Firebrand

Chapter 518: The Legate and the Battlemage

The Legate and the Battlemage

Nearly two fivedays later, the Red Emerald reached its destination. Martel stood at the prow, no longer troubled by the rolling movements of the ship. Ahead, he saw all the construction that made up the town of Esmouth and the camp of Legio X Astra.

On both sides of the river, fortifications rose in stone. To the west, they enclosed the town; to the east, the camp. In between lay the river with a wooden bridge connecting them both. It seemed curious at first that it would not be built in stone until Martel guessed the reasons for parts of the construction; it was a drawbridge, which could be pulled up to allow ships passage.

The Red Emerald had no need to cross the boundary; the port of Esmouth, small as it was, lay south of the bridge. In truth, it was little more than a few piers. Evidently, Esmouth had no trade or other such traffic requiring much of a harbour; even Smallport back at Morcaster was greater than this. The townspeople would have a hard time getting their hands on any goods they could not make themselves.

The crew moored the Red Emerald, the only ship currently in the harbour. If for no other reason than that, people gathered to watch them; interest and clamour only grew seeing the rows of prisoners leaving the ship.

"I'll take these to the legion prefect and also let her know about the Khivans who escaped," the optio declared, to which Eleanor nodded in acknowledgement. The officer nodded at his men, who picked up their equipment and began the walk across the bridge to the camp on the eastern bank.

"We should report to the legate," Eleanor told Martel, who nodded and grabbed his belongings, slinging a bag over his shoulder.

***

Walking through Esmouth was an eerie sensation. From the outside, the walls looked strong and in good condition; yet just past the harbour gate, the houses and buildings lay in ruins. Not simply from neglect, but destroyed walls and caved-in roofs, like a magical battle had destroyed the surroundings.

As they advanced down the main road of the small town, this changed; the structures in the eastern part remained standing. Yet despite being in good condition, not all seemed occupied. More than one had an open door, showing an empty room inside. For an uncomfortable moment, Martel remembered the Undercroft before the cold wind reminded him he was not underground.

"This is a strange town," Martel muttered, as much to himself as to Eleanor.

"It is not really much of a town anymore. The residents fled when the war began and battle came," she explained. "Those you see here, those not in uniform, are camp followers. Craftsmen supplying the legion or the families of legionaries."

That explained the lessened demand for trade; perhaps the occasional arrival of a merchant vessel like the Red Emerald was sufficient to supply the few luxuries and comforts that made life bearable. Summer would see ships arriving more often, presumably.

Winter kept people indoors, Martel imagined, but simply from appearance and sounds, he could identify some of the buildings. Rowdy songs, laughter, and drunkards outside told him what had to be the public house of the town. Another place allowed Martel a glimpse inside as the doors opened briefly, revealing a number of women in different states of undress; his familiarity with establishments like The River Pearl allowed him to recognise its purpose. And somewhere in the distance, a hammer against anvil spoke of a blacksmith at work, briefly reminding Martel of his childhood home.

They reached what had to be the largest structure in the town. Martel imagined that if Esmouth had been big enough to warrant a magistrate when it still functioned as a town, this would have been their abode. A legionary stood watch outside, and he saluted at the sight of two prefects approaching. "This should be the legate's residence," Eleanor remarked as they continued past the threshold.

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They found themselves in a pleasant atrium with a small pool at the centre; in summer, this would undoubtedly be a pleasant place, but it was too cold at present for anyone to enjoy. The sight of servants moving about and a child's laughter in the distance told Martel that the legate's family had come with him on his assignment.

"The legate's study is through here." Acting as someone familiar with the place, Eleanor led her companion across the atrium and down a corridor, which had another guard posted at the end. "Announce our arrival," Eleanor commanded, dropping her belongings to the floor; Martel did the same.

The soldier saluted and opened the door, sticking his head inside the room. A moment later, he stepped aside. "The legate will see you."

The room was as bare as it could be, containing only a chair, a desk, and a drawer. Occupying the only seat, Legate Titus Varus looked up at them. Clean-shaven like any legionary, the hair on his head was closer to white than black. He had a heavy build, and despite living in the field, his life contained sufficient leisure and luxury to add to his waistline. But Martel knew the legate was a mageknight, and regardless of extra weight, he could move faster than the leanest sprinter in the legion. He looked up at the two prefects in his study with eyes lacking cordiality or even much interest in his visitors. "So, you are the battlemage assigned to the Tenth."

"Martel of Engby, sir," he spoke, not sure what he was meant to say.

"I know your name. And Eleanor Fontaine. The Stars have a sense of humour to once more bring a Fontaine to the Tenth." The legate regarded them both, still with the same amount of interest that one might behold a stray dog running by. "Well, I have little use for a battlemage at present, but maybe orders will change. Go to the camp. Report to the prefect. Dismissed."

Eleanor bowed her head; sensing the movement, Martel did the same. They turned around and marched out of the study.

***

Crossing Esmouth again, Martel realised something. "When your father was legate of the Tenth, did your family also go with him?"

"Yes. In some ways, we just saw my childhood home, though I was not old when we left."

"Were you present during the first battle? When the city was destroyed?"

She looked straight ahead as she replied. "Yes."

"It must be strange to be back."

She made no answer as they continued, reaching the bridge that spanned the Savena River. Crossing it as well, they entered the camp of the Tenth Legion. Like the town, stone walls surrounded it, but otherwise the two places had nothing else in common. Tents rather than buildings filled the space, and countless legionaries could be seen in between. They were occupied with all sorts of tasks: cooking food, washing clothes, cleaning equipment, and the like. More than once, Martel saw a ring of soldiers on the ground, crowded around a board serving as the surface for dice games; stacks of copper coins exchanged hands after each throw, accompanied with outbursts of disappointment or howls of laughter.

Asking for directions, they were shown to the tent of the camp prefect. Before they could enter, a short man in his fifties stalked towards them, coming down the road. "Prefects!" Both the mages turned around. "You must be our new arrivals. Follow me." He turned around and led them towards the middle of the camp. "Each mageknight usually sleeps with his cohort, but as you're not assigned to any, we've given you a spot in the centre. You'll find supplies and everything you need waiting for you. For provisions, see the quartermaster as needed. In case of the alarm being raised, gather at the standard of the legion." He pointed at a large pole, which had a golden eagle atop; below its claws, a banner flew depicting three stars and the words Legio X Astra. "The legion prefect or the decurion will give you your orders in such a situation. Otherwise, your time is your own. Legate might have orders for you, of course, but that's his business, not mine."

They finally reached two large tents, side by side; unlike those for legionaries, these were tall enough to allow someone to stand inside. Looking past the entrance, Martel saw a cot, a small table, and a low chair. All of this reminded him of his first day arriving at the Lyceum.

"I'm Prefect Robert, should you need to know. Anything amiss, you may see me to rectify the situation. But while in camp, I am in charge," he impressed upon them. "I don't care if you're wizards. In this place, only the legate or legion prefect may command me. I won't take orders from you, and complaints about me won't get you anywhere. Understood?"

"Of course." Not the friendliest demeanour, but Martel figured that the middle-aged man had seen his share of mages making demands of him. "We know where to find you if need be."

The camp prefect gave a grunt and left. "Hardly a cordial welcome," Eleanor remarked. She looked at the tents. "I assume they contain the same. Pick the one you prefer."

"I'll just take this one," Martel declared, choosing the one closest to him. He threw his belongings inside the opening. "But before we get settled, help me find two large stones. I'll need your help hauling them back."

She raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"I didn't spend all those hours learning enchanting for nothing. No reason either of us should freeze, just because it's winter."