seen the weapon too often in battle, always a signal of death to follow, that he could feel comfortable around them. The sight of a golden bullet piercing his friend and fellow prefect Avery’s skull was a memory he could never forget.

A rope ladder was thrown down to let the Khivan lieutenant and his men climb aboard. “Who holds command?” he asked in passable Asterian. Eleanor stepped forward, with Martel and the captain of the ship behind her. “I do. We understand you have the right to inspect our ship for weapons and soldiers.”

“That’s right,” the officer remarked with a touch of hostility. “Not that we do it often. You’re the first foreign ships coming this way since the war.”

“Please, carry out your duty,” Eleanor replied diplomatically.

The lieutenant snorted and spoke a quick order in Khivan. His soldiers spread out, some of them going below deck. An uncomfortable silence followed where the officer scrutinised the people in front of him. “A woman in armour. You are a magic knight?” he finally asked.

“I was, formerly. I hold no rank in the legions if that is your concern. We are all civilians.”

“And this man, wielding a strange staff. He is also of the magic.”

Martel gave no reply.

The soldiers returned, speaking their findings. “My men say you have weapons aboard.”

“Only those you see strapped to our waists, for self-defence,” Eleanor argued.

“You have much cargo aboard. We must inspect it all.”

“That is not the treaty,” Eleanor declared. “You are allowed to ensure that no Asterian ship carries troops accompanied by large shipment of arms. We are clearly not legionaries, given the number of women and children aboard.”

“But you are a former soldier. So are many of these men, by the look of it. How can I know you are truly former?” the Khivan argued. “How do I know you don’t have armour for all these men below deck? All your ships must dock and be inspected.”

“The treaty does not allow you to detain Asterian ships. You are allowed to board and ensure they are not troop transports, which the presence of women and children should confirm,” Eleanor argued, and Martel silently blessed her for spending her time talking with the diplomats during their visit to Khiva, learning the results of the peace negotiations. “If you must search our cargo, so be it, but it must be done here and now.”

“These are our waters,” the lieutenant sneered.

“They are shared waters,” Eleanor countered, “as clearly stated in the treaty.”

“Don’t lecture me on this piece of parchment!” he exclaimed with disdain. “I am the one tasked to uphold it!”

“Which, by your admission, you have never done before.”

“And yet it’s my responsibility, not yours! How would you know the details better than me?”

“Because I signed it,” Martel declared, taking a step forward and planting his staff into the deck with a loud thud. “And trust me, my companion knows it intimately.”

An expression ran across the officer’s face. “You are him. The fire killer. The blasphemer.” His face became twisted in a sardonic smile. “Within range of our cannons.”

Realising his mistake in revealing himself, Martel clenched his jaw. He had hoped his reputation would help clear the way, as it had cleared so many obstacles in Morcaster, but it had the opposite effect. “You should let us leave,” he suggested, trying to put magic into his words as he knew Atreus could.

“You will dock your ships, or I will consider you in breach of our law,” the Khivan declared, unaffected. He was in too strong a mood to be influenced.

Trying to sense his thoughts, Martel could tell that the lieutenant felt a strange mixture of emotions, chiefly anger and elation. “Sir, the law is not yours to use for vengeance.”

“Or what?” he sneered. “You’ll kill me? As you killed so many others? If I don’t return, the cannons of Nahavand will sink each of your ships.”

“If your weapons sink three merchant ships filled with civilians, it will reignite the war,” Martel cautioned. “I have many lives on my conscience, undoubtedly. Yet I stood before your king and signed a peace that he also desired, to avoid further death.” He sensed the man’s mood again, and this time, a touch of fear had crept in. “Can you imagine how many lives will be on your hands if you cause the war to begin anew? Do you believe that is what your king or your people want?”

Martel glanced at the other soldiers present; while they probably did not speak Asterian, the tension was obvious, and although their muskets remained slung over their backs, they all had their hands on the straps, ready to shoulder them.

The officer glanced at his own men, sure to be the first casualties. “You still haven’t given any answer as to why you’re transporting all these people into Khivan waters.”

“We seek to disembark up north, on the western shore.” This implied in Asterian territory rather than the empty wasteland surrounding Archen, but Martel saw no reason to clarify that. “We have no intention of setting foot on Khivan soil.” Once again, he sensed the Khivan’s feelings, and doubt had tempered his anger. “You should let us leave,” Martel suggested once more.

Whether his magic or his arguments had worked, the lieutenant relented. “Fine. Be sure that you don’t step inside Khivan lands for one moment, or you will be considered criminals.” He barked an order at his men and turned to descend the rope ladder.

Exchanging a look with Eleanor, Martel said to the captain, “You heard the man. Waste no time.”

“Aye, sir! Raise the anchor! Raise all sails!”

Martel kept his eyes on the walls of Nahavand. The second ship had Henry and the frostmage Cornelia aboard, while Valerius had charge of the third. If the cannons began firing, Martel figured he could protect his own vessel, and perhaps Henry’s mastery of earth magic would let him stop the projectiles as well. But nothing would defend the last ship.

The moments felt agonising as the small fleet floated past the city; every moment, Martel feared to hear the thunder of cannon fire. He breathed a sigh of relief as the last of their ships slipped past, out of range. Archen awaited.