Firebrand - Chapter 614: What One Hand Does

What One Hand Does

That same night, two mages snuck through the dark to approach the Khivan camp from the southern side. The enemy had pulled back their men from the advanced position just outside the Asterian encampment, though it seemed certain they would return by the morrow, rebuilding their structures and further fortifying it all in preparation for their next assault.

As for their main camp, it possessed some rudimentary defences as well, though not on the same scale as the Asterian camp. Either from lack of timber or simply because they had spent their efforts and resources on the forward position, the Khivans had no palisades surrounding their camp.

They had a deep ditch running along the edge, with the removed dirt used to create simple earthworks, in which sharpened poles stuck out like the quills of a porcupine. Lastly, a ring of torches burned on the outside of the ditch, illuminating anybody approaching. If someone stood in the darkness outside, the torches would blind the night eyes of any would-be attackers and prevent them from seeing the Khivans patrolling upon the earthworks.

Fortunately, Martel did not require sight. Besides the torches giving off heat, he could clearly see the shapes of every man walking on the earthen walls. Eleanor, standing next to him with a bow and arrow, could not, nor did she have to. She simply aimed at the nearest torch. As Martel saw the sentinel move into the right position, he gently touched her shoulder, and she released the arrow. It flew into the dark, invisible to them but striking down somewhere beyond the torch.

Using his magical senses, Martel watched the red shape of a man fall to his feet. Quickly, he handed over several jars to Eleanor after she slung her bow onto her back. They separated a short distance, and Martel reached out to extinguish every torch within his reach. As he plunged the area into darkness, they began hurling the small pots in various directions but all toward the camp.

Once the clay projectiles landed, they shattered, bursting into flames. With a little luck, they might ignite a tent or some supplies. Once the mages had thrown every jar at their disposal, trying to cover as wide an area as possible, the pair swiftly retreated back into the night.

***

After an empowered run to gain some distance and a forceful march to follow, the two wizards returned to the eastern gate of their camp. From it, column after column of legionaries issued, trying to move both swiftly and silently. Most of them carried supplies or their wounded comrades, which did hinder their speed; even though the cohorts still had draught animals left, carts would slow them down even further and be useless once they reached the forest.

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Avery greeted them with a quiet nod as they reached the gate. “It went well?” she asked in a low voice.

“One dead sentinel, lots of extinguished torches, a bunch of random fires,” Martel recounted. “Between that and our mounted cohort chasing off earlier, they should be thoroughly confused.”

“Let us hope it makes them stay in camp in anticipation of an attack rather than be tempted to scour the area,” Eleanor muttered. “We will need a significant head start if we are to circumvent them and get back to the outpost.”

“Have we considered the outpost might be destroyed or in Khivan hands?” Martel asked. He had not raised it earlier, as he did not want anybody getting cold feet about fleeing, but it was something they had to contemplate sooner or later.

“I thought about it, but it seems highly unlikely,” Avery considered. “Its walls are enchanted stone. Even if the legion had to withdraw, they would not leave it without a garrison. I do not find it possible the Khivans could have assaulted it so swiftly and taken it before turning around to come back here.”

“We are the bigger and easier prize,” Eleanor assented. “Still nearly a thousand soldiers trapped behind their lines, with a Khivan army right between us and our path home.”

Martel considered their route; they would march in a semicircle around the Khivans to get back to the outpost, which left them vulnerable, should their enemy discover this early enough to intercept. While the forest would keep them safe from Khivan cannons, they were outnumbered and exposed as they marched. It was not a plan that filled him with confidence, but time had run out for alternatives. “You should take the lead,” he told Avery. “Eleanor and I will bring up the rear. Should any Khivans be on our trail, I’ll find them in the dark.”

“Agreed. Malac be with you both.” The mageknight inclined her head and took off to get ahead of the column, which by now had just emptied out of the camp.

Martel and Eleanor walked over to the gate, collecting their things. He grabbed his staff, left behind to make it easier for him to run, along with his rations and equipment, which he slung over his shoulder. He glanced up at the watchtower by the gate. It held a plank, nailed to stand upright while wearing a red cloak and a helmet; a spear leaned up against it. It would not fool anybody close, but from afar, it gave a decent impression of a legionary standing watch.

Martel gave a final glance at the interior of the now-empty camp. It still held tents but no people, giving it a strange silence that contradicted the usual bustle he associated with such a place. For an eerie moment, it reminded him of the Undercroft; a city still intact, yet devoid of residents except for memories of the dead. Martel thought about the decurion, buried in a grave with no marker other than his helmet placed on a twig. “I won’t miss this place.”

“I cannot imagine anybody will.” Eleanor looked at him expectantly, her own equipment on her back. “We should not fall behind too far.”

“I’ll follow your lead.” They began walking away, leaving an empty camp only manned by wood and cloth.