Firebrand 8: The Sage, page 18
When the sun rose, they began the remaining journey that had to be done on foot. Progress was slow, as they had to haul their belongings on their backs; they had no carts or harnesses to allow the animals to help. Being Asterians and Khivans, old and some very young, serfs and craftsmen, even some patricians, they made for an unusual group.
As they reached the old, overgrown road that once ran from Archen to Aster, it allowed them to increase their pace. Still, it took them another day before their destination came into sight in the far distance, and they spent the next night still on the road. Before sleeping, the leaders of the expedition assembled.
“We can’t be sure Archen itself is safe,” Martel admitted. “There could be undead that me and Eleanor didn’t encounter on our first trip, hiding somewhere in the ruins.”
“But you mentioned you had an ally,” Valerius brought up. “That hedge mage working to cleanse the place. What was his name again? Would he have dealt with it?”
“We assume he has, but still,” Martel replied, sidestepping the first question. “Let’s keep people camped outside. There’s also the risk of structures collapsing, especially if a lot of people move in and about. I suggest the rest of you begin work measuring out fields, collecting timber and so on,” Martel said. “I’ll go into Archen and find our friend, get the measure of the land.”
“I shall go with you,” Eleanor declared.
“I doubt it’s dangerous for me. Besides, all that measuring up land requires a head for arithmetic.”
“I’m a stonemage who spent my career building walls,” Henry interjected. “I know how to do geometry.”
Martel raised his hands in defeat. “Pardon me, then. We leave the division of labour in your hands.”
“Unless I am needed urgently, I will examine the river,” Cornelia suggested. “Water is my expertise, after all, and nothing can be accomplished without it.”
Martel nodded to her. “Very well. We convene again tomorrow night to discuss our findings.”
Shortly past noon the next day, the settlers reached the outskirts of Archen. The people needed no convincing to stay outside; the argument of the dangerous state of the structures seemed unnecessary, even. For centuries, Archen had been a name of legend; frightening, but distant. Seeing the actual walls rise with the contour of destroyed towers beyond left its mark. Martel got the impression that the common people were only too happy to begin their work, felling trees and clearing stones from the land to be ploughed; the children were put to this work as well, except for the younger, who looked after the animals until fences could be raised.
As for Martel and Eleanor, they marched up the road to pass the open gate and enter Archen. They had not come far before a shape appeared. “My friends.” A voice rusty from rare use, but friendly all the same. Atreus greeted them with a smile in addition and clasped their hands. He looked haggard, but that seemed no different than normal, and to be expected from someone who had lived in the wild for so long. “When I saw the procession of people, my heart nearly burst.”
Martel tried to imagine what it must have felt like, dwelling in these ruins for over a year without word. Nothing but hope that his friends had survived their trials and been able to get the expedition together. “It took a while, but we’re here now.”
“Yes, you are.”
“What of your work?” Eleanor asked, ever practical.
“It is complete, such as it could be done. My wards have cleansed all trace of malignant magic. I have searched the city for undead and destroyed all I found. I spent half a year, give or take, dragging their bones out and burning them. The best funerary rite I could provide,” the spellbreaker remarked with a mournful smile. “The remains, I buried east of here. The city is ready.”
“Well, we need a good stonemage in here to examine the buildings and tear down those that are unstable. Fortunately, we brought one,” Martel told him, satisfied to report this.
“You did? Most excellent.”
“We also have a watermage. And another mageknight, which might not be as useful, but at least they can haul some stone around,” Martel considered.
Eleanor gave him a look. “More useful than your sparks, fire boy.”
“Actually, I should begin enchanting. There’s plenty of rubble to work with, even if it won’t hold the magic well. The people will appreciate some good heat,” the firemage said. He looked at Atreus. “Come. You should meet your people.”
They had only turned around and begun walking towards the gate when they saw a handful of children, all of them standing outside the walls but peering in.
“What are you lot doing here?” Martel asked with an assumed stern expression.
“Sparrow’s off with that mage, so we thought we’d see what you’re doing,” Squirrel said. Mouse, the tiny girl with the big eyes, the latter currently aimed at the wizards, nodded. Badger pulled one finger out of his ear and wiped it on the nearby stonework.
“There are fields to clear and timber to haul,” Eleanor told them. “We got a lot of work to do before our home is ready.” She made shooing motions with her hands, and the urchins laughed before they ran away, back to camp.
Next to them, Atreus ran his hand over his face, wiping something away. When he spoke, his voice was thick. “There’s children in Archen again.”
FORTY-FIVE
THE LAST MAGE OF ARCHEN
On the eve of their first day, the mages acting as leaders gathered. No tent was large enough to hold them all, so they sat around a heating stone on fallen logs, halfway between the camp and Archen, granting them some privacy.
Henry, Valerius, and Cornelia all stared with various degrees of shamelessness at the newcomer in their midst. As for the other three, they had debated how to handle the truth. Atreus had preferred concealment, whereas Martel had advocated for openness. While Eleanor leaned towards caution as well, Atreus had bowed to Martel’s intuition and given him the task of introducing the spellbreaker.
