Chapter 592: Spied
Spied
As the pair of prefects marched into camp, they received a few looks, but nobody questioned them, and they made their way to the tenth of the legion prefect. Morning had just broken, and they found her eating a sparse meal for breakfast.
"Sir Fontaine! Sir Martel! How can this be?"
"We were sent with reinforcement to the Thirteenth, whose legate gave us a mission by the river. Before we could return, we heard signs of battle, suggesting our return was no longer feasible. We decided instead to make our way here," Eleanor recapitulated.
The legion prefect stood up, giving each of them a thorough look. "I am impressed by your loyalty and also your tenacity. Not many would have dared to make such a journey. As for the Thirteenth, I just received word of the battle this night, but given we have no communication with them, we do not know more than you."
"What is the situation in Esmouth?" Eleanor asked.
"Complicated. Their galleys control the delta, which hampers our connection to the town. Nearly all the supplies are in camp, meaning we cannot simply fill the town with soldiers to defend it. We already have to use our opportunities for transport to bring provisions for the existing garrison. If we bring more soldiers across, they will begin to starve. And since we have no knowledge of when the Khivans might attack, we have to consider a lengthy siege is ahead. Though perhaps if the Thirteenth has been driven away, the enemy might think now is the time to strike." Lara spoke all of this with deep concern in her voice, and Martel noticed deep lines in her brow.
"What about the Khivan ships?" he asked. "At some point, our ships must return."
"We assume so, but we are isolated. We have no idea when, or if they are strong enough to win a battle at sea."
"Sir Martel, on our first journey here, you disabled a Khivan galley," Eleanor pointed out, looking at him.
"I heard about that!" Lara exclaimed. "Could you do this now? I am sure we can defend the city if the Khivan fleet is forced to retreat."
Martel felt how both the mageknights stared at him. He was not comfortable with the thought that this suddenly hinged on his abilities, though that had also been the case at sea, and he had decided to take the risk that he could destroy the Khivan galley rather than they should flee. "I am willing to try."
***
They quickly agreed upon a plan and made the preparations to set it into motion. Once ready, Martel and Eleanor left camp. They walked as far south as they could, reaching the place where the river met the sea, finding themselves a tiny speck of land to stand on. In the distance, Martel saw the Khivan fleet. A score of galleys, at least. They were easily beyond the range of any of his magic; bait was needed to bring them closer.
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While Martel and Eleanor made themselves as inconspicuous as possible, a boat was pushed into the water further upstream. It had a few empty crates and two men at the oars. The river was perhaps half a mile wide at this place, and they began rowing to make the journey across.
They had barely made the first stroke of the oar before their movement was mirrored by the nearest galley, except it had twenty oars, and it sailed towards the shore at incredible speed. Swiftly, it manoeuvred to present one broadside towards the river, and its cannons began firing while the two oarsmen in the boat jumped and swam for dear life.
This close to the ship, Martel could make out various details. The cannon ports being open, from which fire and steel emerged with roars. Sailors and soldiers on deck, the former running about while the latter watched the shore.
It was time for Martel to do what he could. He reached out with his magic, across the open air, to connect with the ship. He found himself struggling. As the cannons heated up, his magic drew towards them like moths to a flame. But he could not ignite the metal and thereby destroy the ship. He might try destroying the cannons, but it would be time-consuming and less effective than burning the vessel entirely. Martel continued his efforts.
If he focused, he could perhaps connect to the wood of the hull, but the timber was completely drenched with seawater on the outside, and it refused any attempt to burn. Suddenly, he became aware that the cannons had ceased firing; the boat had been destroyed, and the galley would retreat any moment now.
The canvas of the sail was the best choice, but there was too much confusion, too much noise, so to say; Martel could not connect to it. He thought once again about destroying only the cannons, but he feared that he would not be able to crush them all in time before the galley retreated. It would also only declaw the ship on one side.
A shot could be heard. Not from a cannon, but a musket. Looking towards the railing, Martel saw a full line of musketmen taking aim. Countless more shots followed, and Eleanor pulled him back behind her. "Retreat!" With her in front of him as a living shield, Martel ran inland until they were beyond the range of the muskets.
***
They stopped to catch their breaths once they were safe. "I cannot believe they noticed us," Eleanor murmured. "We hardly stood out."
"They have spyglasses," Martel explained, realising what had happened. "A Khivan invention. Master Alastair has one. It lets you see things from afar up close. They were probably checking the shoreline for more targets, or just being vigilant." Out in the distance, the galley had retreated further out to sea once more. "We should get back to camp." He looked towards Eleanor, who despite his words did not move.
"We are not going to win this war, are we?" she finally said in a quiet voice. "I am not sure the legions have made any reforms in centuries. Meanwhile, our enemy constantly makes innovations. How can we defeat them when we do not even know what they are capable of?"
Martel feared she might be right, though he had never expected to hear such a statement from her. "It's not our responsibility to win this war," he finally decided to say. "We just have to survive it."
She looked at him for the longest time, and he wondered if he had made her angry. "You are right. Let us get back to camp."
They walked in silence until they reached camp, where Lara waited for them. "Well?"
Martel shook his head. "It failed. Too difficult, and they spotted us. We had to retreat."
The legion prefect slowly let out her breath. "I should not have gotten my hopes up. Well, our situation remains the same. But tonight, I want the pair of you to make the crossing. If the enemy intends to assault Esmouth, your presence will make a difference."
"Sir." They both saluted in response, though neither with much enthusiasm. Martel looked across the river, knowing he and Eleanor would soon be trapped within its walls. As if to drive this point home, the distant sound of cannons firing began. Everyone turned their heads west, knowing what this meant. The Khivans were battering down the defences of Esmouth; once complete, an assault would follow imminently.
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