Every now and then, Martel stole a glance at Eleanor riding by his side. He had never known happiness like this, or imagined that such existed at all. Whenever she noticed his eyes on her, she would shake her head, smile, laugh, or so combination thereof.
They rarely t others. The war had suppressed travel. A courier had thundered past them one of the first days after they left Morcaster, so they assud news were spreading of a return to peaceful tis, but it would still take a while for normalcy to resu, and few people had reason to journey on the Imperial road this deep in winter.
They camped at the roadside, finding the little spots that other travellers had created over the years; places near water, trees with branches providing firewood and shelter from precipitation, and so on. After their ti together, the two mages had an easy rhythm of the mundane tasks that needed doing. If one fetched water, another got firewood; Martel would enchant a stone to provide heat despite the cold night, and Eleanor got a hot al cooking. If the ground was rough, he would use a bit of earth magic to smooth it out, and both cast runes of warning as a routine precaution to surround their camp.
Sotis they spoke, sotis the evening was spent in silence, but never in unhappiness, and they spent their last waking monts as they had their first night together.
Still, Martel slept uneasy. He woke early, sotis while dawn was still far away, finding it hard to get back to sleep. Hearing Eleanor’s breathing always cald him and brought him back to the present, but every ti he heard the sound of an animal scurrying about or a bird flapping its wings, he imagined a Khivan musket being fired or an arrow whistling through the air.
Eleanor did not have the sa issue; she had always been stronger than him, physically and ntally. She slept through the night soundly, and he saw no reason to wake her. Sotis, he might conjure up a weak fla, just enough illumination to make out the features of her face.
Martel knew he should be content; he had everything he could have hoped for. Peace in the Empire, freed from his obligations, and the woman he had loved for years by his side. But in those quiet monts of the night, unable to sleep, noticing the cold of the world struggle against the fading heat from his enchanted stone, Martel felt like he had an old wound in his chest, like a splinter of a dagger had broken off and remained inside; the injury had healed, but he still felt the edge hurting him with no recourse for redy.
But always, the night ended, the sun rose. Eleanor greeted him with a smile and drowsy words, he smiled back, forgetting the nocturnal hours, and he felt happy once more as the day continued.
At tis, when the weather was at its worst, they sought refuge at the nearest farm or hostead, requesting shelter in the barn or such. Sotis, the peasants offered the travellers their own ho or even their own bed; while their status as wizards might not be obvious, they carried weapons and had the bearing of warriors. Martel always refused such proposals; at most, he accepted any food they offered, if it looked like they could spare it considering it was winter, and he made sure to pay for it.
If their hosts denied taking paynt, he left the silver behind sowhere they would find it. It was impossible to tell whether the locals made these offers out of kindness or out of fear for two well-ard travellers, and taking sothing from common folk who could hardly afford to lose it was the last thing Martel wanted on his conscience. In comparison, his purses burst with coin, his belt held gems, and should he ever run out, he could sell an enchantnt for more silver than these people owned.
He also spent half an hour in the morning enchanting a heating stone that would last the next few months until spring and explained this briefly to the family before they rode off; he did not require their gratitude, but it would irk him if their lack of knowledge concerning magic made them frightened of a stone exuding heat, causing them to throw it away.
Eleanor never interfered or questioned his decisions, whether to accept or deny food, leave paynt and enchantnts behind, or anything else Martel thought about doing. She tended to their horses, ensured their equipnt was in good condition, and patiently waited for him to finish his tasks.
Once, seeing a new field being prepared to be tilled in spring but full of tree stumps, Martel burnt them to cinders, saving the farr many days’ work of digging and cutting roots. The peasant had stared in such bewildernt, Eleanor had laughed as they rode away, and Martel kept an eye out for more tree stumps to dispatch as they continued on their journey.
“Look. Smoke, in several columns.” Eleanor pointed toward the horizon where, as she said, various pillars of smoke wound their way upward. They had been on the road for several fivedays by now.
“And?”
“Well, it cannot be a single farm or lonely hostead. It must be a town, at least,” Eleanor argued.
“I repeat my question.”
“It is not far from the Imperial road. Should you not like a reprieve from the travails of our journey?”
“You an to say that you’d like a better opportunity for a bath than heating up the water in a horse trough,” Martel surmised.
“It would do us both good. Maybe so proper cooking,” she considered. “Neither of us have much skill in that regard.”
“We’re beyond the province of Morcaster,” he pointed out. “If that place got a garrison, it’s the Second Legion.”
“So? We are at peace. If they give us trouble for whatever reason, there will at most be ten of them. Probably only five. Hardly sothing to worry us. Besides, solstice is tomorrow – perhaps we can find a bit of festivities and sothing proper to eat and drink.”
He glanced at her with a touch of incredulity on his face. “You’ve kept track of the days?”
She shrugged. “It is simple counting. Not a great challenge.”
“Well, all the more reason to stay away. I’m not afraid of a tiny garrison, but it can’t help with the revelry if I burn five n to ashes on the town square while you run the other five through.”
“If they recognise us, they will also know we are mages. They would never dare to say the slightest word against us,” Eleanor claid.
Martel knew she was most likely right; he could not quite tell why he felt so reluctant to enter the small town that presumably lay on the other side of the slope. Maybe because travelling alone with Eleanor reminded him of their previous journeys together, moving between army camps, a few stolen days alone before returning to duties and danger. Foolish as it seed, he feared that once they arrived in Nordmark, in Engby, their ti together like this would co to an end, like it always had previously, and entering this town would be the sa, thrusting them back into the world.
Realising he had no proper argunts to deny Eleanor so comforts of civilisation, Martel spurred his horse forward to follow hers.
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