“We have much to discuss,” Martel began, “but first, you should all meet the third leader of our new city. The last member of the Triumvirate we set up together. This is Atreus.” The aforementioned mage bowed his head in greeting, as did the others. Martel cleared his throat. “Atreus the Spellbreaker. The name is not a coincidence. This is, in fact, him. This is a mage of Archen.”
Bewildered looks flew across the circle. “How do you mean?” Henry asked.
“I’m sure you’ve heard some legends. There’s a statue of him in the Lyceum.”
“It’s not a good likeness. Forehead’s too big,” Atreus mumbled.
“Forgive me, Martel, I am not sure I understand. Do you claim this man to be over three centuries old?” Valerius stared at the battlemage and the spellbreaker in turn.
“Briefly said, yes. Less briefly said… it’s a long story.” Martel sighed. “Eleanor, you probably remember the details best.”
Nodding, the mageknight began the tale of how three acolytes in Morcaster had met the last living mage of Archen.
A lengthy silence followed after Eleanor’s recounting of how they had lifted the curse from Atreus and the explanation for how he had lived for so many years.
Finally, Valerius spoke. “If a stranger had told me this, I would have called them liars. If a relative had told me this, I would have called them mad. The pair of you are the only people that I might find this believable.”
With his half-smile, Atreus grabbed a rock from the ground. He let his hand sweep over it, and they all saw the glow of magic briefly. As the stone became visible again, letters had been inscribed into it. “You’re the stonemage?” he asked Henry and threw the rock at him. “What does this tell you?”
Henry caught the stone and turned it over in his hand, examining the writing. “This is an Archean enchantment! I’ve felt them so many times in Morcaster on the very walls of the Lyceum and the city. How could you… nobody has made these in centuries… is it really true?”
“I understand your doubt, but I am convinced he speaks the truth. I have seen too much to think otherwise,” Martel impressed on the others. “I watched with my own eyes how he was freed from the curse. I fought by his side against maleficars and undead. Lastly, he divulged secrets of Archean magic to Eleanor and me. He is our ally through and through.”
“That is enough for me.” Valerius shrugged. “He could be stark raving mad for all I care. If Martel trusts him, so do I.”
“My mind still reels from all you have said, but this entire venture does make more sense with the support of a native,” Cornelia considered. “Regardless, as the mageknight said, we are committed. And any mage is a valuable addition to our cause.”
“With regard to that, the hour is late. We should make our plans for tomorrow. I am sure we are all eager to sleep,” Eleanor remarked.
“Of course. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the city and begin investigating the houses,” Henry said. “Destroy those that aren’t fit for purpose anymore. We can begin moving people into the city after that.”
“I have looked at the river, and it seems odd to me that it flows so far from the city,” Cornelia considered. “I cannot make sense of how it would have supplied water back in the day.”
“It was much closer back then,” Atreus explained. “It used to run right against the southern wall.” He turned and pointed into the dark.
“Erosion,” Henry considered. “Three centuries do change a landscape.”
“In that case, I have my task. I shall require your help, Henry, diverting the course of the river,” the watermage declared. “But it can wait until you have finished examining the city. I will make my own investigation of building a water system.”
“I shall keep up the fieldwork, I suppose,” Valerius said. “Empowered strength does make it faster to haul logs and big rocks about, or tearing out tree stumps.”
“I will hunt in the forest,” Eleanor decided. “They are teeming with game, and it will help our provisions stretch.”
“I’ll keep enchanting heating stones. Some comforts for our people will raise their spirits amidst all the work,” Martel mused.
“My skills are less useful for these purposes, but I know the area well. I’ll do some scouting of the land and maybe look towards the old iron mines. See what I can learn,” Atreus said, to which none argued, though they also did not know the full truth of it. Martel did, and he understood what the spellbreaker kept silent; their arrival to Archen would cause a disturbance, and if a vengeful lich stalked the lands, he would have reason to return.
Martel hoped that Atreus would be up for such a battle should it happen while he was away from the city, but he had to trust that the spellbreaker knew his own powers. His continued survival suggested as much. The same went for every mage seated around the circle; each had their own skills and tasks, and they would have to depend on each other to not only survive, but eventually thrive. “Very well. We all know what do. You should all sleep.”
The wizards rose from their seats and went back to the camp, scattered into different directions. Walking with Eleanor back to their tent, Martel exchanged a quick greeting with the watchman they passed, recognising him as a former legionary from the fifth cohort, and they went to seek sleep.
FORTY-SIX
A TRIUMVIRATE DIVIDED
Each day was marked with hard work. The first fields were cleared with the utmost speed to allow planting of the first crop before it became too late. Fences provided a place for sheep and cows, and simple wooden houses rose to provide a home for the farmers. As for the craftsmen, they began to move into Archen.
The destruction was extensive; every tall building in the city had been damaged, as was the case for most larger structures. And everything near the centre had practically been demolished. Fortunately, many smaller houses had survived with minimal damage, providing housing for nearly all the settlers, being few in numbers compared to what the city once held.
