Swimming in Lakes

They walked for a full day, going deeper into the marshes while keeping to a north-western direction. Although they cast many anxious glances behind them, they saw no sign of pursuers. Either the legion had not guessed their route, or they had yet to catch up to the fugitives. They spent a second night in the wetlands, mostly scratching themselves; spring brought not only melting waters and blossoms, but also countless insects.

With the sun rising to their right, they continued on their course the next day. As Martel recalled, they should reach the edge of the wetlands before nightfall. If so, it might be wise to keep going through the night, given that open land awaited them. They could find their footing well enough in the dark, and they would put some distance between themselves and their pursuers before daylight returned, making it harder to hide in such terrain.

The land was still muddy and wet beneath their boots when Eleanor reached out to grab him by the arm. She dropped to her knees, pulling him with her. He understood at once why and began scouting around them. "What do you see?" he whispered.

She pointed towards his left. He turned his head and discovered what she had seen. A band of legionaries, probably a score. Martel was not afraid to fight such a number, but it would reveal their position. They would have no chance of reaching Nordmark undiscovered. Hundreds of soldiers would converge on them, hunting them down.

"How can they be here?" Martel questioned. "They couldn't possibly have marched as fast as we did."

"No, but a rider could have reached the Thirteenth Legion. Those men are not from our camp."

"Well, with luck, they'll continue past us. We'll wait and sneak by once it's dark."

The band of soldiers began moving directly towards them. "No such luck." Eleanor looks behind them. "We retreat. Find a better battleground that hems them in."

"And after that? We'll need a new route."

"One problem at a time."

***

When satisfied with where they would make their stand, Martel and Eleanor stopped. She took out her bow and stuck a handful of arrows into the ground. Martel sorely wished he had armour or just his staff, but magic would have to do. Some aggressive spells, a well-placed bolt of lightning or two, should be more than enough to deal with what he could now count to be twenty-four soldiers.

Eleanor drew her dagger and handed it to him. "Just in case."

"Thanks." He stuck it in his belt. He preferred his hands free for spellcasting. Suddenly, something stuck out to him. "Eleanor, those leading the column… they're not soldiers, are they? They got armour, but their uniform is wrong."

She took a deep breath. "Those are inquisitors. We should be grateful they chose to wear blue. It makes it easy to count them. Four of them."

Martel did not believe it at first; how could inquisitors be out here, so soon? Unless they had already been on their way. Travelling to Esmouth for him. Probably another card for Wulfstan to play, should his threat against Eleanor not have worked.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Martel knew this changed the fight; he should not underestimate the inquisitors. Yet he could not help but smile. He had no reason to hold back. Those zealots hated magic; today they would learn to fear it.

But he needed a way to fight them. He had no armour and only a dagger. He was under-equipped compared to them, his spells would not work on them, and their presence would make it difficult for him to hit the soldiers around them. Eleanor could not fight all of them on her own. Usually, Martel would drop rocks or the like from above, letting gravity do magic's work, but he was in a swamp. Reeds would not have the same effect.

He looked at the surrounding water, trying to think of what might work. "Eleanor," he spoke as an idea came to him. "Get up on land."

***

They had chosen well where to defend. A small strip of dry land with just two approaches, unless the soldiers wanted to brave the waters, which might be deceptively deep. Even if they could reach the bottom, walking through it in full armour would slow them down and make it near impossible to fight against an agile, empowered mageknight.

The attackers split up. Five soldiers behind each inquisitor on a line, preventing Martel from landing any spells without striking the gold-clad mage hunter in front. They were not fools.

Each group made their own approach. Two over the small trails of dry land, two moving through the water to outflank the mages. Eleanor shot her arrows, aiming at the inquisitors, but she struck only their armour or buckler, inflicting no damage.

Martel focused. Water resisted him, as always, especially a larger body like this. It did not wish to obey him, and his ability to shape it was limited. But all he needed was a little, to make it flood the nearest trail. With drawn weapons, the inquisitors ran forward, followed by the legionaries.

Martel responded with his spellwork. A wall of flames covered one of the approaches. The inquisitor jumped right through, undeterred, but the spell remained, and the legionaries did not have the same courage, lacking golden protection. Eleanor engaged the lone inquisitor while Martel turned towards the other trail. The water had washed over it, just enough to connect both sides.

Martel summoned lightning between his fingers and aimed it at the ground. The inquisitor gave a contemptuous smile as she raised her axe, her boot making a splash with each step. She wore gold around her neck, her arms, on her fingers, by her belt, and even on her bootstraps.

The lightning struck the water. The deadly magic shot up from underneath, entering the inquisitor's body through the sole of her foot. It did the same to the soldiers behind her. All of them twisted in agony and fell to the ground. Martel hurried forward, drawing his dagger to implant it in the skull of the inquisitor. As for the legionaries, any survivors began crawling away.

Martel turned towards the other two groups, making their slow, circumventing approach through ankle-deep water. They all realised their mistake.

"Run! Run!"

Martel did not care about the soldiers. He watched as the inquisitors both doubled their efforts, trying to run faster through the marsh. He still had time to summon lightning twice. Some of the legionaries made it away in time, some did not. Nor did the mage hunters.

Martel turned towards Eleanor, watching her slide her blade in just above her enemy's collarbone. He dismissed his wall of flames, only to see the legionaries behind had long since retreated.

"That was fast," Eleanor remarked, watching the soldiers run for their lives. "How did you learn to do that?"

Martel bent over the nearest inquisitor. "My dad told me a story of a man who went swimming in a lake during a thunderstorm. A cautionary tale."

"What are you doing now?" she asked as he began pilfering their belongings. "Are you – looting the dead?"

"It's gold. They're all wearing lots of gold."

She exhaled. "Right. Not something we can ignore." She sighed and began doing the same as him.

"What do we do now?" Martel asked as he removed a ring from each hand of the corpse. "If they got the route to Tyria covered, they'll definitely know to look for us if we go south."

"I know." Eleanor ripped a necklace away. "There is only one place they will not dare to follow us."

Martel could not suppress a bitter laughter. Last fiveday, they had made a desperate escape from that very place, barely making it across the river. Now that same body of water offered them salvation again if they went the opposite way.

"You disagree?" She stood up and gave him a questioning look.

"No. You're right. To Khiva it is."