Chapter 660: Balancing Act

Chapter 660: Balancing Act

Balancing Act

"Martel? Martel! Please, listen to me!" Despite Eleanor's frantic pleading as she knelt in front of him, the battlemage gave no inclination that he could hear her. He stared straight ahead with watery eyes, mumbling what sounded like confessions. She placed both of her hands on his wet cheeks to cup his face. "Please forgive me, I did not mean to sound angry! I am not angry at all, I was just a little upset. I spoke without thinking!"

Martel felt his blood pounding in his ear. His eyes shone as if sick with fever, and his face burned with heat. When his soul stood before Sol to receive judgement, he would surely be punished with a thousand years of fire.

"You must know how I care for you. You are not a murderer, you are a good and kind soul, I swear that you are," she mumbled.

Her words did not reach him, but he felt her touch and reacted to it, turning his head either way towards one hand and afterwards the other.

"Please, please, come back to me."

"I'm a monster."

She strengthened her grip on his face. "You are not!" Almost gasping for breath herself, she continued, "you must know what you mean to us all. To me."

The sound of his own heartbeat subsided, but Martel still felt like he was on fire. His hand shot up to grab both of her wrists, and flickering motes of fire appeared on his skin.

"Martel," she whispered, distraught, "it's me."

Her voice finally came through to him. Blinking through the haze of his own tears and terror, he realised that the fire he so feared threatened to burn her as well. His breathing slowed, and the flames sank back into his soul. Finally, he released his grip on her wrists. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"No harm done. We can sit for a while." She let go of his face and moved to be seated next to him, reaching out a hand to grasp his tightly.

***

Martel had no inkling of how long they sat in silence. Nothing but endless dark stretched out before them, making it seem like time itself did not exist, or anything else, for that matter. Only the frail magelight still glowing on his staff and the cold, hard sensation of the surrounding stone along with Eleanor's hand holding his own told him that he still lived rather than floated through the never-ending Nether as punishment for his sins.

Eventually, the demands of the body presented themselves. He felt thirst, and the uneven cave wall jutting into his back made him uncomfortable. "I am alright," he finally spoke, and he squeezed Eleanor's hand just to send the message with two different forms of communication. "I think we can continue." All the pressure of their current situation returned; they had a long journey ahead of them to be done before dawn. Assuming they could find their way.

"We have not come that far from the entrance," Eleanor considered. "We will soon be back above ground."

"I didn't mean go back. We should press on." The situation remained the same regardless of Martel's weakness; if they failed, a costly storm upon the city was the only other option. Furthermore, if they could not take Morcaster by surprise, it greatly increased the risk that the emperor would have time to flee. Martel would not allow this civil war to continue year after year.

"How so?"

Martel had not intended to broach this subject, but perhaps she ought to know. "You remember the day by the river, when we fled from the Khivans? You were badly wounded, and I unleashed a spell that – that killed those around us."

"Not a day I could ever forget."

"It wasn't on purpose. The magic I released, I mean. I had no idea it was even possible."

She glanced at him as they walked side by side. "Your ability to cast magic on instinct is impressive."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't even call it instinct. I saw you fall. I thought you were dead." He swallowed, trying to control his emotions. "When I saw that, I didn't think or feel. The magic just took over. I wanted everyone to die."

"And it saved us. You slew the Khivans, allowing us to escape."

"Sheer luck. If any of our own had been around, I would have burned them as well. It seems a miracle I didn't do it to you."

"I assume even in such a state, you knew friend from foe."

"I don't think I did," Martel confessed, and he felt his voice trembling as he continued. "I finally understand all the warnings about the fire-touched. I thought I did before – when I got angry, I might cast a spell on instinct, and I know I have a temper. But this was different. I felt nothing but the purest fury, and if I could have, I would have incinerated the world in that moment."

"While I am glad you care, I do think the world is too big a mouthful even for a skilled mage like you." She had a weak attempt of a smile on her face.

He reached out and grabbed her by the arm. "You don't understand. The fire-touched who burned down half of Morcaster – that could be me tomorrow. If you die fighting in the Imperial palace, there won't be a palace anymore. And we both know how swiftly fires spread through the city once started." He felt himself choke. "All of it will be destroyed because of me."

She grabbed his free hand. "Martel, do not let yourself drown in these thoughts. Nothing will happen to me. I am a mageknight of great skill, and there are no Khivans with golden bullets waiting for us up there." Her voice grew firm. "Now you must push all of this from your mind, or we return right now. I will not take a step further unless I can trust that you will be alright."

He took a deep breath, regaining control of himself. "I'm fine. I will be fine. I don't know what's come over me, but I'm fine."

She gave him a scrutinising look. "Are you certain? Martel, if you have the slightest doubt, I implore you to tell me. There is no shame in going back, considering this was not at all what we planned for."

There might not be any shame in returning, but Martel doubted that he could forgive himself. "I have no doubts. I am calm. We continue." So they did, one mage constantly looking in every direction, the other constantly looking at her companion.