Supper with the Enemy

When Martel woke, he found himself in complete darkness, which immediately made his heartbeat double in pacing. Only Eleanor's rhythmic breathing made him feel calm again, and he recalled where they were. She was still asleep, he surmised, so he avoided igniting any flames. Instead, he fumbled about in the dark until he found the jar of water, taking a sip from it. Nearly empty. They would need more, but he doubted they would be allowed to go and refill it.

He looked around, although the dark did not allow him to see anything. Their current premises were about the same size as the shelter in the thicket had been, but the similarities ended there. Martel had felt free and at ease in that place; this was a prison, no matter that they could get out of it. The door would not withstand a lightning bolt, but Martel could not contend with the thousands of Khivan soldiers outside. If the commander decided that he did not have to honour any promise made to a pair of Asterian deserters, nothing could force him to do so.

"Good morning. If that is the right hour."

Hearing her voice, Martel ignited a light between them. "Good morning. Yeah, I don't know."

"Is there any water?"

"Sorry. Let me see if I can get more." Martel picked up the jar and their empty plates and walked over to knock on the door, extinguishing his flame. It opened immediately, and he was a little surprised; he had expected a bolt or padlock on the other side. Outside stood a Khivan soldier; sunlight revealed it was indeed morning or later in the day. "Could we have some food and water?" Martel asked, extending the jar and plates. Wordlessly, the soldier accepted them and closed the door. While he might not understand Asterian, the empty items spoke their own language. Martel returned to sit on his cot. "How long do you think we'll be kept waiting?"

"I cannot say, but impatience will not help us, Martel. We have made our case. There is nothing further we can do but wait."

"I guess. Do you think he'll go for it?"

"He is a hard man to read, as should be expected. But he loses nothing by aiding us. No matter the outcome, our return to the Tenth will cause disruption."

"As long as he doesn't decide executing the mages who killed hundreds of his soldiers might be good for morale."

"That was always the risk we knew we would run, coming here."

The door opened suddenly. The soldier placed a full jar and two plates with bread and vegetables on the ground before closing it again. "At least they aren't starving us." Martel picked up the jar and one plate, giving both to Eleanor, before taking the other for himself.

***

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Martel did not know how many hours passed when the door opened again; judging by the waning sunlight, it was evening. Outside stood one of Azar's adjutants, the same one who had impersonated him yesterday. "The commander invites you to eat with him tonight."

"Far be it from us to decline," Martel replied, and they both followed the aide to the commander's tent.

The table, which probably held maps, correspondence, and the like normally, now stood filled with a variety of dishes and plates set for six people. Three adjutants, the commander, and two Asterians. "Please, come and take a seat," Azar said, making an inviting gesture as he took a place in the middle. The mages sat down next to him along one side. Martel noticed that he still wore lots of gold, though none of the other Khivans did.

"We appreciate your kindness," Eleanor remarked.

"Eleanor Fontaine. Your family are patricians once of Aquila, correct?" Azar asked.

"Indeed. I am honoured you would know such a thing."

"Even if I did not, your bearing makes your upbringing clear. Though I did know your father. Not personally, but as the commander of the Tenth Legion," Azar explained. "A skilled adversary who thwarted my efforts in taking Esmouth when the war first began."

"You've been in command here for a long time, then," Martel said casually as he filled his cup with wine.

"I have. I do not recognise your family name, I admit."

"I don't have one. Engby is just the town where I'm from."

"I see. All the more reason you create your own name. Though my knowledge of Asterian fails me. I thought 'Firebrand' was more of a metaphor than meant literally."

"Right. Yeah, it's a bit complicated," Martel mumbled. He was not keen on explaining how he had acquired the nickname, or from whom.

"It does amuse me a little. You do not speak Khivan, I assume." The commander glanced at his guests, and both of them shook their heads. "My family name, 'Azar', means 'fire'. To us, it is sacred."

"I do not speak Khivan, my lord, but I am aware that the royal house of Khiva is named thus," Eleanor related, which she had explained to Martel earlier; their host was in some manner a relation of the Khivan shah.

"So we are both men of fire at this table," the commander jested with a thin smile.

One of the adjutants made a remark in Khivan.

"My aides do not approve of my playful words. As said, fire is sacred to us. The fact that so many of our soldiers would die to this element seems – sacrilegious in a sense," Azar explained. He spoke in such a neutral manner, Martel had no idea if he agreed with this or not. "For that same reason, I suggest you avoid invoking your powers while here. My people would be uncomfortable with any display of magic, but fire would especially be ill-considered."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Martel promised as he stuffed himself with food. Besides enjoying the variety after living on rations for most of the past month, he did not know when he would get the chance again. Next to him, Eleanor did the same with slightly more dignity.

***

The meal ended soon after, and a soldier led them back to their quarters. Once alone, Martel lay down on his cot while Eleanor took hers. "They are well-informed," she considered. "Though I suppose our own military intelligence have the same knowledge about the Khivans."

"I would have thought he'd be more hesitant to share such things."

"I think tonight's supper was for our benefit. He wanted us to understand we are not popular in this place."

"That's hardly a surprise."

"I think he meant that his ability to act might be restricted. If he lets us go, he will have to answer for it."

"It doesn't change things for us though, does it?" Martel looked around their four walls, illuminated by his floating flame. "Nothing we can do while in here."

"Just be certain to extinguish your magic whenever the door's opened."

Martel let the flame disappear. "Yes, prefect."