Chapter 573: Mage of Fire

Chapter 573: Mage of Fire

Mage of Fire

Nothing further happened that day; either the Khivans had yet to pass by, or they had already done so earlier. In case it was the former, the two Asterians and their Tyrian guide made camp, trying to disguise their presence as best they could. Freydis arranged their brown cloaks like a primitive tent to shield them from unfriendly eyes, at least from a distance. Martel and Eleanor placed their runes of warning at the most likely approaches, and they used the same schedule for keeping watch as last night.

As Martel lay down, he felt uneasy despite their precautions; he doubted whether he could get any rest, knowing how defenceless they would be, should the Khivans stumble upon their camp. But he closed his eyes, and a few moments later, he fell into a deep sleep.

***

As the night ended, each of them granted a few hours of rest, they continued keeping watch, but this time with their eyes aimed at the trail down the slope. Two of them stayed in their primitive camp, out of sight, while a third lay at the top of the hill, waiting for signs of movement.

Waiting while staying hidden was as tedious as could be expected. Unnecessary sounds or movements could get them discovered and killed, so Martel sat at the foot of the hill, doing nothing. The hardest part was that they could not know whether they had made it in time; the supply train might have passed by yesterday before they arrived.

To amuse himself, Martel grabbed a rock and began enchanting it with heat. He did not put serious effort into it he had to conserve his spellpower for any potential fight but it gave him something to focus on. Once he began to sink his magic into the material, his attention and mind went the same way, and he did not notice the passage of time.

***

She looked at him. "Your choice. I trust you either way," she replied in the same manner.

Martel bit his lip. If he tried, every Khivan would be alerted to their presence. They had never fought this number of enemies during their skirmishes. Furthermore, they were days away from the outpost, making for a long and dangerous journey back. Failure meant a great deal of danger all to achieve nothing.

But if he succeeded, it would alleviate a lot of pressure on the outpost. When it came down to it, Martel was a battlemage. He favoured offence over defence. Sliding his staff forward until the tip with its ruby reached over the hill, he prepared his spell. Moments later, the air crackled with energy as lightning soared from his staff to strike at the cart.

Inadvertently, a Khivan stepped in front. His face became cooked, taking the full brunt of the spell. Shouting in their tongue, the other guards spread out, taking cover behind the cart or trees. Bullets began flying, as the spell had given away the location of the Asterians.

Fighting against his rising fear, Martel realised that by scattering, the Khivans had opened a path for him. With another lightning bolt, he poured perhaps more magic than necessary into his attack against an inanimate object. The spell struck the cart and set it aflame.

More shouting in Khivan ensued; one soldier tried to grab a barrel and haul it out of the cart, whereas the others had the sense to flee. The flames acting as a lighthouse, Martel easily connected to the burning cart and poured spellpower into the connection, feeding the flames to quickly spread. His efforts were immediately rewarded as the blaze reached the barrels and ignited the powder within.

An explosion unlike anything Martel had ever known ensued. The cart was practically torn to shreds. The Khivan trying to unload the wagon was torn limb from limb. Fire and heat developed on a scale Martel could not have imagined, and through his connection, he felt it all. It intoxicated him faster and better than the strongest wine. The sheer destructive power was overwhelming, and as he looked at the Khivans down the hill, he knew that he could fight them all. He could kill them all.

"Martel!" Eleanor's hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Like coming out of a daze, Martel's became alert to his surroundings once more. It was pointless to stay and fight; the task was complete. It was time to make their escape before the Khivans pulled themselves together and outflanked them. Pushing himself up on his feet, Martel turned around, and he followed Eleanor in an empowered sprint down the hill, away from the site of the ambush.