Firebrand

Chapter 588: Connections

Connections

Early next morning, a carriage awaited in the courtyard. The doors to the house opened and revealed two mages leaving, accompanied by servants carrying their luggage. Martel would have preferred leaving in the same manner as they had arrived, in a simple cart while hauling their own belongings, but it hardly mattered. This was a day of dejection no matter what.

Sitting inside the carriage as it rumbled down the street towards the fortress of Saint Marcellus, Martel looked at his companion, who in turn sat staring out the window. As much as he felt sorry for himself, he should not forget that others were in the same boat. "I'm sorry our leave was cut short. You hardly had time to spend with your family," he told her.

Eleanor looked at him with a sad smile. "I'm still lucky to have seen them at all. I wish you could have been afforded the same right, but"

"I know." There would hardly have been time to reach Engby and return, even if their leave had not been disrupted. And it would have required further permission for him to leave Morcaster, as prefects were meant to be readily available, in case of a situation like the one currently unfolding.

Martel had intended to write his mother while he was in the capital, as he had assumed he would have plenty of time for this. Now he figured it was best to wait; he preferred to write once he could explain that the Khivan incursion had been driven back. Even in remote Nordmark, rumours and tidings of war spread, and his mother was bound to hear about the invasion eventually. It would be best if he could calm her concerns; he only hoped that the future aligned with what he intended to write.

***

They drove into the yard of the fortress; Martel's noticed at least several centuriae of soldiers gathered, along with their lower officers. He also spotted several horses and realised one of them was for him. The joy of travelling overland, though at least he would be spared seasickness.

"Sir Fontaine, Sir Martel!" A mageknight in his thirties walked over to greet them by hand. Behind them, the carriage drove off. "I am Sir Godwin of Chesham, legion prefect of the Thirteenth. It's a pleasure to meet prefects of a neighbouring legion," he said with a smile. "A shame these are the circumstances, but I reckon we'll soon have the Khivans on the run, and the pair of you reunited with the Tenth."

A few things stood out to Martel. This mageknight did not have the same polished speech as most of them, and his name suggested no kinship with Aquilan nobility or Asterian patrician houses. In other words, he was a mageknight because he had the gift for it rather than because familial pressure forced him down that route. It did make Martel feel a little more at ease knowing their companion on the road came from a background similar to his own. "A pleasure," he said simply, shaking the prefect's hand.

"We are ready to make our departure when you are," Eleanor told him.

"In that case, no reason to delay. Centurions!" Godwin spoke, shouting the last word. "Formations! We march!"

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***

They marched through the city, attracting looks as they went; news had spread through the city by now, and everyone could guess why these soldiers went east. After passing through the bridge gate, they crossed the river to follow the Imperial road, snaking its way through the provinces all the way to the front.

When they made camp, Godwin invited his fellow prefects to join him for the evening meal. It turned out, regardless of any simple origins, he had grown accustomed to certain comforts; a servant accompanied him on the road, cooking supper. Considering travel rations and both his own and Eleanor's meagre skills, Martel made no complaints until he realised one of the dishes was roasted meat.

He managed to restrain himself from any unpleasant reaction, but he refused the meat when offered, eating only the potatoes.

"Sir Martel, is something the matter?" The legion prefect looked at him as he conspicuously avoided the mutton.

"The food in Morcaster is a bit too rich for my stomach, after months of camp fare," he lied. "I'm sticking to simpler food for now, if you don't mind."

"More for the rest of us. I thought maybe it was due to a religious vow," the mageknight considered. "I know some of the orders refrain from eating meat of any kind."

"Sir Godwin, what do you know of the situation?" Eleanor interjected.

"Very little, unfortunately. I imagine your father knows as much and would already have told you."

"Even so, in case he neglected to mention something, I should like to hear every detail you possess."

"Of course. Several Khivan regiments have managed to cross the river, using the frozen marches to establish themselves on the Imperial road into Esmouth. I have no knowledge of numbers beyond that," the mageknight related. "Artillery has been spotted, which no doubt will be used in a siege against Esmouth. It also makes a direct assault by either the Tenth or the Thirteenth Legion a daunting prospect. I imagine the legates are trying to communicate and coordinate such an assault. We may arrive and find that they have already succeeded and driven the enemy back."

That seemed like better fortune than they could hope for, but at least there was the possibility. Facing a Khivan army with full artillery seemed dreadful, to say the least. Martel thought back on the assault against the outpost, where just three cannons had been terrifying. And the thought of fighting an actual battle between armies touched him with fear. He could handle skirmishes, where his abilities allowed him to sense the presence of everyone else, and he knew what he and Eleanor were up against. On a battlefield, with cannons and muskets firing everywhere even magic did not seem like it would suffice.

"Your commander is Legate Aurelius, is that right?" Eleanor asked. "Would she be a member of House Aurelius, like the military magistrate?"

Godwin nodded. "The very one. Are you familiar with them?"

"Only by name. I look forward to meeting her and hearing the plan to stop this incursion." She looked at Martel. "We should sleep."

The battlemage inclined his head at the legion prefect. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Of course. We have many days ahead together, and we shall soon fight side by side. Malac protect us all."

Eleanor bowed her head as well. "Indeed."

They walked back to their own tent, of the same primitive make as what they had used when sleeping in the outpost. Martel looked at her. "You asked about the legate for a reason. I can tell when your innocent questions are not so innocent after all."

She unbuckled her belt and began removing her armour. "Just a thought. I used to think legates were chosen for being the most able commander among a legion's prefects. But after our time serving under Legate Varus, I do wonder if his friendship with Duke Cheval weighed more heavily than any considerations of talent."

"And now you wonder if a relative of the military magistrate might have had that same advantage."

She exhaled slowly. "We will find out."

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