Threads Bound Together

"You can speak, you know. That is the whole reason you and I are here." Shadi laughed a little, and in that moment, he recognised his old friend.

"It feels like I last saw you a lifetime ago, and yet you've hardly changed." He stared at her in disbelief.

"You have. A little." She extended a finger to run over his stubbled cheek. "I don't remember any of that last I saw you."

"If I had known you were coming, I would have shaved." They both laughed, and some of the tension that had wound itself around Martel's spine ever since entering the Khivan encampment slowly vanished. "Can I hug you? Would that break any rules?"

"I'm sure it will be fine. From what the commander tells me, we are not enemies, after all." She leaned in, and they exchanged a tight embrace before she pulled back.

"How is it you are standing here? Did you know I was here? This can't all be coincidence," Martel considered.

"It is in part. When I joined the service, there was no deeper thought behind me being posted in Namin. They had need of someone fluent in Asterian to read messages and intercepted correspondence. We heard about the battlemage being posted to the Tenth Legion, of course, but I had no knowledge it was you. When a name finally reached us, it was 'Firebrand'." She gave him a curious look.

"Yeah, that's not really worth getting into."

"However, when Commander Azar sent a missive to our office requesting a reeve to help him disentangle the situation, he included your names. I was sent for obvious reasons."

Martel looked at her, up and down. He had never before seen her in Khivan clothing. "I would not have expected you in such a line of work."

"It was not my first choice. But speaking fluent Asterian is a rare skill in Khiva, yet at the same time, it is also rarely in need. Except in the army." She gave a resigned smile.

"What of your father?"

"He is well, all things considered. Without his tools, he cannot do much work except assist other watchmakers. He lives with some of our relatives." Her smile faded before returned. "You still have the clock he made for you?"

"I wish. It got destroyed."

"A pity. It would have needed adjustment sooner or later, though, to stay precise, and good luck finding a Khivan watchmaker in Morcaster. It would not have lasted anyway." She looked up at him, and Martel thought he might have a thousand more questions, yet he could not think of what to say. "We better get to the task at hand. It would be embarrassing if the commander returns with Eleanor, and we are chatting about old days." She moved over to sit down in one of the chairs, and Martel took the other. "I am surprised to see the daughter of a patrician as not only a protector, but now also an exile. But maybe I shouldn't be, considering it is alongside you." Her tone of voice changed slightly, and she regarded him inquisitively.

"She's done more for me than I can ever repay. She knew I'd never survive my posting without a truly dedicated protector, and she took that role," Martel explained.

"I might have thought that Maximilian would have done that."

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"He had his own plans."

"So you arrived in Esmouth, the pair of you. I assume no other battlemage have served with the legion? We should assume that every report we received would be about you and none other?"

"Yes." Martel suddenly felt guilty. He had never expected to be confronted by how many Khivans he had killed; what a menace he must have appeared to them. "I'm not proud of it." He felt an inexplicable urge to explain himself to her. "It's not what I wanted. But I thought I had to."

Her professional demeanour softened. "I know." She straightened her back. "Alright. Tell me what led to you and Eleanor deserting."

Martel took a deep breath and began to explain.

***

Eventually, the commander and Eleanor returned. They traded places, and Martel left the tent in Azar's company. For once, Martel was allowed up on the battlements, and together, they walked along the fortifications. If Martel were a spy, he made little use of the opportunity to investigate the Khivan encampment, though the darkness did not reveal much either; his head overflowed with complicated thoughts and feelings, seeing Shadi. He simply did not know what to think.

When the evening was over, Martel and Eleanor returned to their confinement; he was only able to bid Shadi farewell silently, at a distance, but he imagined she would not immediately depart the camp. Hopefully, he would see her again.

Once alone, Martel pulled out the lightstone from under his blanket, letting it illuminate the space between him and Eleanor. "So, that was a surprise."

Eleanor seemed her usual composed self; Martel did not imagine meeting that particular familiar face had affected her the same either. "It was, though I see how she would end up in such a position. Being a native speaker of Asterian is useful in her line of work."

"What do you think it means? Not just her being here, but the commander asking for a reeve to come and question us?"

"That he is a cautious man, and he did not believe our stories as readily as we would have liked. But we have spoken the truth, and I do not see what more we could have done." She removed her outer layer of garments and crawled down under her blanket. "We should sleep. Nothing good will come of us endlessly speculating. I imagine we will know more when morning comes."

Martel hid the lightstone away and followed her example, though sleep did not come easily to him.

***

Commander Azar sat in his chair once more, regarding Shadi with crossed arms. "So?"

"Every detail matches what we know, my lord. There is no doubt that Sir Martel is the battlemage of the Tenth Legion and the one now known as the Firebrand. Likewise, Sir Fontaine does seem to be his protector and have participated in all the same events as him."

"And what about their desertion?"

"We have not been informed of this happening, but given how recent it is, that is understandable. There is always a delay for information from Esmouth in reaching us. And it does fit with the increased activity of legionaries along the western bank, which we otherwise have not been able to explain," Shadi elaborated. She returned the commander's gaze. "My impression is that they are both truthful. We do know that this decurion, Sir Dominic, was killed during their recent campaign. The death of a mageknight would have been noticed if done by our own, such as when it happened to Sir Avery, prefect of the fifth cohort. A dispute between him and Sir Martel is plausible, and it strengthens the impression that there is dissent within the ranks of the legion, just as they hope to exploit."

"You do seem well informed," the commander granted, muttering. "But one thread of this tale still troubles me. Sir Fontaine."

"What about her?"

"She is of a patrician family. Her father rose to the rank of legate despite being unmarked – a rare feat for them. She does have the mark, and with all these advantages, she could very well have risen to the rank of captain prefect. After all, she seems very competent as a knight."

Shadi nodded. "She is certainly skilled, according to our reports."

"Yet she gave all of that up to become the protector of a peasant boy? Not only that, she forsakes everything, abandoning honour and reputation, to become a deserter." Azar leaned back in his seat, scratching his beard. "I am familiar with nobility. That is not how they act."

She cleared her throat. "There is an explanation for that as well."

"Well?"

"I observed them when they spoke with you, my lord, and when they separated or met again, leaving and entering the tent. Her eyes continuously returned to him."

The commander shrugged. "She is there to protect him, is she not?"

"If so, she should be watching every other direction from where danger might actually come. But her eyes were drawn to him. Even when others spoke."

Azar stroked his beard. "You are dismissed."

"My lord."