Firebrand

For the next fivedays, it seemed that Maximilian’s prediction would hold true rather than Martel’s. The Khivan patient departed, healed of his malaise, and the border guards saw no further activity other than the occasional Khivan patrol.

Close to a month passed before another Khivan appeared, seeking treatment. And once she had returned home, her consumption cured, it took only a few days before the next came. It turned into a trickle; every other day, a new prospective patient arrived, furtive and skittish, but desperate. The Archeans welcomed them regardless and provided a cure as best they could, whether through Maximilian’s healing or Martel’s potions.

In response, construction began on a new infirmary. None of the large buildings in Archen had survived the destruction with sufficient integrity to be trusted; instead, ruins were demolished and cleared, and under Henry’s watchful gaze, a new structure began to rise. In addition, a workshop was planned next to it, allowing for apothecary and alchemy work of all sorts.

Martel took a break from his work as an enchanter and alchemist to design the new area. Numerous fireplaces for brewing with chimneys to lead smoke away. A dedicated room for storage of ingredients arranged and organised as he had seen it in Sindhu, and another solely for drying herbs with good air flow to speed up the process. This and many other ideas he discussed with Henry or the stonemage’s apprentice, all of them animated and seized by eagerness at the possibilities. And watching the work progress, the city being built stone by stone, Martel felt like all his labours and travails had been worth it.

“Master Martel, there’s a patient that Master Maximilian wants you to see,” Badger said, gasping for breath.

“Child, the infirmary is right next to my workshop.” Although still far from finished, Martel had begun using the drying room. “Why are you out of breath?”

“My work is to be a runner, not a walker,” the boy declared and disappeared.

Unable to refute the argument for various reasons, Martel moved at a leisurely pace through his incomplete workshop and the door that separated it from the infirmary, also still under construction.

He looked around until he saw Maximilian wearing his black tunic; although not much of a mageknight anymore, he still preferred their clothing. Walking over, Martel saw a Khivan sit on a bed, and to his surprise, he recognised him. Digging for the name in his memory, Martel spoke up. “Lieutenant Padmani!”

The Khivan got on his feet and saluted. “Sir!” Maximilian looked from one to the other. “I will never find it normal to see people salute you, Nordmark.”

“What brings you here, lieutenant?”

“Go on,” Maximilian encouraged him. “Tell our good sage what you want.”

“I want to do what you can do. I want the power I was born to.” Padmani pulled his collar down to show the scars from the incisions. “I want this gone. Can you help me?”

Various thoughts ran through Martel’s head, none of them decisive. “Give us a moment.” He motioned for Maximilian to join him in an adjoining room, meant to be a place to keep records and perhaps later books on medicinal and anatomical knowledge. For now, it was four bare walls. “Your thoughts?” Martel asked.

“I am all for it. It seems an abomination to me, suppressing someone’s Stars-given talent.” Maximilian shrugged. “But I figured I would let you know before I do something that might plunge us into war with our neighbour, should they discover it.”

“There’s none with the gift among our own Khivans,” Martel pondered. “We don’t have a lot of people to begin with. If we could recruit not only children but adults from Khiva and make them mages, it would increase our numbers greatly.”

“We better hope they are loyal when Khiva invades to kill us,” the mageknight snorted.

“Considering Khiva would kill them, I’d imagine they are.”

“So we shall do this?” Maximilian’s eyes glinted.

“Is it something you can do? Remove the gold safely, that is.”

“I am no surgeon, admittedly. But we can cut along the original scars. It should be easy to sense where the gold is, after all,” the healer considered. “But I will need something to pull the metal out. Some manner of small tongs.”

“Talk to the blacksmith. Or one of our Khivan toolmakers. They make small equipment like that,” Martel considered.

“What of our new guest? We have plenty of other Khivans coming. Do we want him to keep quiet about why he is here?” Maximilian asked. “I can only imagine Khiva sends spies, now that we are accustomed to seeing them cross the border.”

The Sage of Archen contemplated it briefly. “Yes. It is difficult for them to justify a war against us because we are healing their sick, but if it becomes known that we intend to train Khivans in magic…” Martel looked out of the door opening into the other room where a handful of patients were under treatment. “At the very least, I should discuss this with the Triumvirate before we proceed. But go ahead and have the tool created that you’ll need for the task. We might as well have it ready.”

Archen’s healer gave a sly smile. “As you say, Nordmark.”

Martel returned to their newest guest. “Come with me,” he told Padmani. “It’ll be a while before we are ready to help you, and as you’re not sick, there’s no need for you to be in the infirmary.”

A little bemused, the lieutenant got up from his bed and grabbed his things. “But you’ll help me?”

Nodding to Maximilian as they left, Martel led his companion out of the infirmary. “I’ll have to discuss it with the others. This is not a decision I can make on my own. But regardless, since Eleanor and I were your guests once, you shall be ours.” As they walked the streets of Archen in the waning daylight, Martel hesitated before he spoke again. “You understand that you can most likely never return to Khiva if you follow through? Should it be discovered that you had your gold removed, even if you are never able to train your powers… your old home will have you killed.”

“I know the laws of my country,” Padmani simply said. “I have seen what you can do. How effortlessly you saved a whole city. And I heard of your new settlement here, and that you heal those who dare to come seeking aid. Mind you, these rumours were spoken in a chastising tone, with plenty of speculation of all the curses you inflict on those foolish enough to seek you out.” For more chapters visıt NovєlFіre.net

Martel smirked. “I have no doubt.”

“But I know you would never do such a thing. And as good as our physicians are, they are no equal to what I have heard your magic can do,” the lieutenant continued. “My only fear is if it is too late. After all these years, will my gift still work?”

“Well,” the sage replied, taking a deep breath, “I know a thing or two about being late to magic. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”