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591. Down the River
🕑 Added 2024-03-02 08:00:02 +0000 UTCThe two mages stared at each other, surrounded by mutilated corpses and destruction while hearing the distant sound of battle. "There's nothing we can do," Martel finally said. "It would take us ages to reach the battlefield, and we're on the wrong side. We'll just run into the Khivan army." He looked towards the bank, where the small boat and the barge lay. "We should sail upstream. Put as much distance between us and them."
"Or this is our chance," Eleanor said. "This is why we did not encounter any patrols coming here. The Khivans pulled the soldiers back for the battle. If we take the boat and sail with the current, we will reach Esmouth tomorrow. We can re-join our legion and help defend the town."
That felt like willingly inserting their feet straight into a bear trap, but Martel understood her point. If the Thirteenth Legion was defeated and driven away, nothing could prevent the Khivans from besieging Esmouth. Their cannons would sooner or later destroy the walls, as they had done to the outpost. While Martel felt no attachment to his legion, he did have friends in danger; Henry the stonemage, or the berserker Starkad, strange though it might be to consider him a friend. In addition, Esmouth was full of civilians; Martel was not responsible for them, but it was hard to simply leave them to their fate.
He looked at Eleanor. He knew her loyalty to the legion would pull her in that direction, as did his loyalty to his friends. He held out his staff and let a ray of flames ignite the barge, leaving only the boat. "Let's go."
***
Once away, they made themselves as comfortable as they could and lay down in the bottom of the boat. Since hiding the craft would be impossible on the open river, and there was always the risk of Khivans in the area, they decided to stay out of sight and make it look like an abandoned boat drifting down the river by its own accord. It felt absurd to lie hiding underneath the railing, floating down the water past any possible number of enemies, but hopefully the battle would have drawn them away.
Lying on his back, staring up at the sky, Martel wondered how exactly his life had become this. He imagined writing to his mother, relating all of these events; she would assume he had gone mad. Given his current situation, it was hard to argue otherwise.
Excited words reached them, coming from the shoreline; Martel's heart sank as he knew it to be Khivan. Their little vessel had been spotted. He turned his head to look at Eleanor, next to him. She remained frozen, still trusting in their ruse.
The obvious sound of someone jumping into the water could be heard. Someone made powerful swimming strokes, and soon after, a hand grasped the railing of the boat. Reacting swiftly, Eleanor drew her dagger and stabbed the hand. The Khivan fell away with a roar of pain. "Protect me!" she shouted as she scrambled towards the seat in the boat while grabbing the oars.
Sitting up from his own position, Martel looked towards the shore and saw three Khivans unshouldering their muskets. He summoned a wall of fire right in front of them, buying time. He waited until he saw them emerge where the flames ended, unleashing a ray of fire. It struck the first soldier, and he moved it to likewise hit the next. The third Khivan already had his musket down and took aim.
"Watch out!" Martel shouted, activating his shield. In front of him, Eleanor did the same. A moment later, a musket ball struck her, falling harmlessly to the bottom of the boat. Martel reached out with his magic and destroyed the barrel of the musket.
From behind, a dagger struck Martel between the shoulder blades. It met his armour and broke. Looking over his shoulder, Martel saw the Khivan who had swum out to the boat, barely hanging onto the railing with his uninjured hand. Martel pointed at the man's limb, and a stream of flames struck out from his fingertip. With another cry of agony, the Khivan released his grasp, and Martel watched him fall behind in the water.
Ahead, Eleanor rowed with empowered strength, giving their boat speed to rival a horse. On the shoreline, the Khivans had extinguished the flames in their clothes, but they made no further attempts of firing. Instead, they looked towards their comrade in distress in the river, and one of them waded into the water. Martel could have released a final spell to make it troublesome for them, but he decided to be satisfied with their escape, as the boat swiftly continued downstream.
***
Once clear of enemies, they resumed hiding; it seemed the best tactic, now they knew that more Khivans could be found along the shore. While uncomfortable, it allowed them to rest, regaining their strength and spellpower.
At some point, Martel fell asleep. He did not know how long except that everything was dark when Eleanor woke him up with an elbow. Her finger on his lips silenced him until he realised why she had disturbed him; the sound of voices could be heard.
He turned his head to look at her while trying to use his magical sense to determine the number and location of the sort of people. Being inside the boat and perhaps the distance hindered him, though, and he could not answer the silent question on her face.
However, as the voices continued, they both realised that the language spoken was Asterian. Exhaling in relief, they sat up. In the moonlight, they saw a band of legionaries to the left, on the eastern bank. As before, Eleanor manoeuvred to the seat and took out the oars. "Hail, soldiers!" Martel shouted, as the only useful thing he could do.
The legionaries clearly flinched and glanced around until they spotted the boat sailing towards them. "Hail, soldier," replied the presumed princeps of the patrol. "Where in Nether's name did you come from?"
The boat struck against the shoreline, and the two mages jumped on land, one with more grace than the other. "A long story. We have not been in Esmouth for nearly two months. What is the situation?" Eleanor asked.
Recognising them as prefects, the princeps straightened up. "Not good, sir. The bastards destroyed the bridge, and they shoot at anything that tries to cross the river. So we move soldiers and supplies at night in and out of town. That's all I know, sir, what everyone else knows. But Sir Lara is in camp, so you can speak with her."
"Very well. How far are we from camp?"
"About two to three hours of marching. You best do it on foot, sir. Further down the river somewhere, the Khivans got a cannon nearby. If they see your boat, they'll blow it out of the water," he warned them.
"Good to know. Continue on your patrol," Eleanor commanded. The princeps saluted, and the legionaries continued north, while the two mages moved south.
~
Martel's character sheet (no change).
Comments
Jake
So they can take out another cannon and then announce their return. Very nice
