Firebrand

Chapter 555: Blue Skin

Blue Skin

Martel and Eleanor were on their way out of the small camp when a voice called out. "Prefects, one moment!" They both turned around to find Florence, the mageknight in charge, striding towards them. "This came for you yesterday." She handed over a brief missive.

Reading it, Eleanor looked up. "Why are we only receiving it now?"

Florence shrugged. "You weren't in camp when it arrived, and I forgot. Safe journey." She walked away.

Grumbling, Eleanor handed over the missive to Martel.

Sir Fontaine, Sir Martel, returned to the camp at Esmouth immediately. Sir Lara

"Why?" Martel immediately asked. It had been about a month since summer solstice; he could not think of any occasion that warranted their presence in camp.

"I suppose we will find out. Come on, we should pack some provisions. I will get us horses."

Martel groaned.

***

It was pleasant to journey through the forest in high summer, assuming no Khivans lurked about. The trees provided pleasant shade, and the nights were warm enough to make sleeping outside tolerable. As the legion constantly patrolled this particular trail between the camp and the outpost, Martel almost felt he could even relax. The only issue was the uncertainty about the reasons for him and Eleanor being recalled.

"Why do you think we've been summoned?" he asked at length as they made camp for the night.

"Maybe they have realised our presence at the outpost only attracts unwanted attention," Eleanor speculated.

"What is the purpose of the outpost in the first place? The camp by the river is much more defensible."

"I assume they want stronger control with the area. The ability to have eyes further east and a better understanding of Khivan movements." She shrugged.

"What about that spy? Wulfstan. You think he has something to do with us being called back?" Martel considered, switching back to the prior topic.

"I think he left long ago, did he not? A fiveday after we arrived or something. But I never understood his purpose. Whether spying or catching spies, the outpost is hardly fertile hunting grounds."

"Alright. I suppose we'll find out when we arrived. I'll take first watch." It would be a while before he could fall asleep anyway, with his head full of thoughts.

"Very well. Good night."

***

As they reached the camp, Martel half expected to be immediately confronted by the legion prefect, but nobody seemed to take note of their arrival. They left the horses at the stables, walked from town into the camp and placed their belongings in their tents, and finally sought out Sir Lara.

"Sir Martel, you have knowledge of alchemy?" she asked as the first thing, ignoring Eleanor.

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"Yes," he all but stammered, perplexed. Of all the things he had imagined this conversation to be about, alchemy had not been included.

"Make your way to the infirmary. The physician will have need of you. Dismissed!"

Outside, the mageknight and battlemage exchanged looks as they made their way through the camp. "I did not expect that," Eleanor admitted.

"Me neither. Let's go by my tent. I might need my notes," Martel mumbled.

After a brief detour, they made their way to the corner of the camp with the large tent housing the infirmary. Still outside, Martel noticed the change. While such a place would always have bad odour, the stench was now overpowering. Furthermore, it looked like more tents had been raised nearby to supplement the larger one.

Stepping inside, Martel found the place packed with cots and sick people using them. There was barely room for a handful of helpers, constantly making their way around offering water to the sick. "Wait outside," he told Eleanor. No need for her to expose herself to all of this. She did not object, but hurried away.

"Don't tell me you found more," spoke the physician, practically climbing around the cots to reach Martel. "We are all full, so you'll have to get us more tents."

"I'm here to help. Sir Lara sent me," he explained.

The physician gave him an incredulous look. "You're the alchemist she sent for? You're a battlemage!"

"As it turns out, I have more than one skill. What's the disease? Have you determined this?" While Martel trusted his alchemy, he had never had to diagnose an illness like this, and he hoped the physician knew better.

"Yes, it's blue plague. The spread is limited, perhaps caused by eating diseased rations, and I believe we have found all those afflicted. We are doing our best to keep them hydrated, and I'm making compresses with strangleroot for those with greatest need. A remedy that all my learned colleagues would agree with," he said pointedly.

Martel ignored anything the man said after identifying the illness; he had his own remedy, born of another tradition. Flicking through his notes from his time in Mistress Rana's laboratory, he found the page detailing the cure for blue plague as well as symptoms.

Walking among the cots, he examined the patients. Fever and sweating were to be expected and could point to any number of diseases. Extreme dehydration, water leaving the patients faster than they might drink it, and some of them directly expelling it by throwing up this narrowed it down. Finally, Martel noticed a blue hue tainting the skin of those patients in the worst grips of the disease, and he accepted the physician's diagnosis. "Do as you see fit," he finally told the man, knowing this would make little difference one way or the other. For many of these patients, alchemy would be the only hope.

***

Eleanor waited a small distance from the tent, and she immediately approached as she saw him leave. "What is the situation?"

"It could be worse. I know of an elixir to cure this, assuming I can get everything in sufficient quantities." He looked up at the sky, slowly darkening. "What phase is the moon in?"

"I am not sure," she replied, sounding caught off-guard. "I think it was new moon ten days ago?"

"Full moon would be best," he mumbled, mostly to himself, "but it'll have to do."

"Martel," she said with added weight to her voice, "is this like Morcaster? How bad will this get?"

"Blue plague does not spread as easily," he reassured her. "As long as we notice new patients and isolate them here, contagion should be limited. Let's walk." He set into motion, and she followed.

"So what do we do now?"

"They've got that part handled. I'll get the camp prefect to find me resources, but you and I will have to make our own trip. Some of this can only be collected by an alchemist," Martel explained. "Give me a moment." He headed inside his own tent and began scribbling down every ingredient that could be gathered by normal means. "Let's go," he said as he returned outside, and they continued.

"Where to?"

"Camp prefect." They moved through the camp until they reached the tent belonging to the man keeping the wheels of the legion turning.

"Prefects," Robert said with a frown, seeing them enter. "What's this?"

Martel placed his list on the desk. "Gather every legionary who can recognise herbs and have them search the area for these. I need as many as you can get."

Robert picked up the list. "I should like some explanation what is this for?"

"Alchemy."

"You're the alchemist Sir Lara sent for?"

"Yes. I know, most surprising, not what you expected from a battlemage. Irrelevant. Soldiers are dying. Get everything you can from that list, and bring it to the Tyrian enclave in town. Understood?"

The camp prefect looked at a loss for words, but he managed to finally say, "Very well."

The pair left his tent. Once outside, Eleanor looked at Martel. "What now?"

He took a deep breath. "Time to set up a potion mill."