Chapter 641: Out of Joint

Chapter 641: Out of Joint

Out of Joint

Nobody tried to murder Martel at night, whether Asterians or Khivans. He and the optio travelled mostly in silence until they reached the small outpost. Seeing it again felt eerie; Martel had never expected he would, and he remembered defending it against the enemy assault. Sneaking out at night to destroy their cannons, how those weapons broke the wall and the gate. Now they would willingly withdraw, leaving it in the hands of that same yet former enemy.

"Martel!" The voice belonged to Lucius, the old prefect. He grinned and slapped the battlemage on the shoulder as the latter dismounted. "Strange fate that brings you back to us. I'll rightly admit, it doesn't sit right with me to just abandon this place. But that's what peace is, I reckon. Accepting the situation and making do with what you got."

"Yes, I suppose. Listen, is Sir Fontaine in the main camp? Have you seen her?"

"No, I've been here all the time. Sir Lara sent me a message, explaining everything. Why?" Lucius looked at him questioningly.

"Nothing. I was just wondering." Martel would not rest until he saw her with his own eyes, but having confirmation from someone else would ease his mind a little.

"We're about ready to move out. We only really waited for you to make the journey back to Esmouth together," Lucius explained.

Martel looked at the men assembled to march on foot, along with carts. "Can you spare me a fresh horse? I'd like to travel by my own."

The prefect gave a sly smile. "We'll find one for you."

"Sir, do you wish for me to accompany you on the last stretch?" Petrus asked.

"Stand aside!" a voice yelled, cutting through the clamour. Lara's, he recognised. "Let the prefect through! You are not children, Stars above!"

Realising he should have considered using words before magic, Martel was glad the legion prefect had done it for him. The legionaries obeyed, with some difficulty; they stood so tightly, nobody could move with ease.

Tired, frustrated, his ears ringing from everyone shouting so close, Martel felt ready to actually commit violence if it would get him anywhere. So few steps remained – assuming Eleanor was in camp. Maybe she was in town. He should have asked the legionaries outside the walls. He cursed himself silently.

"Move aside!" Again a woman's voice, but not the legion prefect. The soldiers parted, like waters before the keel of a ship. He saw her. Alive, unhurt except for a bandage on her hand. She looked stern, restrained in her demeanour, but her eyes met his, conveying relief.

While riding into camp, Martel's heart had increased its pace more and more, caused by impatience, feeling aggrieved, and the unease about her fate that had haunted him for days and days; as he saw Eleanor, he became calm. His fears melted away, and nothing troubled him anymore. For so long, the world had been out of joint; at last it was set right once more.

It brought Martel to a realisation he had at times suspected, yet always ignored, assuming it to be a stray thought unworthy of serious consideration: he loved Eleanor Fontaine. Yet as he understood this, he also knew that they stood on the brink of rebellion against the Asterian Empire, and he could not indulge in such distractions that might disrupt how they worked together.

They approached each other. With everyone looking, Martel restrained his feelings to a simple smile. "Well done. You convinced a whole legion to follow you."

"You did most of the work ahead of me," she replied, mirroring his expression. She reached out her uninjured hand to squeeze his. "It is good to have you back."

"Yes." He wished he could hold on to her hand, but he knew he had to let go. "I'm glad to be back." Reluctantly, he did so.