The walls, enchanted beyond measure and also furthest from the epicentre of the destruction, stood unharmed. Henry and Cornelia spent long days correcting the course of the river, splitting its flow to travel both north and south outside the city. The northern stream provided drinking water while the southern would eventually be connected to sewers, flushing away the filth of the city without contaminating their drinking supply.
Martel eventually finished enchanting, at least for the time being. He made rounds visiting his people, listening to their grievances and problems, which he brought to the council of leaders, the first version of a conclave, to solve. He collected herbs and made potions to cure ills as he came across them. Unlike in Morcaster or many of his travels, he used his magic only to help and aid; everywhere, the sight of his black staff was welcomed, and he felt content.
A month had passed when the emissary from Khiva arrived.
A sentinel posted to the south came walking with the rider. Martel was quickly alerted, along with the other mages close by. They met the envoy on the edge of their camp, which still housed many of the farmers yet to have a home built to them.
“You lead these people?” the Khivan spoke from atop his horse.
Martel regarded him coolly. “I do.”
“This message is for you. It requires no written reply. I take my leave.” The emissary handed over a letter into Martel’s hand, turned his horse, and rode away.
Martel quickly broke the seal and read it. Next to him, Valerius looked at him with concern. “What does it say?”
“Fetch the others. We must hold a council.”
The leaders still met seated on fallen logs around a heating stone as they had on the first night; a canopy had been raised to shield them from rain, but otherwise, they stayed here, as it lay partly between the city and the outer fields.
Martel let the letter wander from one hand to another. “It’s not a negotiation. Just an ultimatum. They claim we are on Khivan lands. We must leave, go west to Aster, or they’ll drive us out.”
“That is tantamount to a declaration of war,” Valerius declared, bristling. “How much time do they give us?”
“It does not say. Where is the border?” Martel asked. “What land can we rightfully claim as ours?”
“A second tributary to the Savena, some thirty miles south of the one providing our water,” Atreus explained. “That was the old border.”
“If they intend to wage war on us, they must cross that river,” Eleanor considered. “We cannot hope to outlast them in a siege. If they march against us, preventing that crossing is our best defence.”
“We can’t find some compromise?” Henry asked nervously.
“Let them come,” Cornelia spoke with a cold voice. “We did not do all this work only to have these dogs steal it from us. They cannot be any worse than the Tyrians.”
“We must prepare. We must begin training our people for war. At least the veterans have the skill,” Valerius considered. He looked at Eleanor. “That must be our task.”
“Agreed, but there is a more urgent matter. Our second wave of settlers is meant to come this summer, harvest at the latest. Without them, we cannot reopen the mines or have iron ore,” Eleanor reminded them. “We also need to spend some of our funds on weapons and have them shipped here immediately, as we will not have enough – it will take too long before our own smiths have ore to work with. But this can only be accomplished if we have a ship arriving before the Khivans march on us.”
“Will they even allow it? They control any traffic up the Savena,” Martel pointed out.
“The ship will fly Asterian colours. Their strife is with us,” Eleanor argued. “But we must send someone to Morcaster now and have the second expedition launched. At worst, they must march back here rather than sail all the way.”
“Who shall go?” asked Valerius. “Anyone with experience of war is needed here.”
They all looked at Henry, who visibly grew more uncomfortable each moment.
“I’ll go,” Martel declared, sparing his friend further misery. “In case anybody in Morcaster tries to put obstacles in our way as last time.” Whether Nine Lords of the Senate itself, Martel would not let anything threaten his new home. “I am also best suited at protecting the transport, should it come to that.” Whether cannons or enemy ships, Martel knew his magic was superior.
None looked particularly pleased at having the legendary battlemage leave their company, especially not Eleanor, used to being by his side through dangers. But none could argue against his reasoning. “Hurry,” she told him, and he inclined his head to her.
“I’ll scout,” Atreus said, and the others looked at him in surprise; he often remained silent throughout these meetings, and most seemed to forget he was present. “I’m good at avoiding attention, and I can borrow Khivan clothing from our people. We’ll have advance warning when they come for us.”
Martel took a deep breath, trying to suppress his rising sense of dread. He did not relish the prospect of being gone for close to two months before he could return, during which time anything could happen. The thought of another war with Khiva, and that this time, they would be defending their fragile home against cannons and muskets… Perhaps worst of all, this would invite the return of the Firebrand. Clutching his black staff, Martel retired to his and Eleanor’s tent. A forced march awaited him tomorrow, where every day would count.
FORTY-SEVEN
HASTY
Martel bid Eleanor a hasty farewell; she had her own affairs as the person left in charge of Archen, along with making their preparations for a defence, whether at the river or their walls. As for him, he set out on his march without delay. He could not sail back to Morcaster; they had no boat, and even if he got his hands on one, the Khivans would undoubtedly notice him on the open river and seek to detain him. Instead, he followed the ancient road that led from Archen into Aster.
