Firebrand

Chapter 605: The Smell of Horses

The Smell of Horses

Martel and Eleanor had spotted the enemy patrol while still more than a mile away. Likewise, the Khivans had noticed the two Asterians, but they had not guessed them to be mages, else they would have retreated. Instead, they hurried forward, probably working under the assumption that they had caught out two legionaries.

The wizards allowed them to come close, calmly awaiting them, which should have been another sign for the Khivans. Yet whether arrogant, blind, or just overzealous, they advanced. Three of them carried muskets, which they raised to their shoulders while the other four, armed with swords, continued forward.

Upon an order from those in the back, the Khivan swordsmen all dropped to a knee, and the muskets fired. Moments later, they got back up and continued while the musketmen reloaded their weapons.

The bullets struck their targets, yet fell to the ground, which was the next sign that something was amiss. But by now it was too late. As the Asterians were within range, so was the opposite also true. Martel reached out and destroyed the barrel of each musket with ease.

The swordsmen reached them, and Eleanor stepped forward to defend Martel. The combination of her magic and her skill meant that one of them fell immediately; a second took a fire bolt to the stomach, with Eleanor's blade finishing him off. The remaining two fought desperately, being forced back.R𝒆ad lat𝒆st ch𝒂pters on n𝒐v𝒆lbi𝒏(.)c𝒐m

Martel paid them no heed, knowing Eleanor would deal with them. In the distance, the three musketmen had realised their weapons were of no use. They drew their pistols, but as that weapon had much smaller range, they ran forward.

The battlemage did not give them the opportunity to get close enough. Ignoring the Khivan swordsmen fighting near him, Martel raised his staff. From its ruby, a bolt of lightning shot through the air to strike the nearest musketman before jumping to the other two. All three fell to the ground, dead.

Looking left, Martel watched as Eleanor dispatched the last Khivan. Breathing heavily, she turned her own head to look at him, giving him a tired smile, which he reciprocated.

As she began destroying every weapon, Martel tried to feel less pleased about himself. He disliked being a battlemage, yet he could not deny a certain satisfaction after every victory, having once again proven his magic superior to the challenge. Likewise, he looked at Eleanor with pride witnessing her abilities, all the while feeling dismayed that she was exposed to danger.

She returned to him after crushing every pistol wielded by the musketmen. "No golden bullets," Eleanor explained. "Just regular troops, these. They may not even know of your presence yet."

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Martel thought about the three corpses struck by lightning, their faces twisted in agonising expressions with burn marks on their body, yet no obvious wounds. "They probably will soon." But no reason to make it easy. He raised a finger, and a stream of fire spewed out to ignite the corpses. Burning them would make it a little harder for others to realise how they had died. "Let's get back."

***

Returning to camp, they noticed the smell first. The wind came against them, and even miles away, Martel and Eleanor could smell the horses. Coming this strong, it could not simply be the few animals used by the prefects or couriers. As they cleared the ridge to look down the northern side, they saw a large herd of the beasts inside the pasture. The decurion had arrived with the mounted cohort.

At a closer glance, it became clear that he had not brought all five hundred men under his command, simply because the fenced enclosure could not contain that many horses. Thinking back, Martel recalled that the legate had mentioned this during the council concerning the campaign; the decurion would only arrive with half his cohort or something. Martel should probably have paid more attention, but then again, Eleanor did it for both of them.

"We should report to Sir Avery and Sir Valerius of our encounter," Eleanor declared as they passed through the eastern gate. "And Sir Dominic," she added.

Martel made no reply but simply followed her to the centre of the camp. A third tent of the height and size reserved for prefects rose had been raised next to the first two. They followed the sound of voices to enter the one belonging to Avery.

"Ah, the apothecary and his stalwart protector." The decurion almost kept any hint of mockery out of his voice. Martel resisted the urge to channel lightning and let Eleanor do the talking.

"We encountered a patrol of seven Khivans almost two bells east of here. All are dead," she related. "Based on their behaviour, they did not take us for mages."

"You keep that up, we shall have conquered the city in no time," Dominic spoke with a smile.

"Well done," Valerius added, without an overbearing undertone unlike the decurion.

Avery quickly jotted down what Eleanor had explained. "Now that they have lost soldiers, they will probably become more cautious. We should certainly expect increased resistance."

"No matter," interjected Dominic. "My riders can easily control this open land. They will take over scouting. Though I am a little offended you chose to build the pasture outside the walls."

"We would have sacrificed too much in terms of defensiveness," Sir Avery brushed him off. "What about the legion? And we were promised supplies. We have enough for ourselves, but I do not imagine your men brought much with them."

"The Tenth is six days from here, and a supply train was already sent ahead, so it should arrive any day now," the decurion replied. "All has been taken into consideration. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall take a bath in that lovely little river we passed. As much as I like horses, I do get tired of the smell." He left without further words.

The remaining prefects looked at each other; Martel wondered if the others seemed a little strained as well, or maybe he was simply reading his own feelings into the situation.

"Well, I have armour to clean." Eleanor inclined her head and walked out of the tent; Martel followed, and together they walked back to their own humble dwelling.

"I guess we are off scouting duty," he remarked.

"For now, at least. Which means sparring tomorrow morning instead."

He let out a sigh.