Firebrand

Watching the ship be loaded, Martel felt no satisfaction, only urgency. He could not do much to help, besides keeping out of the way. So he did, staying at the stern of the ship, gazing back onto Morcaster to watch the line of cargo and people dwindle slowly, far too slowly.

Contrary to his expectations, Martel also saw a mageknight appear, wearing full armour and hauling a large travel chest on his back. Waking up this morning, Martel had dismissed the conversation as something of a fever dream, or perhaps an odd manner of jest played on him by Maximilian. But there he was, the scion of House Marche, ready to leap into the unknown alongside a former friend and old enemy.

Martel figured the mageknight would simply push through the crowd to board the ship, making dockworkers fall off the pier if necessary, but he restrained himself. Once he could walk aboard, Maximilian placed his chest below deck before he reappeared and made his way to Martel at the bow.

“It looks like your army is just about ready, captain,” he said with a grin.

“Nearly. The sooner we leave, the better.”

Maximilian’s expression faded as he scrutinised Martel. “You are truly worried. I did not think your concerns were so pressing.”

Admitting the truth felt uncomfortable, but if Maximilian was to be an important part of Archen, Martel would have to show him some trust. And if the mageknight did not live up to it, best to find out now. “The Khivans are making demands. We can’t know their full intentions, but we expect hostility.”

“Truly?” Maximilian scratched his cheek, shaven this morning. “I am surprised they would dare. Did you not teach them many a lesson in the last war?”

Martel reached out with his magic, wondering if this was mockery, but he sensed none. “I did, but the threat of Archen looms worse, it seems. And if they do come for us, I must be there, to remind them of previous lessons.”

“Now I wonder how I would fare against these enemies. I have never encountered their powder weapons, whether big or small. I assume their skulls cave in the same as any other when struck by a hammer.” “They are not to be underestimated,” Martel impressed upon him. “Their cannons do the work of magic, except they never run out of spellpower. And their sharpshooters are equipped with golden bullets. You can’t depend on your magic to keep you safe against all weaponry as you might normally.”

The battlemage had expected another glib remark from the mageknight, but instead, Maximilian’s expression turned thoughtful. “We have many days ahead. You should teach me all you have learned about warfare against the Khivans. I want to be as prepared as possible.”

Pleasantly surprised, Martel bowed his head in agreement.

On the pier, the workers had finished loading the ship, and all the new settlers had found space aboard the vessel. Finally, they set sail, and the windmage atop the lighthouse gave them a swift passage out of the harbour. Compared to last time, Martel felt no elation or pride, only urgency and concern. Any prior goodwill he had ever felt towards Khiva after the end of the war would be replaced with pure fury if they had attacked Archen in his absence, and he would teach them once more to fear a battlemage on the field.

A decent wind sped them along the southern coast of the continent, passing the same landmarks as before. To use the time and also distract himself, Martel sparred with Maximilian, using his fire bolts to emulate Khivan musket balls and teach the mageknight to beware of such ranged attacks. If the other passengers found it unnerving, they kept it to themselves; the children, few as they were, watched with fascination.

Seeing Esmouth brought Martel no joy; he simply counted the days left before they could land upriver. On the eastern shore, the Khivan watchtower made its signals, alerting of an Asterian ship. Martel stared at them, overcoming the desire to destroy the tower. Even if he could, it would be too late; the signals had gone up.

The walls of Nahavand knotted Martel’s stomach together. Last obstacle to clear, and soon, they would be back in Archen. On the battlements, the cannons were pushed forward to stick out between the crenelations, ready to rain destruction upon their ship. As the captain dropped anchor, a boat pushed out from the docks, carrying a Khivan lieutenant and his men.

Martel watched them row closer, Maximilian and the captain at his side. He remembered the last time and how it had nearly gone wrong, reminding himself to avoid the same misstep. Do as Eleanor had done and invoke the exact wordings of the treaty. Use his ability to sense the man’s thoughts and suggest a swift resolution to the inspection.

As the rowboat approached, they threw the rope ladder down the side of the ship. However, the Khivans did not come any closer. “Who leads you?” shouted the lieutenant, who was not the same officer as had inspected their vessel last time.

“I command this ship,” replied the captain, as per Martel’s instructions; given his own presence could be inflammatory, the battlemage had asked the captain to speak first, and Martel would only step in if needed. “Make your inspections.”

Martel reached out to make his own inspection of the officer’s mood, and he felt a clear sense of duty, calm and convicted. No concealed hostility, which boded well.

“No need,” came the Khivan’s reply. “I bring a simple command. You are ordered to turn your ship around and sail back.”

“I can’t do that,” the captain protested. “We have the right to sail these waters.”

“You transport enemies of Khiva, and while we have no desire to fire upon an Asterian ship, we will do so if you force us. Turn back or face our cannons. Those are your only choices.”

Alarmed, Martel stepped forward, and behind him, he could feel panic spreading among the passengers. “If you fire upon this ship, that will be an act of war against Aster! And I promise you, your boat will sink much faster!”

“Undoubtedly true,” the lieutenant replied with remarkable cool, “but that is the message my commander gave me. Furthermore, I was instructed to say that it is our understanding your Senate will accept our explanation and reparations, avoiding an escalation of any crisis.”

It struck Martel like a brick that he was right. The Senate might even welcome the sinking of the ship. They could demand reparations from Khiva and be rid of a troublesome battlemage. They might even consider Archen vulnerable and make plans to annex the city. “Lieutenant, we have the right to sail here. Let us pass,” he suggested, using his magic.

The officer, resolute in his duty, was not swayed. “Once again, captain, I command you to turn your ship back or be fired upon. If you resist, I must give the signal for the cannons to open fire.”

Looking up at the walls, Martel could easily count ten or more cannons. Too far that he could destroy them. He could stop their projectiles, but all of them at once? And if the ship was slow, his spellpower would be spent before they ran out of munition. Martel glanced over his shoulder, seeing the miners, including their families and children. As desperate as he was to return to his city to defend it, these were also his people. They had left their homes on his word, and he had the same duty to defend them. “Captain,” Martel said bitterly, “turn the ship around.”

“Weigh anchor!” came the command. “We turn around.”

“I am pleased at this sensible outcome,” the lieutenant declared.

“As recompense, you will answer me this question,” Martel said, leaning forward over the ship’s railing, and he wove magic into his words again. “Have any of your soldiers marched on Archen?”

“I don’t have the liberty to say,” the officer replied, his sense of duty resisting any suggestive magic.

Martel raised his hand, wreathing it in flames. Perhaps threats worked better. “Unless you want your boat to sink, you’ll tell me if Archen is under attack.” The source of thɪs content is novel⁂fire.net

The lieutenant gave him a cold look. “I’ll gladly swim ashore if necessary.”

The summoned fire blossomed, but before Martel launched it, another soldier shouted, “Not yet!”

Immediately, his officer turned around in the boat and slapped the man across the face, yelling at him in Khivan. Apparently, not all of his soldiers in the boat could swim.

Martel extinguished his fire and watched as the rowboat turned around and began a hasty journey back to the shore. Meanwhile, at much less speed, their own vessel began turning as well.