Chapter 547: Ostracised
Ostracised
They saw no further sign of Khivans, neither that night nor the following days. It seemed to have been a lone patrol, returning to find the Asterians occupying the camp and taking what revenge they could. With their muskets gone the Asterians found most of them discarded in the forest, their barrels shattered the Khivans had vanished into the woods; the Tyrian scouts found no trace of them.
Without further interruptions, work on the outpost continued. Under Henry's supervision, the stones were carefully placed in position to create the wall. The timber from the palisades was reused to build shelters, and little by little, the small camp took shape into something permanent. As for Martel, he enchanted a handful of light stones to be placed in a ring around the clearing, ensuring that none could sneak up close at night.
One afternoon, with nothing left for him to enchant, Martel lay on the earthen ramparts and enjoyed the sun. Spring was in full force; the forest was green and teemed with life, and warmth accompanied the sunlight. With closed eyes, he thought of little until voices from inside the camp reached him through the gaps of the unfinished wall.
"How was patrol?" The voice sounded familiar; after a moment, Martel recognised it as belonging to the optio who had been on the Red Emerald, back when he first journeyed to Exmouth.
"Quiet," replied the other man. "No sign of the fire eaters. Even those northerners say so, if you can trust a band of barbarians. Half the time, I don't know whether they are talking or chewing."
"Enjoy it while it lasts. As long as the battlemage is here, don't expect things to remain peaceful." The optio's voice sounded bitter.
"He brought down the gate, didn't he? Night of the assault. He earns his keep, at least."
"Don't let yourself be fooled by prefect talk. They have to say that, so we'll be impressed by all these mages and accept them leading us. It was ordinary legionaries with a ram that brought down the gate, not some fancy spell."
"Wait, you once told me you were on the ship with him when he arrived. Didn't he take down a galley?"
"Sure," the optio replied, "endangering all our lives. Rather than allow the captain to make a run for it, we practically sailed into that cannon fire. Risked the lives of fifty men and the crew. On the pride of a wizard who had never been to war or had any clue what Khivan cannons can do."
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"To be fair, he was right, wasn't he? Galley went down, your ship made it through."
"Alright, but his very presence is a danger to us all. You know what happens to any patrol he goes on? They get ambushed, every time. The Khivans know he is here. This posting was bad enough before, when you never knew when a fire eater might jump out from behind a tree. Now, it's guaranteed they'll do so."
"I didn't know that. Nobody in my centuria has patrolled with him. I would have thought you'd be particularly safe, with both a battlemage and the mageknight in your group."
"On the contrary. And I wouldn't be surprised if this whole push is because of him. Legate thinks now he's got a battlemage in the legion, it's time to make moves. So here we are, stuck in the woods. Now, he might be alright in the end he's got a protector. But it's optios like you and me who gets to see the men under our command die."
Their voices faded away. Martel blew out his breath; he could chase them down and give them a tongue lashing for speaking this way about a prefect, but he did not imagine it would make a difference. And he plainly just felt too tired to care. It was like back at the Lyceum when his secret had been revealed, and people shunned him for being fire-touched. No matter what he did how many fires he extinguished, how many battles he fought he would always be met by distrust. Making himself comfortable again, he closed his eyes to enjoy the sun.
***
More days passed, as the sixth cohort continued building the outpost. Lacking orders, Martel and Eleanor found themselves unoccupied and with little to do. They could not return to Esmouth, and given the danger that their presence on patrols might constitute, they elected to stay in the clearing. Henry's company and friendship provided some distraction, but the stonemage had his hours full leading the construction work, lending his own spellcraft to the task.
Finally, after two fivedays, another cohort reached the outpost along with a train of supplies. "Alright, young lads, you can rest easy," Lucius declared as the old prefect led his troops into the clearing. "We'll take it from here, and you boys can get back to camp."
"Lucius, what about us?" Martel asked, approaching him.
"Get those carts inside," he commanded as his soldiers began to fill up the clearing, waiting for the other cohort to pack up and make room. "Ah, yeah, got a missive for you." He rummaged around his pockets until he drew out a note. "You're stuck here with me."
Martel unfurled the parchment and let his eyes run over the text.
Sir Fontaine, Sir Martel, you are to remain at the newly constructed outpost until further orders. You are to conduct patrols daily. Sir Lara
Martel almost laughed in disbelief. Staying at the outpost indefinitely felt like a punishment of some sort. Even if there was some military purpose to their presence, daily patrols almost felt like an attempt to get them killed. The Khivans were bound to return, and they would discover that their favourite target left the walls each day.
He wondered at the consequences of disobeying. If he stayed in the outpost but refused to patrol, would he suffer some minor punishment, perhaps imprisonment, or would he be hauled before a military tribunal and face execution? The latter seemed an overreaction, but he could not be certain of it. And anything he did had a risk of spilling onto Eleanor. Accepting his fate, he went looking for her; she needed to know they had new orders.
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