Firebrand

Chapter 622: Return of Red

Return of Red

Martel found little rest. He was accustomed to rough sleeping, but his chains left him in an uncomfortable position. Each time he drifted away, his discomfort woke him up again soon after. When first bell rang, he barely felt he had slept at all.

Wulfstan appeared; despite the lack of light, Martel recognised his shifty movements coming up the stairs. “Have you considered my proposal?”

Speaking the words left a bitter taste in Martel’s mouth. “I’ll do what you want.”

“Excellent. Allow me.” The spy walked over and unlocked Martel’s chains from the ring in the wall. For a moment, he considered throwing them over Wulfstan’s neck and choking him with them. Another moment passed, and the opportunity was gone as the spy walked away. “Come along.”

No guard in the downstairs room; dismissed, Martel figured. Wulfstan picked up a cloak that lay bundled on the ground, and he threw it over Martel’s shoulders and pulled up its hood as well.

“Best we leave discreetly. You may want to keep your chains inside the cloak,” he suggested.

“I’ll need them off.” Martel rattled the chains around his wrists. “I can’t do much damage or even defend myself this way.”

Wulfstan smirked. “All in good time.”

The spy did not answer, but his hand slid down to touch the pouch by his belt.

“I’ll also require other clothing. Even the Khivans will probably recognise these garments.” Martel looked down at his red robes with their fiery patterns.

“Not to worry. I’m taking you across the river to a Tyrian scout, who’ll guide you as far as he can. He’ll also have clothing for you and your staff.”

“My knife? Potions, jars?” They had taken everything from Martel’s belt at the legate’s house.

Wulfstan gave him a confused look. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sure you can do without. Let’s go.”

He opened the door and stepped outside. As Martel did the same, he saw two legionaries waiting. Even in chains, Martel was deemed dangerous.

“Follow along. Let’s not cause a stir,” Wulfstan demanded. He began walking, and Martel followed with the two soldiers right behind.

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Esmouth was still waking up; few people could be seen about on the streets. Those outside glanced at the small band, wondering at the pair of legionaries escorting two hooded men. Wulfstan set a quick pace, and Martel could practically feel the soldiers right behind him, forcing him to keep up.

They passed the Tyrian enclave. Two horses stood saddled outside their longhouse; a rare sight, considering they walked or sailed everywhere. As Martel slowed down seeing this, a legionary gave him a small push in his back.

They reached the bridge and began crossing. In the distance, Martel saw movement of others coming toward them, and his thoughts turned to the chains binding him. They stripped him of his magical power; he was not a wizard while wearing them. But he was still a warrior.

Wulfstan stopped abruptly; he had recognised who came toward them. She broke into a sprint, two men following her but unable to keep pace. Martel took action as well. He swung around to plant his boot on the knee of the nearest soldier; as the man fell to the ground, Martel followed up with another kick to send him into the water.

His companion lowered his spear while Wulfstan drew his dagger. Martel grabbed the spy by the arm, pushing him around to be a human shield between him and the soldier while also preventing him from using his blade.

Eleanor reached them. She punched Wulfstan, knocking him to the ground. The soldier stabbed at her with his spear, but with empowered reflexes, she caught the haft and simply used her strength and the spear as a lever to push him off the bridge.

Martel, meanwhile, knelt down and frantically searched Wulfstan’s belt until he found a small key. “Hurry!” Eleanor shouted at him, “they are coming!”

Martel’s hands fumbled with the key until he finally fit it into his chains and heard the satisfying click. As they fell from his wrists, he felt a rush of power, and his eyes glowed red for a moment.

“Come on!” Eleanor urged him. Swiftly, Martel pointed at the bridge south of them and released a ray of fire, setting it ablaze. On the other side of the flames, Wulfstan’s men ceased their pursuit of Eleanor to stare at them, unable to cross.

Martel gave the fallen spy a kick in the head for good measure and followed after Eleanor, who was running toward the shore. She steered toward the Tyrian enclave once on firm ground and leapt onto one of the saddled horses standing about untied. Martel took the other, and they spurred the horses into a gallop through Esmouth. People stared and shouted at this dangerous ride, once they had gotten out of the way.

The gate had just opened a short while ago when first bell rang; the optio in charge looked confused at the prefects riding with all haste toward him. “He’s the prisoner! They’re escaping!” someone yelled, recognising Martel. They began closing the gate.

Martel held out his hand, and a bolt of lightning burst from his fingertips. It struck the gate, tearing it open, and the soldiers fell away. His horse protested loudly, but it kept its pace and direction.

Atop the gatehouse, archers grabbed arrows and nocked them. As the two mages rode through the broken entryway, they both summoned their magical shield. Numerous projectiles followed them when they appeared on the other side of the gatehouse, most of them denied by magic. One arrow buried itself into Martel’s horse, but the creature kept running, spurred by fear and its rider’s commands. The soldiers on the ground could do nothing but stare at the dust kicked up into the air; the battlemage of the Tenth Legion and his protector had escaped Esmouth.

No longer prefects, they were deserters; the full might of the Empire would come in pursuit, whether legionaries, mages, or inquisitors. With Asterian enemies on one side and Khivan foes on the other, danger surrounded the pair of fugitives from all sides. But for now, for a moment, they were free.

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