Firebrand

Chapter 597: Visible Cracks

Visible Cracks

The legion borrowed every longboat that the Imperial fleet in the delta could spare, allowing them to transport soldiers and supplies across the river more expediently. Thanks to this, the Tenth Legion was ready early next day to march out, leaving Esmouth behind for now.

Martel and Eleanor rode near the front, one row behind the legate and the legion prefect. As they passed through the remains of the gate, Martel thought about the battle fought just the night prior. He wished there had been time for him to see Henry, but it would have to wait until their return.

The legion marched swiftly for a full day, though they did not catch up to the Khivans. They were joined by the Thirteenth, however, and together, they made camp while setting a strong watch.

"Sir Fontaine! Sir Martel!"

The battlemage looked around bewildered at hearing such an enthusiastic voice call his name, until he spotted Godwin, the legion prefect of the Thirteenth, who waved at them even as he approached.

"I am heartened to see you both well! When you never returned from your mission, I feared the worst."

"We could say the same, Sir Godwin," Eleanor remarked politely. "While we heard the sounds of battle, we could not intervene, and we feared for your losses."

"The Khivans took us by surprise," he admitted with a grim expression. "We underestimated them, and Legate Aurelius paid for it with her life. Thankfully, our loss of soldiers was less severe, and most of the legion remains battle-ready."

"A pity about the legate," Eleanor said with sympathy in her voice, and Martel hurried to mumble the same sentiment. "That would leave you in charge," she added.

"It does, though I defer to your legate for this battle. We may have the Khivans on the run, but they are cunning beyond measure, and unified command is required in response." The legion prefect looked at them both. "I was on my way to the legate's counsel I assume you were about to go as well?"

Eleanor glanced at Martel; neither of them have been informed of this, though it stood to reason that the legate would gather all the prefects with battle to be expected. He wondered if they were simply expected to attend, or if their summons had been deliberately overlooked.

"Of course," she said. "Let us accompany you."

***

The legate's tent did not have room for every prefect, so they meet outside, crowded around a table. It held a piece of parchment with a few crude pen strokes, detailing the immediate area. A few rocks kept it weighed down, and a few more lay in the middle, showing their legion, that of the Thirteenth, and the Khivans.

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If the presence of the battlemage and his protector seemed curious, nobody mentioned it; Legate Varus did not even acknowledge them, but simply began talking. "The enemy is scattered. We will deploy each cohort as a separate unit, spreading out to enter the marshes and engage the Khivan forces. The ninth and tenth cohort will be in reserve, as will naturally our mounted unit, able to swiftly reinforce where needed." He looked at Godwin. "The same goes for your legion, moving in from the west. I trust you can dispatch your cohorts as needed?"

"Certainly, sir," the legion prefect replied.

Martel frowned, confused as to whether this was the extent of the plan. It seemed wholly inadequate, but the fact that nobody else protested made him wonder if he was simply misunderstanding the whole situation. Maybe speaking up would make him look a fool; well, he cared little for their opinions of him.

"This seems a mistake," he said, and all eyes turned towards him, some of them hostile. "During the assault of the outpost, we chased the Khivans into the woods, and the terrain made it difficult for us to catch up. Half their soldiers had muskets, giving them the advantage, and the terrain here is even worse." He looked around, wondering why this was not obvious. "I have been to these marshes, and finding a path is treacherous. Our soldiers will be hemmed in on narrow trails, making them easy targets."

"As always, your experience picking flowers is invaluable for our tactical discussions," said the decurion with an overbearing smile. "The wetlands are frozen. If the Khivans can drag cannons over the ice, it can easily hold our weight as well."

"The Khivans have had months finding the paths, using them for their supply lines. We are going in blind," Martel countered. "Once your horses come thundering in, they'll break right through."

"Sir Martel is right," Eleanor chimed in, and Martel felt better, knowing the most sensible person present was on his side. "We should spread out our cohorts to approach from the north as well, taking advantage of every possible ingress towards the enemy."

"That would take days to get into position," Legate Varus growled. "I will not allow the enemy to escape!" His outburst caused an uncomfortable silence to descend on the gathering, as the commander looked from one prefect to the next for any to challenge him.

"He is right, though," interjected Valerius, the young prefect of the sixth cohort. "About what happened in the forest, I mean. I lost a whole centuria's worth of soldiers chasing after them."

The legate stared at him. "Sir Fontaine, you and your charge are attached to the sixth cohort for tomorrow's battle. Sir Valerius, you will lead your cohort on the extreme right flank, right against the river, as the first wave of attack."

"Yes, sir."

***

The council at an end, the prefects dispersed. The battlemage and his protector walked back to their tent in silence until they were alone, as much as one could be in an army camp.

"Looks like we got Valerius in trouble," Martel mumbled.

"Someone has to fight in that position," Eleanor pointed out. "If not him, another would. And there is sense placing us there as well. Close to the river, finding a trail will be hardest. Those legionaries can use a good battlemage and an extra mageknight."

"You say that as if the legate displayed sound tactical reasoning rather than trying to punish us."

"I prefer thinking of it that way. The Thirteenth had a fool for a legate, allowing the Khivans to catch up with them and attack them. I should hope ours is a little more strategically gifted," she ended up saying.

"Hope all you want. I'm going to sleep. At least I know that'll have an effect," Martel remarked, trying to sound relaxed; with his head full of thoughts about tomorrow's battle, however, it took a long while before rest came to him.

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