Beyond the Walls
Staff against sword and shield, Martel sparred against Eleanor for an hour in the morning as had beco their wont. Their efforts attracted mild attention, mostly from bored soldiers; the novelty of their training sessions had worn off quickly. Accustod to spectators, Martel did not notice one among them who stood out. As they ceased their exertions and took a step back, the newcor approached them.
Eleanor snapped to and saluted with her fist against her chest. "Legion prefect," she said, probably mostly for Martel's sake, who mirrored her salute. He glanced at the mageknight who had joined them without trying to be obvious about it. She seed between fifteen to twenty years older, looking lean, stern, and typically Asterian with brown eyes and dark hair.
"At ease, prefects. I am Sir Lara Chasseur, should my na not be known to you. I do know yours." She glanced from one to the other. "I returned to camp yesterday, and I have been told you have yet to go on any patrols."
"I assu that was on purpose, sir," Eleanor responded. "My charge is too valuable to be used on duties that any legionary could perform."
"Well, if you think that the pair of you can spend the next two decades in camp without being asked to do a single thing, you are sorely mistaken. Your first patrol will be today and once every fiveday henceforth. Report to the camp prefect within the hour for instructions."
"Sir," Eleanor protested. "If the Khivans discover that a battlemage is regularly roaming the countryside with just a few legionaries for company, they will send entire regints to kill him."
"In that case, should you have any encounters with the enemy, I suggest you allow none to escape. Or do you doubt your own abilities to protect him?"
As strange as it was being the object of their discussion while he was standing right next to them, Martel had kept quiet until he heard the final sentence. "Sir Fontaine is a most capable mageknight," he replied as calmly as he could, "and I can think of none more able to protect in a fight or lead a patrol."
"Then I will entertain no further objections. You have your orders." Turning on her heel, the legion prefect left.
"I am not sure either of us endeared ourselves to her with this exchange," Eleanor considered, "but I appreciate your words."
"Co on. Let's see what old Robert can tell us about our task for the day."
***
They were given brown cloaks to replace the bright red that legionaries usually wore, a flask that they could fill in the river, and so rations for the day. After that, the camp prefect directed them to assemble by the legion standard.
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As the two mages did so, they found ten legionaries waiting. "Sir," one of them said in salute.
Eleanor glanced at them. "You are the princeps?"
"Yes, sir. Awaiting your command."
"You may take the lead, soldier. Lead the patrol as you would do if we were absent," she commanded.
"Very well, sir." The princeps turned towards the ordinary legionaries. "Move out! Single file behind !"
***
A few hundred feet from the camp, the treeline began. Though since spring had yet to arrive, the trees were naked and did little to hinder visibility. Nor did they prevent the wind from blowing sharp, and Martel pulled his cloak around him, grateful for its brown colour; the usual red would have stood out from a mile away.
The legionaries moved with speed, following trails made either by boots or animals. None of them spoke, and they constantly looked from side to side. Martel brought up the rear with Eleanor right in front of him; unlike their large infantry shields, hers was smaller and round, suitable for a rider. Martel had his staff, which served him well in keeping his footing, but he wondered if any lurking Khivans would understand the significance of his weapon. He knew Eleanor was right; a battlemage would be a prize for them.
His musings made Martel fall a little behind; he picked up the pace, hurrying to reach the formation.
***
As the sun moved past its zenith, the princeps finally called for a longer break than rely catching their breaths. Every man sat down where possible, usually on turned over trunks or simply the ground, and pulled out flasks and rations.
Martel did the sa, chewing on strips of dried at before washing it down with river water.
"Sir, is it true you t a Khivan galley on your journey here?"
Looking around, Martel saw everyone looking at him. He cleared his throat. "We did."
"They say you burned the ship to cinders," another soldier chid in.
"Just the sail. It sank the old-fashioned way with a hole in its hull," Martel explained.
"I knew it! That Khivan alchemy is no match for Asterian magic!"
"Who cares for cannons when we got a battlemage fighting for us!"
A few of the soldiers continued with such rry remarks, but Martel noticed they were in the minority. Most of the legionaries seed less at ease. Either they wore uncomfortable expressions, looking away, or they stared at Martel with unfriendly deanours.
"Alright, eat up. Boots back on the ground," the princeps commanded, and they finished their break.
***
Eventually, they made a turn and moved back towards the camp, reaching it in the twilight hours. It had been uneventful; Martel had seen nothing but barren trees and the occasional animal or bird. Given all he had heard about this posting and the Tenth, he had half-expected to be ambushed once out of the sight from the encampnt; so far, it seed peaceful, especially compared to his experiences in Morcaster. Presumably, winter and barren trees did not provide the best opportunity for ambushes.
The patrol broke up once past the gate, and the two wizards moved towards their tents. "I got the feeling they weren't all keen on ," Martel remarked, wondering at Eleanor's impression.
"I would agree with that assessnt."
"Is it because they're worried that I'll attract attention from the Khivans?"
"Most likely. It could also be that they are concerned your presence ans an attempt at offensive manoeuvres why else would a battlemage be sent here? They are not privy to the real reason you are attached to the Tenth, I imagine."
"Right." Martel took a deep breath. Martel was not sure anything could be done about that; revealing the truth might just make the legionaries shun him for that reason instead. "Want to start a cooking fire?"
"Only if it is not too much trouble."
Martel ignited the remnants of the firewood from their last al. "I'll live."
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