629. No Fighting (Patreon)

A band of eight Khivans moved through the forest. Half of them carried muskets, the other half had swords. They talked among themselves in casual manner with the occasional laugh. Despite the proximity of enemies only a river's crossing away, they seemed at ease, and perhaps they had good reason for this; so far, they had come across no signs of Asterians on their side of the water.

A voice called out to them, shattering their complacency. "Soldiers, we seek to parley with your commander!"

The Khivans scattered, all of them seeking cover behind the nearest trees. Weapons came out, muskets pointing in every direction, though nobody fired yet, having no enemy in sight.

"Does any of you speak Asterian?" the woman spoke after a pause.

"I speak. What do you want?" yelled one of the Khivans.

"We wish to negotiate a cessation of hostilities with your commander. An armistice."

"I don't speak that wellgood. What does that mean?"

"We want to talk peace," a man's voice interjected, sounding impatient. "No fighting. No weapons. You bring us to your leader, and we talk peace."

"No fighting? That is a promise from you?"

"We swear it, by Sol," Eleanor added. "We have no hostile intentions."

"She means we want to be friends."

"I understand," the Khivan replied. "You come out. I do the same. No weapons in your hand."

Hiding behind their own trees, Martel and Eleanor looked at each other. They both nodded, activating their magic shields as they got up and stepped out of cover. Down the trail, a Khivan swordsman did the same. Cautiously, the two mages approached him, holding out their empty hands. Martel had no weapons anyway, and Eleanor's sword and dagger were sheathed by her waist.

"No fighting," Martel repeated. He was not afraid of a battle breaking out as such; while unarmed, his magic could handle this easily. Even now, he used his supernatural sense to determine where they all hid. But if they had to kill these Khivans, he could not imagine they would get a second chance of parleying with their commander.

"No fighting." The leader of the patrol reached out and shook Martel's hand before doing the same with Eleanor's. "You are Asterian. But not here to fight?"

"No. We want peace," Eleanor reiterated. "We must speak with the person in charge of your army. Your commander, your leader."

"I understand. We take you to him. You go with us." He turned his head to shout back at his people in Khivan. Slowly, they emerged from the bushes and branches hiding them. They viewed the two Asterians with varying degrees of hostility and suspicion, all of them still holding their weapons. "I go first." The leader of the patrol passed between the mages to take the lead; the remaining Khivans waited until the Asterians had turned and followed before they did the same, staying in the rear.

***

Martel felt uncomfortable with every step. Five Khivans walked behind him, and one on either side of him and Eleanor. He had seen men in their clothing so often before; boiled leather reinforced with metal, durable yet light, allowing them to be fast and nimble during fights in difficult terrain.

And every time he had seen men in such clothing, Martel had killed them, except for the few times that their light armour allowed them to run fast enough to escape. He had no count as to how many times he had been ambushed by these sharpshooters and patrols, trying to kill an Asterian battlemage; nor did he know how many times he and Eleanor had turned the dice around on the hunters or placed their own traps. He must have killed hundreds of Khivans at this point. And now, he walked surrounded by them.

He wondered if they had guessed that he and Eleanor were mages. Probably at least some of them had. The legions did not have female legionaries; only the mageknights or battlemages were women. And if the Khivans were not familiar with this, Martel's red robes with their flaming stitchwork gave a clue to his nature.

But regardless of their hatred of magic in general and wizards serving in the legions in particular, the Khivans kept the promised peace. They walked at a quick pace, and barely made rest; Martel guessed the leader wanted to hand over the situation as soon as he could to a superior officer.

***

They had walked for most of the day when the Khivan in front finally gestured for everyone to stop. "I must go. Ask first before I take you. Wait here." He left without further explanation. Around them, the other Khivans sat down on the ground, taking out rations.

Martel and Eleanor did the same, if nothing else because it felt weird to remain standing as the only ones. "Is that strange? Him leaving on his own," he asked.

"No. We could be spies. It makes sense that he seeks permission before taking us into their camp or revealing its exact location," Eleanor explained. "They may also wish to take precautions before allowing us in. No maps lying around that shows all their troop deployments."

"Do you think they know that we… can do what we can?" he asked quietly, avoiding any use of the word 'magic' or 'mage', in case anybody else understood Asterian.

"We should assume that they do."

Martel felt his anxiety slowly increase. This had been his idea; if it went wrong, he would be to blame. Even if they could fight their way out of this, they had alerted the Khivans to their presence. They would be hunted down.

***

The leader returned, after what Martel felt had been a rather long time. He and Eleanor got up, looking at him expectantly.

"I asked. They agree. You may go with us to camp. But you hold weapons, you will be killed. You understand?"

Eleanor nodded. "We do. Please take us to your camp."

"Very well. You follow as before." The leader added a few words in Khivan, and the rest got on their feet. Together, the small band continued east. Soon, Martel saw palisades in the distance, and he knew that thousands of Khivan soldiers awaited beyond.

~

Martel's character sheet (no change).