Native Asterians

Days passed where the two Asterians neither saw nor heard from Azar. His adjutant, the one who spoke their language, appeared each day and accompanied them out of camp, giving them the opportunity to take in sunlight and fresh air. He made polite conversation but refused to answer any questions regarding what the commander was doing or might do.

Their humble abode was a former storage room for weapons, they realised, when Eleanor found a musket ball in the corner. Martel enchanted it to provide illumination for them, though he kept it so weak that he could stick it in a pocket, and nobody would see its light. Other than that, he abstained from magic, even anything that would be invisible to mundane eyes. Eleanor did the same, of course; spending most of their time inside a small room, they had little need of magic anyway.

"Why this delay?" Martel asked during one of their conversations inside their involuntary home. "It seems a simple decision."

"If we are unlucky, he has sent word to the Khivan capital and awaits a response for what to do, which could take months."

"I'm not staying as a prisoner for that long," Martel declared. "He must know that."

"Maybe he wants to see how desperate we are for help. How long before we demand a response."

"When do we? You can't be satisfied either, waiting day after day in here."

"I am not. Washing in the cold basin every other day is no substitute for a real bath. But even if the commander is true to his word and allows us to leave without incident, that protection ends once we are out of camp. We will once more be caught between two armies, and this time, both of them will be hunting us."

Martel laid down on his cot and stared at the ceiling, where his lightstone made the shadows dance as he turned it around between his fingers. "Sooner or later, that's going to look like the more enticing prospect."

***

The following day, Eleanor's wish came true; they were given the opportunity to bathe. They also received fresh clothing while their old garments were washed. It soon became apparent this was not simply a friendly gesture; in the evening, they were taken to the commander's tent.

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This was not for supper; they had received a meal earlier, and the table inside the tent stood empty. An adjutant remained by the entrance while Azar himself already sat down, inviting his guests to do the same. "Let me first say that I appreciate your patience. I know you have waited a long while without receiving word of any kind."

"We understand the situation is more complex than it may seem," Eleanor assented. Martel disagreed, but he kept quiet.

"It is. I wanted to gain a better understanding before rushing to judgement. I sent a missive to the nearby town of Namin. Our intelligence service maintains an office there, and they have sent one of their reeves to speak with you, one at a time. I trust you will have no issues repeating your story to her?"

"Not at all," Eleanor declared. Martel disagreed once again; if Azar made the decisions, what was the point of repeating themselves to a subordinate? But he knew Eleanor was better at navigating this than him, so he followed her lead. Probably easier to just get it over with than make an issue out of it.

"Excellent. There is one question I should like to return to." The commander looked at each of them in turn with his dark eyes. "Why exactly did you desert?"

His words hung in the air. Finally, Eleanor turned her head towards Martel. "It happened to you. You should tell him."

The battlemage cleared his throat. "They gave us missions. Task upon task, risking our lives. At last, they went one step too far. They wanted to send me deep into Khiva, completing a mission that I could never expect to survive. And if I refused, they threatened to kill Eleanor." His voice trembled ever so slightly as he spoke her name, and though he looked at the commander, he felt her eyes on him.

"The task was to destroy your powder mill that supplies the defences at Nahavand," she chimed in, looking at the commander. "They know its location."

"The information is appreciated." Azar looked at the mageknight. "So he was condemned to death. And you followed him into exile?"

Her eyes returned to Martel. "I am his protector."

"That is noble of you." The commander scrutinised her for a moment before he spoke again. "Very well." He looked at his adjutant and spoke in Khivan, and the aide quickly left. "I asked him to bring the reeve. You may speak in my tent, of course."

Martel thought about Wulfstan, the Asterian spy whose schemes had caused all of this. If this worked, and that slimy fellow was still in Esmouth, Martel would pay him a visit. Though he probably had the good sense to get out; the battlemage hoped that at least his head still hurt from the parting kick Martel gave him on the bridge.

The adjutant returned with a woman, and Martel felt his mouth become dry. She was older, and she did not wear Asterian clothing, but Khivan robes similar to what Eleanor had been given. Her hair was longer as well. But it was undoubtedly Shadi that stood before him with a professional demeanour. She spoke a brief Khivan word in greeting, bowing her head to the commander.

"As I told them, you may speak here," Azar explained to her. "Sir Fontaine, would you accompany me on an evening stroll? Once we return, I will take Sir Martel on the same walk, and you may speak with the young woman afterwards."

Eleanor cleared her throat. "Of course." She followed the commander and the adjutant out of the tent with a lingering look at Martel. He, in turn, stared at Shadi, at a loss for words.

"Hullo, Martel."