Firebrand

Chapter 516: Red Emerald

Red Emerald

The waves made the Red Emerald constantly roll back and forth, like a punishment from Sol. So far, Martel had avoided emptying the contents of his stomach, but it had been a close call more than once over the course of the last several days at sea. When the movement was at its worst, he watched with envy as the sailors confidently crossed the deck doing their tasks.

At least Martel was not the only passenger with this struggle; besides two mages and supplies for the front, the merchant vessel carried half a centuria of soldiers and their optio, and more than a few of them lacked their sea-legs as well. A little to Martel's annoyance, that number did not include Eleanor; the mageknight casually strolled around on the deck in her black tunic. Her armour and weapons lay along with Martel's equipment in the captain's cabin, which had been placed at her disposal; the captain had taken a bed in the crew's quarters, where Martel also slept or made attempts thereof.

"Still feeling queasy?" Eleanor arrived at his side with a smile, though she did not look at him directly.

"No," Martel claimed, getting on his feet. He resisted the urge to reach out and grab the ship's railing for support. "Just bored. All the times I dreamt about sailing away, I didn't think about how dull it would actually be, trapped on a ship."

"Still faster and easier than travelling on land," she countered. "We can spar?" came the suggestion. Eleanor had already trounced a handful of the legionaries aboard, even without using magic.

"I feel like I've done a lifetime of that at the Lyceum," Martel declared. He took a step to lean over the railing of the ship, pretending to admire the view. While starboard showed only the Emerald Sea, port showed the southern coast of Aster, as they followed it towards their destination of Esmouth and the Savena Delta.

"I shall allow you to be spared while we are at sea, but once we are settled in camp, expect daily training."

"Why? You're not my teacher," Martel protested. "We're not obligated to do that anymore."

"If I am going to be responsible for your life," she began to say with overbearing patience, "and go into battle by your side, you can bet your Stars that I will keep your fighting skills sharp."

He could not really argue with that. "Alright." A moment later, because he felt he had not said this often enough, Martel continued, "And thank you. For coming with me."

"You are welcome."

"Does your father know yet, do you think?"

"Probably. I imagine he found out almost as soon as we left. But if you are worried about interference, do not be. He does not have the reach to have me reassigned to another position or legion."

"I wasn't. I just hope he won't be angry with you."

"I am sure he is. But it is done, and it will be a long while before we can return to Morcaster, so he will have time to get over it."

"That's good." Martel fell quiet, instead watching the cliffs as the ship continued past.

"Well, I shall find someone else to keep my skills sharp." Eleanor disappeared towards her cabin.

Martel was only left alone briefly before a legionary approached to stand next to him, and the wizard shot him a look. So far, nobody had spoken a word directly to the battlemage except for the captain, inquiring about whether he had any capabilities with wind.

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"Sir," the soldier spoke in greeting. He was an old greybeard, compared to most of the centuria on the ship, who were clearly new recruits, many of them around Martel's age.

"Soldier," Martel replied, not really knowing how else to address the man.

"Keeping an eye out for Khivan ships?"

"I can't imagine there's any. We're in Asterian waters. And wouldn't they be coming from the other direction?" Martel glanced over his shoulder, across the ship to the side where the open sea met his gaze.

The greybeard shook his head. "Too easy to spot. They'll be hiding somewhere in between the cliffs. Most of our warships are in harbour for winter, being refitted. So they lie in wait, should any lone merchant vessel like ours chance by." He gave a sardonic smile. "That's why the captain asked you on the first day if you're a stormmage. It's not that he needs more wind for the journey he wanted to know if you could deal with an enemy ship."

"But surely we wouldn't have been sent on this journey, without an armed escort, if there was a high risk of Khivans intercepting us?" Martel had gotten used to his status as battlemage protecting him, back at the Lyceum; the thought that the Imperial administration would so carelessly risk an asset like him seemed dubious. On the other hand, Duke Cheval had pulled strings to get Martel assigned to the Tenth Legion; maybe another thread had been tugged to put him on one of the riskier transports.

The soldier shrugged. "It seems incomprehensible to us, who are in the thick of it. But the fellows in the administration, they just see numbers. They might send a hundred vessels to the front a year; if two or three are lost, they note that in their columns and compensate. And if the lure of seizing a transport makes the Khivans risk their own ships, and they lose one or two a year, it might even be considered a good trade."

Martel turned around, placing his back towards the cliffs to watch the spectacle of Eleanor fighting a legionary. The ship had around seventy people aboard, made of flesh and blood. But he knew the greybeard probably had it right; the clerks in the Imperial administration, they only saw the number.

***

The days continued along the same routine with the wind filling the sails of the Red Emerald, pushing it ever eastwards. Martel slowly became accustomed to the constant motion, though his sleep remained uncomfortable, leaving him irritable. He suppressed it around Eleanor, who did not deserve to be subjected to it; as for the soldiers and crew, nobody approached the dour-looking battlemage for conversation.

As for Eleanor, she continued her daily sparring. Lacking other entertainment, the soldiers and sailors alike crowded to watch every time. Despite restricting herself from using magic, Eleanor bested every opponent; compared to a knight, the recruits stood little chance.

After another bout, Eleanor gave a bow and retreated to her cabin. The soldiers applauded and laughed, throwing in a few barbs at her victim of the day. "She only won because she got magic!" it burst from the sore loser, still rubbing his hand where Eleanor's sword had disarmed him.

"Nobody saw any sign of that," someone retorted.

"Well, you can't see magic, can you," came the biting reply. "No other way someone with a sword could beat a spear otherwise! Especially not a woman!"

Martel stalked over. Despite his mood, he kept control over his voice and his spells, staying quiet as his presence asserted itself. It took a moment for all the soldiers to notice him and the laughter to die down.

"If I hear another disparaging word about the lady, I will throw you overboard as a mercy after I've set you on fire." The wizard gave a piercing stare at the legionary, who lowered his eyes. Satisfied, Martel turned around and strode away, resuming his post by the starboard side, where he stared out at the cliffs. Behind him, conversation and hushed laughter resumed.

Shortly after, the greybeard from the other day joined Martel. "Permission to give unasked advice, sir?"

"Yes?"

"Best you refer to your protector by rank instead of title if you want the men to think of her as that. 'Sir Fontaine' rather than ladyship or anything like that."

Despite his poor mood, Martel saw the wisdom in his words. He exhaled, doing his best to ignore any annoyance clinging to him. "Thanks. What's your name?"

"Very good, sir." The greybeard gave a sly smile. "Show an interest in your men, and it'll take you far with them. I'm Marius."

"I'm Martel."

"Yes, sir."

Looking at his companion, the wizard figured that perhaps he should take the opportunity to learn more about the common soldiery when a cry went up to tear him from his thoughts.

"Ship in sight!" Standing by the bow, a sailor gestured frantically towards the east. Crew and legionaries alike ran towards him to confirm the message with their own eyes and more importantly, the allegiance of the vessel. Martel felt his heart sink as he saw the flag atop the mast. It was a Khivan galley.