704. The Open Road (Patreon)

Every now and then, Martel stole a glance at Eleanor riding by his side. He had never known happiness like this, or imagined that such existed at all. Whenever she noticed his eyes on her, she would shake her head, smile, laugh, or some combination thereof.

They rarely met others. The war had suppressed travel. A courier had thundered past them one of the first days after they left Morcaster, so they assumed news were spreading of a return to peaceful times, but it would still take a while for normalcy to resume, and few people had reason to journey on the Imperial road this deep in winter.

They camped at the roadside, finding the little spots that other travellers had created over the years; places near water, trees with branches providing firewood and shelter from precipitation, and so on. After their time together, the two mages had an easy rhythm of the mundane tasks that needed doing. If one fetched water, another got firewood; Martel would enchant a stone to provide heat despite the cold night, and Eleanor got a hot meal cooking. If the ground was rough, he would use a bit of earth magic to smooth it out, and both cast runes of warning as a routine precaution to surround their camp.

Sometimes they spoke, sometimes the evening was spent in silence, but never in unhappiness, and they spent their last waking moments as they had their first night together.

Still, Martel slept uneasy. He woke early, sometimes while dawn was still far away, finding it hard to get back to sleep. Hearing Eleanor's breathing always calmed him and brought him back to the present, but every time he heard the sound of an animal scurrying about or a bird flapping its wings, he imagined a Khivan musket being fired or an arrow whistling through the air.

Eleanor did not have the same issue; she had always been stronger than him, physically and mentally. She slept through the night soundly, and he saw no reason to wake her. Sometimes, he might conjure up a weak flame, just enough illumination to make out the features of her face.

Martel knew he should be content; he had everything he could have hoped for. Peace in the Empire, freed from his obligations, and the woman he had loved for years by his side. But in those quiet moments of the night, unable to sleep, noticing the cold of the world struggle against the fading heat from his enchanted stone, Martel felt like he had an old wound in his chest, like a splinter of a dagger had broken off and remained inside; the injury had healed, but he still felt the edge hurting him with no recourse for remedy.

But always, the night ended, the sun rose. Eleanor greeted him with a smile and drowsy words, he smiled back, forgetting the nocturnal hours, and he felt happy once more as the day continued.

At times, when the weather was at its worst, they sought refuge at the nearest farm or homestead, requesting shelter in the barn or such. Sometimes, the peasants offered the travellers their own home or even their own bed; while their status as wizards might not be obvious, they carried weapons and had the bearing of warriors. Martel always refused such proposals; at most, he accepted any food they offered, if it looked like they could spare it considering it was winter, and he made sure to pay for it.

If their hosts denied taking payment, he left the silver behind somewhere they would find it. It was impossible to tell whether the locals made these offers out of kindness or out of fear for two well-armed travellers, and taking something from common folk who could hardly afford to lose it was the last thing Martel wanted on his conscience. In comparison, his purses burst with coin, his belt held gems, and should he ever run out, he could sell an enchantment for more silver than these people owned.

He also spent half an hour in the morning enchanting a heating stone that would last the next few months until spring and explained this briefly to the family before they rode off; he did not require their gratitude, but it would irk him if their lack of knowledge concerning magic made them frightened of a stone exuding heat, causing them to throw it away.

Eleanor never interfered or questioned his decisions, whether to accept or deny food, leave payment and enchantments behind, or anything else Martel thought about doing. She tended to their horses, ensured their equipment was in good condition, and patiently waited for him to finish his tasks.

Once, seeing a new field being prepared to be tilled in spring but full of tree stumps, Martel burnt them to cinders, saving the farmer many days' work of digging and cutting roots. The peasant had stared in such bewilderment, Eleanor had laughed as they rode away, and Martel kept an eye out for more tree stumps to dispatch as they continued on their journey.

"Look. Smoke, in several columns." Eleanor pointed towards the horizon where, as she said, various pillars of smoke wound their way upwards. They had been on the road for several fivedays by now.

"And?"

"Well, it cannot be a single farm or lonely homestead. It must be a town, at least," Eleanor argued.

"I repeat my question."

"It is not far from the Imperial road. Should you not like a reprieve from the travails of our journey?"

"You mean to say that you'd like a better opportunity for a bath than me heating up the water in a horse trough," Martel surmised.

"It would do us both good. Maybe some proper cooking," she considered. "Neither of us have much skill in that regard."

"We're beyond the province of Morcaster," he pointed out. "If that place got a garrison, it's the Second Legion."

"So? We are at peace. If they give us trouble for whatever reason, there will at most be ten of them. Probably only five. Hardly something to worry us. Besides, solstice is tomorrow – perhaps we can find a bit of festivities and something proper to eat and drink."

He glanced at her with a touch of incredulity on his face. "You've kept track of the days?"

She shrugged. "It is simple counting. Not a great challenge."

"Well, all the more reason to stay away. I'm not afraid of a tiny garrison, but it can't help with the revelry if I burn five men to ashes on the town square while you run the other five through."

"If they recognise us, they will also know we are mages. They would never dare to say the slightest word against us," Eleanor claimed.

Martel knew she was most likely right; he could not quite tell why he felt so reluctant to enter the small town that presumably lay on the other side of the slope. Maybe because travelling alone with Eleanor reminded him of their previous journeys together, moving between army camps, a few stolen days alone before returning to duties and danger. Foolish as it seemed, he feared that once they arrived in Nordmark, in Engby, their time together like this would come to an end, like it always had previously, and entering this town would be the same, thrusting them back into the world.

Realising he had no proper arguments to deny Eleanor some comforts of civilisation, Martel spurred his horse forward to follow hers.

~~

Some info on what to expect for the next two books, since we've left the more obvious structure of Martel at school and Martel at war.
Book 7 follows Martel on adventure. Think of it as short stories set across the different continents, though a larger story will eventually emerge with recurring characters and plot, and occasionally drawing back on previous storylines and characters too.
Book 8, the final one, will be a return to Archen and tie up everything that's been sown over the previous books concerning Atreus, maleficars, Archean magic etc. If any of that intrigues you, I hope you'll stay on; the full story should be completed within this year, over the next months.

Martel's character sheet (no change).