Chapter 533: In His Element
In His Element
Fifty soldiers along with one optio and three mages moved through the landscape, using the darkness to cover their approach. Finally, Avery raised her arm, and they all stopped. "It lies right ahead. Everyone, prepare. We will sneak forward, but once they raise the alarm, charge."
Martel could not see the hill as such; it was lost in the dark. He let his magic sweep out, and before his inner eye, two flares appeared. Sentinels, crouching on the ridge. Beyond them, more little lights from other guards watching the other direction. "Two watchmen on the hill," he muttered. "Probably same number facing every other approach."
Avery whipped her head towards him. "You can sense them?"
"Like flames in the night."
"Very well. Once they spot us, they are your first targets. The rest of us, over that hill at once." She looked at the optio, who nodded, and they cautiously began moving.
***
It was a cold and crispy night. The moon was new, providing scarcely any light. As quietly as they could, more than fifty warriors moved forward while crouching. All eyes stared ahead, as the contour of the hill slowly took shape. No sounds reached them; the Khivans practised discipline keeping their camp hidden. With every step, Martel's heart beat faster. Battle was imminent, and while he had experience fighting, he did not know what to expect. How would the Khivans fight back? What numbers did they have? How would it feel to be shot by one of their muskets?
Commotion ahead at least, Martel thought so. He kept his breath even as he closed his eyes, switching to sight by heat. It was partly obscured by Avery and Eleanor right in front of him, but he looked beyond the warmth of their bodies to find the Khivans on the steep hill. One of them was standing up.
"They're suspicious," he whispered. If the mageknights ahead of him took note, he could not tell; their progress continued at the same slow pace.
A cry went up from the hill, followed by shouts and sounds of movement.
"Attack!" Avery yelled. With a battle roar, the legionaries charged. Even as he ran forward, staying within the circle of Asterians, Martel flung fire bolts to either side. The Khivan guards stopped shouting and began screaming instead as they were struck.
With empowered speed, Avery outran everyone else. She leapt across the ditch and up the hill. Martel saw a flare of magic as she activated her shield. Streaks of heat came from below, striking the mageknight, though her spell kept her safe. Martel realised those were bullets, looking like they rode on fire through the air.
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Despite her own magic, Eleanor held back and kept pace with the legionaries, and Martel remained right behind her. As they crossed the ditch and came up the hill, in the dark, they looked like any other soldier; no reason why the Khivans should target them. That would change once he began blasting fire, though.
"Down in the ring," he called out to Eleanor. "I'll attack when we're down!"
She moved at the same speed in agreement with his, and as they reached the top of the hill, she continued down. Martel paused only a moment to take in the sight of the enclosure. It was bigger than he had imagined, almost like a small fort, surrounded by a sloped ring. The dark barely allowed him to see anything, but he imagined tents everywhere, and of course, Khivans. They had begun fighting back; shots rang out repeatedly, and legionaries screamed even as they ran into the cauldron.
Once down from the ridge and less exposed, Martel began. His ability to see heat allowed him perfect aim even in the dark, and he unleashed fire bolts in every direction. Figuring that further chaos would only help, he aimed a few to ignite the tents, providing his comrades light and vision of the enemy.
Shimmers of magic told him that Eleanor was busy as well. Every now and then, she leapt forward to strike at an enemy before retreating back, standing in front of Martel like a human shield.
As for the Khivans, they fought with ferocity and any weapon at hand. While some stayed back, using their muskets, others ran forward while shouting, wielding blades, axes, or even pikes. One armed with such a long weapon came straight at Martel, clearly having identified the main threat; Eleanor intercepted him, striking him down.
Crouching down, just to present a smaller target, Martel continued to fling fire from the ruby atop his staff. Small flashes of heat told him where the Khivan gunners were, and he retaliated every time. If they managed to duck before he could strike, he set their cover on fire instead, flushing them out.
Martel's heartbeat had quickened to become a constant drumming, but not from fear; he was in his element, literally. Fire surrounded him, exhilarated him, elevated him. He stood up straight, letting flames fill his free hand. He did not have to bind himself or restrict his power; he could let loose. And nothing came close to the power he wielded. No hostile mages, no cannons, no conflagration that strained him to his limits. He was destruction incarnate, and the entire camp burned in a blaze like a bonfire in his honour.
Suddenly, it was over. The sounds of fighting ebbed away. No more firing of muskets or shouts of pain, no clashing of steel. The other half of the centuria had arrived from their side, surrounding the Khivans.
Martel relaxed. He had restricted himself to basic spells, preserving his strength; although he felt as if he had to catch his breath, he was in rather good condition. He could have continued fighting like this all night if need be.
Something whistled through the air. Martel was pulled back, and he fell to the ground. Looking up, he saw Eleanor step in front of him, raising her shield arm, and something struck the wooden guard. "Summon your shield!"
Martel swiftly did so, still on the ground. He glanced in every direction, but he saw nothing. Around them, legionaries filled the space as they began rummaging through the camp and the dead. Considering himself safe among them, Martel got on his feet. "What is it?"
Eleanor turned her arm to show her shield. An arrow sat embedded into it. As she grabbed the shaft and pulled it loose, she held it close. In the light of the smouldering flames scattered around the camp, Martel saw what she meant to show him; just below the arrow tip, a rune had been carved.
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