Chapter 554: Suppression
Suppression
Martel practically fell to the ground, bullets flying over his head. Next to him, Eleanor appeared, blood on her blade. "Situation?" was all she asked.
Martel closed his eyes and let his magical sense flow in every direction. The trees interrupted his reading here and there, but he received enough information to understand their predicament. "Bad," he simply replied at first. "Several around us, in every direction except that." He pointed to his right. "They are moving. Complete the circle."
"We break out. Wall. Stay behind me. Ready?"
He nodded quickly. As Eleanor leapt to her feet, her magic activating to protect her, Martel used his staff to push himself up. He summoned a wall of flames to cover their escape, and the pair broke into a sprint.
***
Almost reluctantly, Martel poured water into his cup to dilute his wine. While he felt that he deserved and needed the full effects of the drink, he only had one pitcher, courtesy of Henry. Best to make it last a little longer. So he added water and took small sips, enjoying one of the only good flavours available in the outpost. Most of the immediate game in the area had been already hunted by the Tyrians, so the only meat they received was cured and dried rather than fresh.
As if summoned, Starkad the berserker appeared. "Mage of fire, there you are!"
Martel raised his cup in a gesture of greeting. "What brings you here?"
"From time to time, I must check on my little ravens. And I also brought this, from Egil." He took out a jar of salve, which he handed over.
"Thanks. Though this reminds me, you and I had an agreement. I would teach one of yours how to make these remedies, and you would teach me about runes." Cup in one hand, jar in the other, Martel looked up at the imposing berserker. "You will honour our agreement, I hope."
"A man's word is his law, not to be broken."
"Is that your longwinded way of saying you will do it?"
"Mage of fire, as impatient as your element. Yes, very well. Tell me all the runes you already know, and maybe I will have one or two I can add to your collection," the berserker declared.
***
Martel sat, back against the tree. His hands clutched his staff, and the sound of his pulse pounded in his ears. Using his magic, he could see the shape of Eleanor fighting two Khivans, striking at them both. As much as he wanted to focus on that, or get up and join her, he forced his attention in another direction. Two, maybe three shapes moved through the undergrowth towards him. They ran towards the sounds of Eleanor fighting, just as planned.
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Right before they would have gone past him, Martel summoned a wall of flames directly in the path. Carried by momentum, none of them could halt their movements in time, and three Khivans crashed through the fire. They all screamed in agony, which Martel barely registered; he had heard it so often.
A ray of fire from the ruby on his staff shot out to strike the nearest enemy, who fell to the ground. The beam continued to hit the next, who likewise succumbed to Martel's magic moments later. The last pulled his pistol and fired. He aimed for Martel's head, where no armour protected, and the bullet struck close enough to tear his skin, gracing his temple.
The pain and shock made Martel blind for a moment, but battle instincts pulled him back to the fight. Already, the Khivan had drawn his dagger and lunged forward. Using his staff to parry, Martel released a fire bolt straight from his hand into the soldier's stomach, who bent over and fell to his knees. Martel struck him in the head with his staff, just to be certain, and the soldier landed between his comrades.
"Martel!"
The fear in Eleanor's voice made his heart contract, but as he looked at her, she seemed unhurt. "What's wrong? That should be all of them."
"Your head! You are bleeding!"
The pain of his injury returned, and he felt the trickle of blood down his cheek. "He just grazed me. It isn't deep. Probably looks much worse than it is." Martel dug out a piece of cloth and held it to his temple. "I'll be fine."
"All the same, let us get back to camp. There could be more of them lurking out here."
***
Night had fallen, and the outpost was slowly going to sleep. Two mages were the exception, sitting outside the tent; a lightstone provided illumination and also acted as an aid for their activity. On the ground, Martel had drawn the rune as shown to him by Starkad; next to it, Eleanor slowly replicated the symbol, and when she was done, she whispered the activating the words to make it glow slightly.
Grabbing the lightstone, Martel brought it closer. As it approached the rune, its light softened and grew frail, becoming almost extinguished as he placed it on top of the symbol. Removing it again restored its light. "That looks to be a functioning rune of suppression," he said, looking up at her with a smile. "Well done."
"Thanks. This is very interesting. I wonder how powerful the rune is. If there are some kinds of magic it cannot suppress."
"Starkad explained it depended on the skill of the rune maker compared to the strength of the spell or enchantment," Martel elaborated. "This is a weak lightstone that wouldn't last longer than until morning anyway." He picked it up and threw it to a legionary, who stood nearby, waiting. "All yours." Catching the lightstone, the soldier bowed his head and disappeared. "Oh, I told him I'd make him some light," Martel explained, seeing Eleanor's questioning look. "Supply train arrived late, so he'll be working through the night to catalogue the inventory."
"That is kind of you. How is your head?"
"It's fine. It hurts a little when I think about it."
"I reported you as wounded," she explained. "Tomorrow, we should stay in camp. Let the soldiers do all the patrolling for once."
Martel shook his head. "A wound like this would not excuse a legionary from duty. We didn't take a break either when you got injured. I'll be fine, trust me."
Her expression revealed her scepticism, but she seemed to relent. "Alright. But if we meet any Khivans tomorrow, we should retreat rather than risk a confrontation. Head injuries are not to be taken lightly."
"As you command, prefect."
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