Chapter 589: XIII
XIII
They marched for twenty days until they reached the camp of the Thirteenth Legion. It had been set up as could be expected, with ditches and palisades providing defences, while the usual camp followers had settled some miles away, probably due to the proximity of enemy forces.
Plenty of guards kept watch, but once they passed through the wooden gate, they found the camp within to be ordinary. Regardless of the threat of an attack, soldiers still needed a place to sleep or fire pits for making all meals, clothes had to be washed and boots cleaned, and so on. Considering how many days it would have taken for a message to reach Morcaster, they had probably been encamped in this place for a month or so. Which begged the question why they had not been able to drive the Khivans back.
Godwin separated from them, returning to his legate. The camp prefect of the Thirteenth appeared to direct the reinforcements as to where they might raise their tents, providing a location for Martel and Eleanor as well. Glad to be done with the march, even if it meant that danger now lurked nearby, the two mages found their allotted space and made their temporary home. They caught a few glances from the soldiers nearby, who probably wondered about the presence of two prefects. Their tent rested on muddy dirt, caused by the ground sloping slightly towards their corner of the camp, making rainwater drain towards them; it felt like they had been relegated to the slums of the camp, so to say.
After a while, as they sat tending to their equipment, Eleanor looked up before nudging Martel with her elbow. He followed her gaze to see a prefect striding towards them; not only that, he wielded a staff. Martel could guess that like his own, it had a ruby in the tip.
They both got up and inclined their heads in greeting as the battlemage of the Thirteenth reached them. "You've arrived," he spoke. Martel guessed him to be somewhere in his thirties, probably close to the end of his deployment. That suggested skill, surviving so many years in the profession that claimed its victims young.
"I am Sir Fontaine, and this is Sir Martel," Eleanor introduced them.
"Sir Lennard," he replied without looking at her, keeping his eyes on Martel, which felt odd almost like a challenge. "Sir Godwin mentioned you. Said you roughed up three praetorian knights, earning yourself a nickname in the process."
Martel dearly hoped the nickname would soon be forgotten. "It was a duel for entertainment's value, at the solstice celebration."
"I could have done the same." He spoke with a flat voice, as if stating a simple fact, though a slightly contemptuous smile made it sound like an insult.
Martel was not in the mood to pick a fight, but he found it strange to be antagonised by another battlemage on their very first meeting. Demonstratively, he turned his head west towards Morcaster. "All the praetorians are in that direction. I won't stop you."
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Sir Lennard made no reply other than the continued expression on his face; barely dignifying Eleanor with a look, he turned and left.
"He seems pleasant." Eleanor looked at the battlemage walking away. "Perhaps we should repeat his words to the mageknights of his legion. I wonder if they have the same confidence in his abilities to defeat three of them at the same time."
Martel sat down, returning his attention to his equipment. "Thinking about that, say you were to duel him or any battlemage really, what would you do?"
She took her place next to him, picking up her cloth and the oil for her blade. "Draw my dagger and throw it at their face. Even if it does not hurt them, it will buy me time to get close."
Martel smiled as he sorted through his small collection of jars and remedies, ensuring none had come unsealed during their travels.
***
A legionary appeared, just as the sun was setting and Martel had hoped to find sleep. "Prefects? Legate Aurelius summons you both."
The two mages exchanged looks and got their feet. "Take us to her," Eleanor directed.
They crossed the camp, walking slightly uphill to reach dry ground and the largest tent in camp. Still, it could hardly hold every prefect in the legion, so Martel assumed this was not a council of war as such, but simply the commander wishing to question them for one reason or another.
As they stepped inside, Martel saw one woman in uniform, who had to be the legate. Next to her stood Godwin, but the third person present made Martel blink in surprise; it was Wulfstan, the spy. Belatedly, he saluted the superior officer after seeing Eleanor do it.
"The battlemage of the Tenth and his protector," the legate murmured. She was around sixty and seemed what Martel had expected, gruff and direct. "I am told you have experience conducting raids on enemy supply lines."
"We've done it once," Martel muttered with a look at Wulfstan, recognising him to be the source of this information. "Sir."
"Good. The Khivans are still ferrying supplies across the river. Primarily munition and powder," the legate explained. On a table in the middle lay a map of the area. Her finger moved up and down the Savena River as she spoke. "Although they are now south of the wetlands, they are still transporting up north in that area, presumably keeping their distance from Esmouth and the Tenth. As we do not intend to give battle soon, I have decided the best use of your abilities is to send you into the marshes and destroy the Khivans' supply trains as best you can."
"You have not been able to establish communication with the Tenth Legion?" Eleanor asked.
We have not," Legate Aurelius replied curtly. "That is not your concern either. You have your orders I expect you to move out tomorrow morning. The sooner you can disrupt their supply lines, the better."
"Yes, sir!"
"Yes, sir."
"Dismissed."
As the pair walked out, Wulfstan followed them. "I will have some useful equipment sent to you," he told them. "Brown cloaks, travel rations, and the like."
Martel looked at the spy, a little weary of him. He felt that on previous meetings, Wulfstan had questioned him under an innocent guise, only to use that information to plan out dangerous missions for him and Eleanor. It seemed an underhanded method, treating them like pawns. At the same time, Martel recognised they were on the same side, and intelligence could prove invaluable in this war.
"Very well." Eleanor gave him a nod, and the spy left them. She turned towards Martel. "We better sleep as much as we can." He could only agree with that.
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