Firebrand

A Break from the Past

As Martel wandered into his study the following morning, a voice greeted him from a corner of the room. "Well met, Martel."

He turned on his heel with a spell half released to set the room ablaze, facing the intruder. In a chair, a man around forty had made himself comfortable. His clothes showed signs of extensive travel with cloak and boots covered in mud. His tunic was even worse for wear, with various rifts and tears stitched or patched up. His beard was unkempt and of uneven length, but his eyes possessed all the cunning that Martel associated with this man.

"Atreus!" Martel dismissed the magic he had been about to fling into the man's face. "You should be careful surprising people. How did you get in here?"

The spellbreaker of Archen got on his feet and extended his hand, shaking Martel's. "Trade craft."

The young captain dragged a chair over to be seated opposite Atreus as they both sat down. "Where have you been? And why are you back?"

"I have been here and there. Around your Empire and beyond. Work has piled up over the last couple of centuries." He gave a wry smile. "As for my presence here, it is more or less coincidental. I heard about all the events, including your name, and thought I had to see this for myself."

"If you lack a purpose, you could be of invaluable help to me. I'm not sure how, but I imagine it won't take me long to think of something."

Atreus laughed a little. "Undoubtedly. But this all seems an affair for you Asterian lot. Nothing an old relic like me should get involved in."

The spellbreaker let his laughter resound louder. "One reason I thought this meeting would be worthwhile. There's only three people in this world who truly know me."

"Eleanor is just across the hall. I'm sure she would be thrilled to see you again, especially after what you did for her sister."

Atreus raised a hand. "Perhaps in a moment. I should like to speak with you a tad longer."

That sounded like this was more than just a social visit. "About what?"

"I am intrigued, to put it plainly, and I hope you might indulge my curiosity."

"And?"

"I have travelled around this part of the continent for a while. The Asterian tongue is spoken in distant places now, which took some getting used to. And in a very brief span of time, you have found yourself responsible for a lot of people, in this city and beyond."

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"That's true. I never foresaw this."

The spellbreaker looked out of the window. "Some people spend their lives striving for power. Others have it thrust upon them. Regardless, the best measure of a man is how he wields it."

Martel frowned. "Have you come to cast some kind of judgement on me?"

Atreus looked back at him. "Oh, no, that is not my place nor my intention. Power is like magic, just as magic is power. It is not good or evil. Simply a tool that we wield."

"But some kinds of magic are evil." Martel thought about the victims of Julia, as he had known her. The rituals she had conducted to prolong her life at their expense. "The spells that the maleficar used, their only purpose is to hurt, steal life. Atrocious acts."

"With the same spell, you may burn a man to death or ignite a fire to keep a child warm through a winter's night. If you lay dying, and your enemy, a cruel and vicious person, stood before you hale and hearty, would you refuse the magic that took his remaining days and gave them to you?" Atreus asked. "If you thought he deserved death, why not let it serve a purpose and save you in the process?"

Martel's instinct was to say no, but that was an immediate reaction to defend his own virtue. He thought about how many soldiers had died because he had chosen to lead them into rebellion. It had never been his original intention; he had deserted because death awaited him otherwise, but each step had naturally led to the next. Taking over one legion, two more and another two, marching on Morcaster to enforce their demands, seizing the city. Martel told himself he had only done it because letting the war continue would let many more soldiers die, year after year, but in truth, he had taken the first step only to save himself. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Neither do I. We only know our principles once they are tested. There are some tests I don't look forward to." The spellbreaker gave him a smile with a closed mouth. "Forgive me for burdening you while you already occupy an uncomfortable seat. I shall take my leave."

"Wait! Before you go – I remember how you healed Eleanor's sister. I have some troubles of my own," he admitted. "I find it hard to sleep. Small things that shouldn't matter now irritate me. Frustration comes easy to me. I'm – I'm not well."

Atreus studied him with a scrutinising expression. "I may close some wounds, but I can't take away your scars. Always looking over your shoulder, thinking you heard an arrow release when it was merely the wind… Some injuries can only be healed by time, and at times, not even then."

"Anything you can do, I'd be grateful."

The mage of Archen nodded. "Lean forward."

Martel did so, closing his eyes. He felt hands on either side of his head. He could not say how long it took, but suddenly, he felt it. A release of magic beyond his ken, but the effect was immediately. As if a knot of tension unravelled itself inside his head, providing him relief. He opened his eyes again. "Thank you."

"It seemed the least I could do."

"Eleanor is just across the hall. I don't know if she needs it too, but I suspect so. Can I…" He let the question linger in the air.

"Send her to me."

Martel got up, but before he was out of the door, the spellbreaker spoke again.

"I owe three people my freedom. You and she are only two."

Martel looked back at him. "I doubt Max needs this. He's only lived a life of leisure since you last saw him."

"But not now. He sits imprisoned under your orders, chained by gold."

The captain frowned. "How do you know this?"

"Let that be my favour repaid to him. Let him go home to his family."

Martel slowly let his head fall and he finally let, crossing the corridor. "Eleanor. There's somebody in my study you should see."

"Who is it?" she asked, standing up.

"I don't want to ruin the surprise." As she left, Martel turned to Lara. "The praetorian we have in our custody. Maximilian of Marche."

"What of him?"

"Have him escorted home."

"Very well, sir."