Chapter 550: Keeping Count
Keeping Count
After three days of travel, they reached the camp. Seeing the walls at the end of the road, Martel felt a sense of homecoming, stronger than he would have expected, only marred by the discomfort of his body being stiff and sore over.
They reached the river, crossed the bridge, and rode through Esmouth until they arrived at the stables, and he could mercifully dismount. They remove their belongings from the saddle bags and left the animals in the care of stable hands.
"Are you coming?" Eleanor asked, taking a step in the direction of the camp.
"I was thinking I'd stop by Henry's, since we are here anyway. And I need to go by my workshop. Want to come?"
"I have a few things to sort out myself," she replied. "Come find me when you are ready. We can talk to Sir Lara together."
"Alright. See you later."
***
"Martel! Back in time with one day to spare, I see." Henry stepped back from the door, allowing Martel entry to his home.
"How do you mean, one day to spare?" Martel asked as he walked inside.
The stonemage rummaged through a cupboard, pulling out cups and a pitcher. "Tomorrow is solstice. The legate's celebration. Why do you think you were recalled?"
"I had no idea. They didn't tell us. I guess the celebration is the most benign reason. It's really tomorrow?"
Henry nodded. "It is. The legate hosts the celebration every year, inviting all the prefects. And yours truly. Just like the saint's feast." He sat down, taking one of the cups. "Go ahead, take a seat."
"I'm fine standing, thank you." He took the other top, pouring himself some wine. "Never imagined I'd actually miss this town."
"I've been a few times to an outpost like that before. It's pretty much the worst posting you can have, or certainly, the most boring."
"I would have settled for boring, honestly."
"That bad?" The stonemage looked up at him.
"You don't know the half of it. Just about every other patrol, the Khivans tried their luck. At first, they were few in number, going for stealth, and we could always fight them off, even if we took one or two losses ourselves. But these last five days, they threw themselves into it. Twenty or more of them, throwing themselves against our magic in some crazed attempt to break through." Martel nearly shivered, and he took a sip from his cup.
"I didn't want to say this, in case things had changed. It's been several years since the last battlemage was assigned to the Tenth, after all. But this is what the Khivans do. They'll keep at it. You have to convince the legate to keep you from patrol." Henry gave him an earnest look.
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"I know. Eleanor and I will speak to Sir Lara this afternoon."
"Alright. You sure you don't want to sit down?"
***
After a pleasant hour, Martel took his leave and went to his little workshop. He found it in good order, and his Tyrian helper at work preparing materials. "I gather more," Egil said, gesturing at the drying rack, which was full of herbs. "Starkad said you gone long. So I gather more."
"Thanks, I'm glad you did. I'm going to need a new jar, but I'll stay and work a while. Make it myself." Martel pulled out an empty clay pot from his belt and placed it on the table. He noticed several others. The fruits of Egil's labours. Enough to cover the needs of the Tyrian band, Martel assumed.
No doubt the whole legion could benefit from this, but it would require a lot of time and resources just for Martel to teach enough legionaries how to make these simple remedies, and he doubted that his commanding officers would invest that. Still, he could bring it up with Sir Lara tonight.
"Of course. Your workshop. You do what you need. I go now." Egil inclined his head and left Martel, who began the familiar steps of creating blood salve.
***
"Eleanor? I'm back." Standing outside her tent, Martel looked west at the sun sinking behind the walls.
"One moment." He heard the sounds of somebody rummaging around until she emerged, draping a cloak around herself. "I am ready."
They began walking towards the legion prefect's tent. "Did you hear about solstice? That's why we've been recalled. The legate is hosting a celebration tomorrow."
She nodded. "Someone told me, yes. I suppose that is not the worst reason for being summoned, though I had hoped it was due to a change in strategy."
"Well, maybe we can make that happen now."
Reaching their destination, they waited briefly until receiving admittance. "Sir Fontaine, Sir Martel, do you have something to report?" Sir Lara looked at them expectantly.
"We have been carrying out daily patrols around the outpost as ordered," Eleanor began to say; Martel was content with her taking the lead. She had a better understanding of this military business. "Out of about forty patrols, we fought seventeen skirmishes. We sustained thirty-one losses among our legionaries, and another fifteen heavily wounded."
"What about casualties incurred on the enemy?"
Eleanor blinked, looking caught off-guard. "We made no such count."
"Your best guess?"
She glanced at Martel. "Seventy to eighty?"
"Something like that. They got better at the end, keeping distance and retreating whenever we went on the offensive," he said.
"My point is, Sir Lara, these losses do not seem sustainable for a cohort. Especially as nothing seems gained. The Khivans only maintain such a heavy presence because I and my charge are present. If Sir Martel and I were withdrawn, the outpost would not come under such attack."
"Or perhaps your absence would embolden them to show up in force," the legion prefect retorted with a stern voice. "Besides, your concerns are unfounded. The cohort manning the outposts will be regularly rotated, and once summer ends, Khivan activity will be reduced in the area anyway. Your orders remain the same, Sir Fontaine. You will have tomorrow to celebrate the solstice. The day after, you are to return to the outpost and resume your patrols exactly as before. I understood?"
"Yes, prefect."
"Yes, prefect."
"Dismissed."
They made it fifteen paces before Eleanor could no longer contain herself. "They must realise this is bound to go wrong! Why would they risk us in this manner? Do they not understand our worth?"
"It doesn't look that way." In contrast with Eleanor's indignation, Martel felt resigned.
"Well, tomorrow we are seeing the legate. Perhaps I can talk sense into him."
"We can try."
As they returned to their tents, they each found an invitation to the solstice celebration waiting for them.
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