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540. Second Shot
🕑 Added 2024-01-11 08:00:03 +0000 UTCMartel sprinted through the forest. The sound of a musket firing reached him, and the bullet did a moment later as well, aimed at his back. His magical shield protected him, and he jumped to the other side of a small mound, providing him with cover. Evidently, changing the day of their patrols had not made much difference.
"How many?" Eleanor asked, hiding in the same place.
"Three ahead of us." Martel pointed in the different directions. "Another three or four coming from that angle, against ours." He gestured to the left. "And another marksman that way." To the right.
"I kill near me," came the rusty Asterian from their Tyrian scout, hiding nearby. He took off, creeping through the undergrowth.
"You have to help our soldiers," Martel urged her. Once the Khivans went into close combat and drove the legionaries out, the sharpshooters in the trees would take them down with ease. "My wall won't stretch far enough to blind them all."
"I cannot leave you with three sharpshooters aiming at you!"
"The others will die if you don't help them. And you'll draw their attention," Martel pointed out. "I'll deal with them from the other side."
The mageknight at his side exhaled, slowing her breath. "Stay alive," she told him quietly. With a sharp inhalation, she leapt up and ran through the forest.
Trying to stay calm, Martel told himself this was no worse than the other patrols. The scout would deal with the one to his right. Eleanor would handle those outflanking them and draw at least one sharpshooter's attention. That just left two. He had plenty of spellpower. He would not die in this forsaken forest.
Steeling himself, Martel summoned his shield and got on his feet. Using his magical sense, he knew where to find his enemy and ran straight towards him. At the same time, a wall of flames shot up to block the line of sight for the other marksman nearby.
A bullet rang out, striking Martel's defensive spell without causing harm. A ray of fire flew from his staff to strike the Khivan, and it continued to burn; Martel was not going to give him a chance to survive the first blow. Once he felt certain the soldier was dead, he summoned his shield again, dismissed his wall, and went for his next target.
As he came close enough to strike, he sensed rather than saw the Khivan drop down from the trees. His enemy drew a pistol from his belt and aimed it at Martel's head, just as the battlemage released a ray of fire. The spell struck first, and the Khivan fell backwards with an agonising scream, even as he still pulled the trigger.
The bullet flew past Martel, making him flinch despite knowing he had his shield to protect him. He kept his spell going until the Khivan lay still on the ground.
Letting his magic sweep out towards the third sharpshooter, he found the heat of a person. As he summoned his shield and moved forward, he nearly released another ray of fire until he recognised Eleanor.
"It is over," she told him, and he let out his breath.
***
Three of their small band were dead. Two killed as the Khivans unleashed the ambush, another in the subsequent fighting. As the soldiers tended to their wounds, Eleanor went from corpse to corpse, smashing every Khivan weapon.
Eventually, she returned to Martel, who stood by the body of the second sharpshooter he had killed. Something was odd about that fight, and the feeling nagged at him.
"What is it?" Eleanor asked.
"I can't quite put my finger on it." Frowning, Martel moved around to make the same approach as during the fight. "I run forward here. He doesn't fire his musket, but drops down from the tree – maybe thinking I'm aiming up high, and he'll dodge my spell…" Martel stepped forward. "He still doesn't fire his musket. He draws his pistol, wasting valuable moments, and I kill him before he can take proper aim."
"Thankfully. You had your shield up, I take it?"
"Of course. The bullet didn't hit me, anyway. It flew right past me." Martel remembered flinching, the strange sensation of surprise at the bullet, even though he watched the Khivan fire his weapon. "I didn't feel it."
"If you were not hit, why would you?" Eleanor asked absentmindedly, snapping the Khivan's musket in two.
"No, the bullet. I always sense them. They're like the fire bolts back in the Circle of Fire. Even if they're too fast for me to evade, I sense them. But I didn't this time…" Unnerved, Martel looked around until he saw where the projectile had hit. Missing him, it had buried itself into a tree behind him. Taking out his knife, he dug it out. As he held it in his hand, he felt dread. Not just because the ball was cold, like death, but because of what it signified.
"Martel, what is it?"
He turned around and let it fall into Eleanor's hand. "It's gold. That's a mage killer bullet."
"It is not just a suspicion then. They are hunting you."
Martel nodded slowly. "We must expect this from every Khivan who wears a pistol in his belt."
"Sir," the princeps interjected. "The men are restless. All that noise will have attracted any others that might be nearby."
"There is none," the Tyrian scout declared. "If more, I would see. That's why few numbers. Only way to make ambush."
"Sir," the princeps spoke while studiously ignoring the northerner, "there seems to be little reason to linger."
"Alright," Eleanor said, and she unclasped the brown cloak they wore for patrols. "Create stretchers. We will make our return." She glanced at Martel, speaking in a lowered voice as she continued, "We need to tell Sir Lara. Changing the day of our patrol clearly did nothing."
"We'll talk with her when we're back," Martel assented, even as he feared it would not do much. The Khivans had caught his scent, and they appeared to be relentless in their pursuit.
~
Martel's character sheet (no changes).
