Chapter 600: The Path Ahead
The Path Ahead
The Khivan incursion had disrupted the usual reprieve that winter brought from campaigning, but a month of frost and cold remained after they had been driven back across the river, giving Martel time to himself. He and Eleanor had not been sent back to the outpost, given the absence of enemy soldiers in the region; their defeat had bloodied the Khivans sufficiently to warrant a larger retreat, it appeared. Still, Martel knew it would not last; at best, once spring arrived, he would probably find himself once more given the task to seek out enemy patrols. At worst, the Asterians would conduct their own, rumoured offensive, with plenty of fighting to follow.
So, Martel did not spend his days idly, but prepared as he could. He procured materials to replenish the alchemy and enchantments he carried in his belt. Accompanied by Eleanor, he returned to the marshes to pick what plants could be found in winter, though they mostly found broken weapons and other such pieces of destroyed equipment, along with the occasional body parts, rotting only slowly in the cold. Turning to the Tyrians, Martel got their help with acquiring supplies for his alchemy, reciprocating the favour by providing them with some of the resulting work.
Besides offering company and the occasional cup of wine, Henry provided him with a few small orbs perfect for enchantment. Martel made a lightstone for Eleanor, his best work yet, that would last much longer than any previous examples he had made for her. He kept the remaining few stones, leaving them untouched for now, holding onto them as valuable items he could one day enchant and barter for favours or such, should he need it.
When time permitted it, and often because Henry was busy repairing all the damage done to the walls of Esmouth, Martel spent available hours with Starkad. Although they differed greatly in many ways, including origin and temperament, Martel found himself growing accustomed to the berserker's company. Unfortunately, he had not been able to learn any more runes from the northerner; while Starkad knew plenty more than those he had already shown, Martel found himself unable to reproduce their effects. It was a great pity, as they promised to have a number of useful effects, but nothing availed, no matter how much Martel tried; just as he would never be able to conjure down storms or build great walls, there was much of Tyrian magic he could not master.
Eleanor spent most of her time with the other mageknights, though Martel joined them on occasion. While he would not necessarily regard them as friends, he was at least on friendly footing with them, and he no longer felt uneasy in their company. Perhaps the events of the Khivan invasion had improved how they viewed the battlemage; he had fought alongside them in both the marshes and the defence of the town, not to mention braved dangers and evaded Khivans to return to the legion in its time of need.
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In these various ways, the days passed for the Tenth Legion, camped in the Savena Delta by the town of Esmouth. The nights were cold, luxuries and comforts ran dry as no ships arrived, and boredom was widespread, but for a legion at war, it was the preferred state of affairs. Until one morning, Martel noticed that the thaw had begun.
***
That same day, a dozen of the Tyrians marched out of Esmouth, going northeast. Hearing this, Martel figured he might glean a little of what the future held. He crossed the bridge, rebuilt by the engineers of the Tenth, and entered town. He found Starkad sitting outside, enjoying the sunlight; perhaps to the Tyrian, this was considered a hot day.
"Mage of fire! Or do you prefer Firebrand?" The berserker grinned, waving one hand; the other held a comb for his long hair.
"I prefer Martel," the wizard mumbled in reply. He sat down on the log that served as a bench. "I noticed a bunch of your comrades leaving earlier. What's happening?"
"I suppose I can tell a prefect." Starkad resumed combing his hair; Martel had noticed that the Tyrians were rather vain about such things. "There's a city of the fire eaters some hundred miles east of here. Your legate showed it to me on a map, though I couldn't read the name, nor do I remember. Some ugly sounds." He shrugged.
"And?"
"Your leader wanted my brethren to scout in that direction, as far as they could."
"Scout for what? Khivan patrols?"
"That as well, but first and foremost, finding good paths. Places with water, places to make camp, trails that don't invite an ambush."
"A route for an army to take. Towards this city."
"That seems to be it, my fiery friend."
"I guess it'll take a while for them to return. They'll be going further than any Asterians have been before," Martel considered.
"And it's slow work, especially if they have to avoid the enemy with their fire spitters, take longer routes," Starkad added. "You got a few more days to grow fat."
Eating winter rations, Martel did not imagine there was much risk of that. But besides waiting for the Tyrian scouts to return, the legion would also require a lot more supplies; most of their stores had been depleted in the last few months. Until ships began to arrive regularly at the pier in Esmouth, nothing would happen.
Starkad finished disentangling his hair and held out the comb at Martel. "Want to borrow? Your locks are getting long."
"I'll stick to the barber in town, thanks."
***
They continued in idle conversation a while longer before Martel returned to camp. He practised his enchantment, making more heating stones for the infirmary. Winter's cold made recovery harder for the injured and the sick in the big tents, and the physician was grateful for Martel's gifts. He had only just finished one such stone when commotion and excitement when pulled him out of his tent, wondering at all the noise. A passing soldier quickly informed him. The first ship of spring had just sailed into Esmouth.
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