Firebrand

What the Future Promises

Watching the Asterian rider approach in the company of a Khivan patrol, Martel wanted to leap over the battlements and sprint towards them, shouting questions. But he restrained himself, given his surroundings. Matters were already tense between him and his host; it seemed best to appear calm and in control of his emotions.

The Asterian rider carried a banner in his hand, showing an eagle on green as a sign of peaceful intentions. The commander met him in the same place where Martel and Eleanor had been brought, an open square in the camp. Unlike the previous meeting, no cannons or rows of musketmen were lined up, ready to fire.

Martel stood next to Azar, clenching his jaw at how unbearably slow everything progressed. The rider dismounted; Martel noticed that his rank was that of an optio. One of the Khivan scouts spoke in his own language, presumably introducing the Asterian emissary, after which Azar addressed him in that tongue. "We welcome you in peace. You bring word from the Tenth Legion?"

The optio saluted. "I do, sir. The prefects of the Tenth Legion greet you with news that an armistice has been agreed." He took out a scroll case. "I carry with me a declaration same as the one you sent us, signed by Sir Lara, legion prefect and acting legate." He handed over the document to an adjutant.

"Where is Sir Fontaine?" Martel asked, his patience at an end. "Why is she not the bearer of this message?"

"A reasonable question," the commander assented.

"The change of leadership in the legion demands her presence to sort things out," the optio replied.

Martel narrowed his eyes. He finally recognised the soldier. It was the same optio who had slandered Martel, challenged him, and spent a night in the stockade as a result. And now he came to lead Martel away from the encampment, into the wild? This reeked of deception. He stalked up to the emissary. "You lie," he sneered. "Why is she not here?"

The optio swallowed. "Sir, she expected you would wonder at her absence. She told me to repeat the words 'wild garlic' and 'thyme' to you, sir."

Clouded by anger, Martel did not understand at first; it sounded like nonsense. But the words evoked the memory. Foraging in the forest. Cooking and seasoning the meat that she brought home. A memory that no others would know. "Alright," Martel mumbled, and the optio looked visibly relieved.

"Sir Martel?" the commander said questioningly.

The battlemage turned around. "It's fine. He speaks the truth. You have your armistice."

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***

While the optio rested and was given food, Martel retired with Azar to the latter's tent. The commander unfurled the document he had been given, studying the words. "Excellent. I shall have a copy made and sent to the capital at once. The war may continue elsewhere, but we shall make the most of this reprieve in our corner of the front."

"Glad to hear it," Martel mumbled with little sincerity. "I'd like to leave without delay." He kept his eyes on the commander, studying his reaction to find out whether he was actually free to leave or not.

Azar bowed his head. "Of course. You are eager to return to your people, and you have a monumental task ahead of you. You do understand how your emperor and High Council will react? You have committed mutiny, a full legion defending the most vulnerable position of the entire front. Your powers are daunting, Sir Martel, but the challenges you face even more so."

"I appreciate your concern."

"I will not waste more of your time. You shall have a horse to speed you on your way and any supplies you require. I hope we meet again under circumstances celebrating peace between our peoples."

He sounded so sincere, Martel found himself believing him and even agreeing. "I'd like that as well. I'm glad you took the step forward towards peace."

Azar inclined his head once more. "May the Living Flame illuminate your path, Sir Martel."

***

Two Asterians rode out of camp. The Khivans watched them from the ramparts; to the last moment, Martel wondered if he would hear the sound of a cannon firing. But as the palisades disappeared into the horizon behind them, he could relinquish that fear.

Instead, he wondered at his companion. Martel remembered the optio well, who had shown such intense dislike of the battlemage. It could not be coincidence he of all people appeared to bear the message. Back in camp, the optio had not been able to do anything to Martel, but out here, far from anyone else? Even if Eleanor had succeeded in convincing the legion, this fellow might knife Martel in the back and sneak back into Aster a hero for killing an outlaw mage.

Subtlety might be the best approach, but Martel could not think of a way to make the optio inadvertently admit to plans of assassinating him. And in general, the battlemage's patience ran low these days.

"Petrus of Aquila," he spoke as they rode side by side.

"Aye, sir. I can't say I'm honoured you remember, as I know it's not for good reason," the optio admitted.

"Why is it that out of an entire legion, you're sent as the envoy? Will you claim that to be coincidence?"

"Not at all, sir, I volunteered."

Martel glanced at him with surprise. "Why?"

"Well, sir, I felt ashamed. I'm in the sixth cohort, as I'm sure you remember. You're in this mess because you stopped the decurion and saved us all," Petrus explained. "And during the retreat through the woods, you and Sir Fontaine, you held the rear. Every day till the last." His voice trembled. "I'm so ashamed. I slandered your good name, yet you saved us."

The outburst of emotion made Martel feel awkward. "Alright, no harm done. You can buy me a round at The Salty Mug," he muttered, hoping to steer the conversation away.

"I don’t imagine you'll ever pay for your drink again if a soldier of the Tenth is near," Petrus replied. "The whole legion praises your name."

"Uh, I guess that's good."

"Do you mind if I set the course, sir? I know the route, after all."

"Sure, you lead." They continued in silence, and Martel was simply glad the conversation was at an end; the optio did not seem to have murderous intentions after all. Still, as they made camp that night, Martel placed his runes of warning to surround himself rather than the camp site as a whole.