Firebrand

Chapter 630: Azar

Azar

The sun had about an hour left before it would sink behind the horizon. Already, the sky was growing red in colour as the small band of eight Khivans and two Asterians walked towards a fortified position. From afar, it resembled what an Asterian legion might build. Ditches complicated any approach while adding height to the earthworks behind, further reinforced by palisades. The main difference would be, Martel noticed as they got closer, that a cannon stood mounted upon the ramparts near the gate.

As they passed through the entrance, Martel felt the eyes of everyone upon them. Their looks were wary at best, but mostly outright hostile. Inside the walls, rows of tents stretched out, and numerous soldiers sat in front of them, busy with the many tasks that always needed to be done, whether living at home or in an army camp.

They continued a short while deeper until their way forward was barred. To each side stood a handful of musketmen, their weapons raised. Martel noticed a cannon slightly to his left. Directly ahead was a man in Khivan uniform, clearly a leader. Instinct made Martel reach out with magic, and he felt nothing but cold. The officer had protected himself with gold. Behind him stood what would be his prefects, Martel imagined, and one of them likewise felt cold.

Unlike Asterians, who would be clean-shaven with their heads almost shorn, the Khivans had moustaches or other kinds of beards. They kept their hair relatively short in comparison, and their uniforms had plenty of colours.

"I am Commander Azar," spoke the man in front. "I am told you wish to parley."

"Yes. I am Eleanor Fontaine, and my companion is Martel of Engby," she explained. "With the promise of safe conduct and no hostilities to occur while negotiations take place."

"That would mostly be for your sake, given you are surrounded," the Khivan declared. "But we are not animals. Commander Azar gives his word you shall not be harmed unless you draw blood first."

Eleanor bowed her head. "We appreciate this."

"But you do not come as envoys of Aster. You have no banner declaring truce nor documents explaining your rank and purpose. If you lie to us, our patience shall be short."

Martel looked at the older officer, wondering why he along with the commander was protected by gold, but not the others standing behind Azar. He smiled as he realised why. "We'll be honest," he spoke, placing a hand on Eleanor's arm. "We are former prefects of the Tenth Legion, but we have turned against them. Now you can be forthright as well. You feared we might be assassins, so you dressed up a junior officer to look like your commander while the man himself could judge us and our intentions."

Silence reigned for a long moment before the gold-clad Khivan behind the so-called commander stepped forward. "Astute. Did my disguise fail me, or did your magic powers reveal the truth to you?"

"I can tell that you are protected by gold. None of the other prefects behind your 'commander' was," Martel admitted, hoping his honesty would be taken as a show of good faith. "Sir, if we intended violence, we would have found ways to accomplish it by now. This is not a battlefield, and we are not deceiving you. We wish only to speak and make peace."

The real commander scratched his grey beard that covered most of his face. "You swear this by your gods?"

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"By Sol, Luna, the Triumvirate. On my mother's life, who frankly I care more about," Martel replied.

"We swear it, by Sol," Eleanor reiterated.

"Very well. Let the Firebrand and his protector be my guests." Azar raised his hand, and the musketmen lowered their weapons. "Come with me to my tent."

***

The commander's tent proved to be the size of a small house, with thick blankets covering the ground and comfortable chairs for both him and several guests. A small table between him and the Asterians soon held three cups.

"I did not expect to share tea with two mages when I woke this morning," Azar remarked.

Martel took his cup while studying the commander. He seemed calm and confident, even if he had to know that either of his guests could easily kill long before any guards outside might intervene; there was only so much that golden jewellery could do to protect him. Martel tried to imagine Legate Varus in the same situation, and he doubted the commander of the Tenth Legion would have the same poise.

"We appreciate your hospitality," Eleanor replied politely as she also took her cup. Martel knew her well enough to notice that she suppressed an expression upon tasting the hot liquid. It was an acquired taste.

"Well, even in war, we can still be civilised. But the hour is late. You are deserters by your own admission. Before we speak as to your purpose, I must know why."

"We found the situation untenable. Ceaseless slaughter that would eventually lead to our deaths," Eleanor explained. "It was time to find a way to end it before this war put an end to us. Us all."

"An appealing sentiment, but difficult to see realised." Azar gave a sardonic smile. "The fact remains that you speak with no authority, which makes me wonder exactly what you are offering, and why."

The two Asterians looked at each other. They had discussed briefly how to approach this, but now the moment had come, he felt uncertain. "Go ahead," she spoke softly. "You explain it best."

Martel cleared his throat. "Commander, you revealed that you know exactly who I am."

"Yes. My adjutant believes you and your protector are responsible for the death of more than four hundred of my soldiers. That is his lowest estimate." Azar spoke with a cool voice, nothing to suggest indignation, but it unsettled Martel a little, which was probably his intention.

"Right. Well, the Tenth Legion knows us even better. And like us, they are sick of fighting a war without end. We can convince them to lay down their weapons," Martel claimed.

"If that is true, why are you here instead of their camp?"

"It would be easier to make them refuse fighting if we can guarantee they will not be attacked either."

The commander turned looked at each of them in turn, slowly. "A guarantee from me. That my army will not use this opportunity to attack Esmouth."

"It would prove that you also seek peace and that you are not their enemy after all," Eleanor added.

"And if you fail? If your legion captures you and executes you?"

"That's our problem, not yours," Martel remarked.

"And if your mutiny fails? Your legion refuses to fight, but three other legions appear and kill you all?"

"If the Asterians are fighting each other, they are not fighting you." Martel gave a shrug. "You lose nothing either way."

Azar stroked his beard with careful movements. "I will consider this. You may stay as my guest in our camp. We do have a few proper buildings that may serve as a decent guesthouse for you. But I must restrict you from moving about the camp."

"Are we prisoners?" Martel asked sharply.

"If you would rather leave, you will be escorted from here. In which case, you should hurry to escape Khivan lands. But this is a military encampment, and you are former prefects of an Asterian legion. I cannot defend that you walk around unrestricted," Azar replied with equal harshness in his voice.

"Of course. We understand, commander." This time, it was Eleanor who placed her hand on Martel's arm.

Azar called out in Khivan, and an aide appeared. A string of orders followed. "Prefects, if you will follow him."

They got up, and Eleanor gave a salute, which Martel mirrored a moment later, before they followed the Khivan soldier. He brought them to a small building with no windows and a heavy door. Inside, two cots were placed along with blankets, a candle, a jar of water, and plates with cold food. As the door closed, leaving them in darkness, Martel ignored the candle and ignited his own flame. They each sat down on their respective cots and looked at the other through the flickering shadows cast by Martel's light.

"I suppose we should eat and sleep," Eleanor finally said.

"I'll make a rune on the door." Martel got up again and began casting the rune of warning.