525. Cold Tracks (Patreon)

It began to snow the next day as if the Stars themselves found it amusing how Martel had chosen to give up his source of heating. After a cold morning practising against Eleanor, he went alone to the river and found a large stone along with two small ones, and an afternoon of enchantment ensued. Once done, he brought it all to the infirmary; if winter was about to become harsher, Martel could guess a single heating stone would not suffice. Once back in his own tent, he boiled some water and brewed tea for himself with a few mustard seeds, gaining what warmth that could provide, before settling in for another cold night.

***

His limbs feeling cold and stiff, Martel did not look forward to sparring when he woke to the sound of the morning bell. As he got dressed and dragged himself outside, wearing his chain shirt and everything, he wondered if Eleanor could be persuaded to skip this morning.

As she left her own tent, she gave him a quick glance. "We are not training today, if that is what you are waiting for."

"We're not?"

"Today is Pelday. We have patrol."

Martel's shoulders slumped. He got his wish, but not in the way he wanted. The Stars were definitely mocking him. "Let's just eat."

***

The soldiers on the patrol were not the same from last time; presumably, their schedule differed from his and Eleanor's, and they would probably be going out with a new group every time.

The route chosen by the princeps was different as well. They went straight east, into the forested hills now covered by a blanket of snow. It all looked serene with nary a bird or beast disturbing the landscape; it reminded Martel of paintings he had seen in the palaces back in Morcaster. The only sound to be heard came from their boots, crunching against the snow with each step.

***

Walking in the back, Martel was the last to see why the others had suddenly stopped walking. As they crowded around something on the ground, Martel pushed forward to join them.

Sets of tracks across the otherwise pristine snow.

"Three of them, by the look of it," one soldier remarked.

"Could it be yesterday's patrol? It had already snowed by then."

"They wouldn't separate out here, letting three boys go alone." The princeps, bending down, shook his head. "These are Khivan footprints."

"Locals or soldiers?" Eleanor asked.

"No locals still around these parts, sir," came the reply. "But what do we do? Investigate?"

Martel looked in the direction that the prints led. The path sloped down, in between hills. Ahead, the land was otherwise barren; they had just left the treeline some hundred paces behind them.

"This has a bad smell," the princeps remarked, but he gave no orders, looking at the mageknight instead.

Eleanor slowly nodded. "Open land, lower terrain. Those tracks lead nowhere good. We pull back and stay within the treeline – follow along it to see if we spot anything else, but stay within cover."

"Very good, sir." The princeps stood up and looked at the legionaries. "As she said. Pull back."

They had barely set into motion before the first shot rang out.

***

It took Martel a moment to understand what he had heard. The Khivan cannons on the galley had sounded deafening; this was subdued in comparison, like distant thunder. But given the clear sky, it could not be any sound made in nature; he had heard a Khivan musket firing.

"Martel, behind me!" Eleanor yelled, stepping in front of him; he saw her magic flare up, and he activated his own magical shield as well, trusting it would stop a Khivan bullet as well as an Asterian sword.

"Shields together!" the princeps called out, and the legionaries did as commanded. "Retreat!" One step at a time, the soldiers moved backwards, hiding behind their shields.

Using their improvised wall for cover, the two mages did the same a few paces ahead, trying to crouch low while still moving.

Repeatedly, shots pierced the air, and Martel heard the sound of wood splintering again and again. Outbursts of pain followed, but none of the soldiers faltered. Step by step, they continued the retreat.

Glancing over his shoulder, Martel saw the treeline slowly come closer, but at far too sluggish a pace for his liking. He dared not stand up and look over the edge of the shields – if the Khivans did not kill him, Eleanor would – so he could not see what danger they faced specifically.

But his magic did not depend on eyesight. He allowed it to sweep over the hills, closing his eyes for a moment. A confused sight met his inner gaze. The eleven Asterians in front of him obscured his perception with their body heat, but Martel felt strong flashes of fire some hundred or two hundred feet ahead. It had to be the Khivan weapons, he assumed, as the warmth of a person did not flare up and down like that, but it made it hard for him to ascertain their numbers. At least five, but probably more.

Traces of heat to his left. "They're flanking us!" he exclaimed, looking over his shoulder again. Ten steps to the treeline.

"Keep moving!" the princeps commanded.

