Firebrand

Martel threw out his arms as he faced Atreus, trying to physically shield Leander behind him. “Atreus, stop!”

“Stand aside, Martel! He’s undead!” Already, magical energy began to gleam as the spellbreaker prepared his next attack.

“I know! He’s a friend!”

The magic underway became frozen as Atreus stared at the battlemage, his expression changing from anger to confusion before settling on disdain. “He’s an abomination of the worst kind, Martel. A lich. How can you protect him?”

“Because I know him, and he’s done no harm!”

“Only a matter of time! His very nature is evil! He must be destroyed!”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“I’m a spellbreaker of Archen, Martel,” came the reply, spoken with cold anger. “I know the signs of sinister magic better than anyone alive.”

“So you would execute him, though he’s not to blame for his condition? Though he’s done no harm to others?”

“Condition,” Atreus sneered. “He’s not suffering from a cold! He is evil, through and through.” “And if you met someone who’d survived three hundred years through leeching magic, what would you think of them?”

At last, Martel’s words had an effect other than arousing ire; lowering his hands, the magic around them dissipating, Atreus breathed deeply. “That’s different. I’m still human. I’m a victim of maleficus, not its practitioner,” came the retort, though he sounded less assured of himself.

“Same can be said for Leander. He had no part in the magic that twisted him to undeath. Are we so quick to judge, passing a judgement of execution no less?”

Atreus’s eyes seemed to pass through Martel, staring at the seemingly frail, old man behind him. “Alright. We can discuss this. Before we cast judgement.” His voice had resumed its harsh tone, but he finally relaxed his shoulders. “We’ll fetch Eleanor.”

“A fascinating discussion of morality!” Leander exclaimed, his mood apparently unaffected by the philosophy being discussed having very practical implications for his continued lack of breathing. “I chose well to come here.”

“You stay rooted in this spot,” the spellbreaker commanded. “If I sense the smallest inclination of a spell being cast, I will throw your skull into acid.” He glanced at Martel. “Don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll find Eleanor.”

As Atreus stalked away, Martel exhaled and turned to look at Leander. “Welcome home.”

“Most exciting. I’ve not felt this alive in centuries, pardon the expression.” The lich regarded his protector. “What do you think would happen if my head was separated from my body and lowered into acid?”

“Well, if I can’t persuade a spellbreaker to ignore his every instinct, you’ll find out.”

The Triumvirate of Archen assembled, this time in even less formal surroundings than usual. As Atreus demanded there be eyes on Leander at all times, they simply gathered in the open, standing next to the old road that led west to Aster. Fifty paces away, the subject of their discussion stood, entirely still like a statue.

“Say your piece and let’s be done with this,” Atreus spoke through a clenched jaw.

“I have never seen you this agitated,” Eleanor remarked.

“I have every reason to be agitated,” the spellbreaker retorted, clearly struggling to contain his emotions. “Few things are as dangerous as a lich. You should know! Have you forgotten Karolos already?”

“Hardly,” Martel replied, “but surely you see the difference. This is not a former archmage gone mad from three hundred years of isolation and the use of forbidden magic. He’s a simple apprentice who’s spent his centuries making remedies for those in need.”

“He is a creature of deceit! All of what you said, a mere disguise, same as how he wears the guise of the living,” Atreus shot back. “Clearly, he doesn’t lack cunning.”

“He had lived in that village where we met him for many years,” Eleanor chimed in. “The people had nothing but praise for him.”

“Considering the welcome he received here, once his home, I can’t blame him for pretending to be among the living,” Martel added.

“Of course he helped them, gaining their trust! A sheep is easier led to slaughter when it trusts the butcher.” The spellbreaker cast another angry glare at the lich in the distance, still to move. “I have more experience with the undead than both of you together. I’d ask you to respect my judgement in this matter.”

Martel shook his head. “I made my choice years ago when I first met him. I won’t kill someone simply because I fear their nature. Not when he’s given me no reason.”

“Martel, the living should not mingle with the dead!”

“Maybe that should change. Our people could use another skilled apothecary for their ills.”

Atreus stared at him with incredulity. “You’re willing to risk bringing this abomination among our people just for the sake of a cough remedy?”

“I’ve seen what a plague can do,” Martel replied, and despite his best effort to stay calm, his tone became cold. “I laboured every waking hour for months producing cures, and it made barely a dent. Trust me, should that day come, you’ll thank the Stars we have an alchemist among us who never sleeps.”

“Is that your reasoning?” The spellbreaker locked eyes with the battlemage, still wearing an expression of disbelief.

“No, that’s simply a practical argument. I’d still argue to let him stay if he had no value. Because that is how I see Archen,” Martel continued. “A place that is home to all. Where we judge people on their deeds, not their nature. Certainly not something beyond their control, which they never had a hand in to begin with.” Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novel-fire.ɴet

Atreus turned towards Eleanor with an anticipatory expression. She looked from one to the other. “Although more hesitant to trust than Martel is, I agree with him nonetheless.” She glanced at where the lich stood unmoving. “When you unleashed your spell on Leander, Atreus, he made no attempt to defend himself. If he truly harboured malicious intent, he would have done so.”

The spellbreaker exhaled. “Very well, then.” His face belied the sentiment in his words. “You are the majority. I assume you intend for us to keep his nature a secret?”

“Considering others might share your immediate reaction, that seems wise. Certainly give him a chance to establish himself first as a friend to us,” Martel considered.

A variety of emotions battled to control Atreus’s expression before it became blank. “So be it. But I’ve long ago placed wards against the undead on the gates of our city. He won’t be able to enter regardless. Let him find a shelter far from the living, and he must be kept under strict watch. I’ll not forget nor forgive should someone become a victim due to our carelessness or naivety.”

Martel bowed his head. “Agreed.”