Firebrand

Chapter 440: Help from Above

Help from Above

Of course it was a trap. But Martel could curse about that later; right now, he needed a way out. He made sure to drape his scarf to cover the lower half of his face and tied a tight knot.

"They're on both sides." Ruby came towards him, having looked at the street north of their house. "Can't see how many. Not sure we can fight them."

Given that most of his spells would be useless against inquisitors, Martel had his doubts as well. "We just have to run. What's our best route out of here?"

Ruby nodded towards the north. "Cross the street and down those alleys, hope to lose them."

As good a plan as any. "Let's go."

They exchanged looks; a moment passed before she leapt down the stairs with Martel running behind her. Ruby tore the door open and sprinted onto the street, followed by him.

"They're running!"

His head darting in either direction, Martel saw several inquisitors on either side. This was bad. He had escaped such a trap before, but only with a few mage hunters on his trail, and Flora had been there to raise a wall and prevent pursuit.

Ruby ran between two houses, Martel trying to keep up. Behind him, he heard more shouts.

He could try the same, but a wall of flames might not work; it would be purely magical, unable to hurt the inquisitors. Waste of his remaining spellpower. And reveal that they chased a mage skilled in fire.

They moved through deserted pathways; the Khivans knew to make themselves scarce. The same held true for Ruby. Each time she turned a corner, making him lose sight of her briefly, he found it hard to spot her once he caught up. Her dark clothes made her melt into the shadows of the unlit streets in the enclave.

"This way!" an inquisitor shouted.

The voice sounded close. And there were footsteps from more than one pair, though Martel could not tell the direction. He sent out a wave of magic to tell him of his pursuers, but cloaked by gold, no useful information came back to him; he could not distinguish them from the cold of the night in his frantic state. He only knew that Ruby was still ahead somewhere, twenty or thirty paces.

"Spread out! Close them off!"

Martel could no longer see or hear Ruby. Only his magic told him where she was. More athletic than him, she simply ran faster, more adroitly through the natural obstacles of the alleys, even though he used empowerment.

He looked over his shoulder. No visible sign of the inquisitors, though he dearly wished his magic could confirm their location. Regardless, he had to keep running. His breath came at great pains, and his stomach hurt, but he could not stop.

A whistle through the air alerted Martel of danger to his left. On instinct, he summoned his shield. It did not help. A gold-tipped javelin punched through his magic to strike his shoulder. He screamed in pain and almost fell to his feet, barely managing to catch himself. The weight of the haft pulled the spear from his wound, and it landed on the ground. His leather armour and clothing had softened the blow, but he could feel it bleeding. Worse, the mage hunter who had thrown the javelin came running in full sprint.

***

Martel ducked into the nearest alley. He realised it was too late to run; the inquisitor would pick up the spear and hit him again. He turned around, waiting for the zealot to catch up and making sure his scarf still hid his face.

A moment later, his enemy appeared. Martel tried to suppress his feelings of panic. He could not attack with magic directly. He pulled his knife from his belt. The zealots wore leather armour under their blue surcoat; Martel had noticed this when fighting alongside them in the catacombs. He would have to strike at the arms or legs.

The inquisitor grinned, wielding the javelin as a short spear. "Over here!" he yelled. "I got one cornered!"

Stars, he would pay dearly for a staff right now! His short dagger could not contend with the reach of the spear.

"You're done for, abomination," the zealot hissed.

Martel caught hold of broken bricks with his magic, raising them into the air. Once over the inquisitor's head, he let go of the debris.

The mage hunter leapt to the side with a superior smile, avoiding the attack. "All your little tricks won't help. Your foul magic can't save you, maleficar."

Martel's eyes desperately looked for a vulnerability; a place where his spells might hit. His enemy wore gold around his neck and waist, on his hands, and even around his boots.

The young wizard retreated, goading the other man to follow. As he did, Martel raised the earth to make him trip.

Where the inquisitor's foot struck the ground, the magic seeped away, and the dirt fell back down. "Time to die." He raised the spear that no magic could protect against.

A shadow fell from the nearest rooftop. This time, the inquisitor did not evade in time, and he fell to the ground underneath Ruby. Knife in hand, she slashed his leg open before getting back on her feet. "Come on!" she shouted, pulling at him as she ran away. Pulling himself together, Martel followed her once again.

***

Hours later, Martel hid inside another alley, glancing across the street to the infirmary doors. Ruby appeared by his side, making him flinch. "No sign of anyone. Nobody's watching."

He nodded a little. It felt strange to trust Ruby, but she could have left him behind. "Thanks. I better get inside then."

"We'll need to talk about tonight," she cautioned him. "Later, that is. I'm getting myself home to bed."

"Alright." With his hood up and scarf safely around his face, Martel swiftly crossed the open area to enter the small gate to the infirmary. A nurse slept in the atrium, should any arrive at night requiring aid. Martel's shoulder needed it, but it would also earn him unwanted attention.

Instead, he went to the apothecary and undressed. A small but deep wound greeted his eyes after he cleaned up the dried blood. Martel did not know how to sew wounds, so he treated it with blood salve for now. Something to relieve the pain would be welcome, but Mistress Rana would notice if one of the small bottles were missing, and Martel could not replace it easily.

He would just have to grit his teeth and sleep through it; tomorrow, he could make up an excuse and get the wound sewn together. Exhausted, Martel walked up the stairs to reach his room and collapsed on his bed.