Shots came from the left, but Eleanor had already taken position, and her magic glowed. Whether by her physical or magical shield, the bullets were stopped.

Five paces. Martel reached out with his magic and felt it. The warmth where the Khivan powder had ignited; the slim metal barrel heated up by the shot.

Distracted while walking backwards, Martel tripped and fell. Eleanor reached down, grabbed him with her free hand, and dragged him the final steps before dropping him behind a tree. Around him, the legionaries broke ranks and likewise hurried into the relative safety of the treeline, using the trunks for cover.

"Princeps, what do we do?" yelled one soldier. Several of them looked at the mageknight in their midst.

"We pull back, draw them into the trees if they pursue us. That will give us the chance to close the distance without being in the open," Eleanor reasoned.

"What if they're already behind us?" another asked in panic. "We don't know how many?"

"We do," Martel declared. "Give me a moment." He let his magic flow out behind the group. The Khivans might be able to hide from the naked eye, but they could not disguise the warmth of their bodies. Nothing met Martel's inner sight. "It's empty," he told the others. "They're only ahead of us."

The legionaries exchanged glances, perhaps hesitant to trust his judgement without knowing what he based it on, but Eleanor had no such reservations. "Back, now! Martel, lead!"

He nodded in acknowledgement and got on his feet. Trying to stay low while still moving, he awkwardly made his way forward between the trees, constantly using his magic to feel for heat ahead.

After a hundred paces or so, he stopped to let everyone catch up and let their small group reconstitute itself. The legionaries reached his position moments later, all of them crouching behind a tree as they came to a halt; Eleanor appeared as the last. "Anything?"

The question was directed at Martel, who crawled through the line of soldiers to avoid their heat interfering with his senses. Once clear, he let his magic sweep out. "Nothing," he replied. "It doesn't look like they followed."

"How can you know?" asked a soldier. "They could just be hiding, or sneaking up on us from another angle!"

Martel gave him a hard glare. "They can't hide from me. There's nobody close to our position. We're safe."

"If the mage says so, that's how it is," the princeps interjected. "But what do we do now?" He looked at a legionary who had been shot; the fabric and metal rings of his sleeve were torn to shreds.

"Back to camp," Eleanor decided. "Too much of a risk to stay here and with nothing to be gained." She looked at Martel. "Lead the way. Straight west."

He glanced up at the sky. The sun was approaching the horizon, darkening their surroundings, but at least it made it easy to know the direction. Keeping the setting sun straight ahead, Martel began the journey back with the patrol behind him, Eleanor bringing up the rear.

***

They reached the camp without incident, and Martel finally breathed easily as they passed the gate. The guards gave them questioning glances, seeing the damaged shields and the one legionary pressing a hand to his arm; they had bound his wound, but he had begun shivering.

"Take him to the infirmary. I will report to the legion prefect," Eleanor decided, and the princeps saluted before leading his wounded comrade away.

"I'll go with you," Martel told her, just in case he could be helpful.

They made their way through the camp, and Martel felt his emotions slowly settle. Although the ambush had happened hours ago, and he was accustomed to such dangers, it had been an unsettling journey back home; even with his magic, he found it hard to shake his fear of Khivans hiding behind every tree they passed. He began to understand why nobody wanted a posting in the Tenth.

"Sir Chasseur, we return from patrol," Eleanor called out as they stood by the legion prefect's tent.

"Enter."

She sat in the middle of her small domicile, eating bread and pieces of fish from a plate. "Anything to report?" She placed her food on the small table in front of her.

"Yes, sir. The enemy attempted an ambush approximately ten miles east of here."

"Casualties?"

"None. One soldier lightly wounded, that is all."

"Number of enemies?"

"Hard to say." Eleanor glanced at Martel, who would have the best impression.

"Five to ten engaged us," he explained. "If there were more, they weren't close enough for me to notice."

Sir Lara nodded to herself. "Very well. Just another skirmish, in that case. Dismissed."

The two mages saluted and left. "Well, we have had our first taste of the enemy. It could be worse, though I despise how they stay at range," Eleanor considered.

Martel felt too worn to think of a witty remark. This had been their second patrol out of hundreds to come; he hoped this encounter had been a rare occurrence, but he suspected otherwise, given the weary state of the Tenth's legionaries. "I'm going to rest."

~~

Martel's character sheet (no change).