Chapter 598: Blood and Ice

Chapter 598: Blood and Ice

Blood and Ice

The wind chilled them to the bone as they marched out of camp, but Martel knew they should be grateful for the cold weather; the stronger the ice covering the wetlands, the better their chances of winning this battle. There was no sight of the Khivans yet, but given they had to drag their cannons with them, their progress would be slow; it was expected the Asterians would catch up to them during the day, depending on their own speed.

Valerius walked in front, followed by an optio and fifty legionaries; Martel and Eleanor came behind, with the rest of the cohort following. As they entered the marshes, the ice could be heard groaning underneath their boots, though it held this deep in winter. To their right, the river flowed, acting as a natural barrier; at times, it forced them to swing leftwards in the places where its flow exerted sufficient pressure to crack the ice and sweep it away.

Besides causing this challenge, Martel also knew this meant they were the cohort most likely to encounter the enemy, whose goal was to cross the river where possible. That thought alone was uncomfortable, and the terrain made it worse; the reeds and sporadic growth might provide places to hide, but they would not protect against bullets or worse, cannonballs. Once the fight began, they were in the open, and only magic would keep Martel safe; for as long as his powers lasted, at least. Nor would retreat be much of an option, for the same reason; whether advancing or retreating, they would be easy targets. Gripping the haft of his staff tightly, Martel did his best to keep his concern from showing on his face.

***

Three hours after leaving camp, they caught up to the enemy. The sound of muskets firing came before anything else; the Khivans hid in the reeds, setting up an ambush. A handful of legionaries fell; spurred on by their prefect leading the charge, they ran forward. Several more fell; unlike him, they did not have magic to protect them. Hemmed in by the river extending into their path, it took the Asterians valuable time to reach the enemy, while the Khivans constantly pulled back behind the next line of musketmen ready to fire.

With his fellow soldiers in front, Martel was limited in what he could do; most of his spells would hit his own rather than the enemy. Unlike the legionaries rushing forward, he advanced more slowly, keeping behind Eleanor as usual. Once they were finally close, he summoned his wall of flames to disrupt the Khivan retreat. Besides serving as an obstacle, the flames also melted the ice, causing further disruption. Close combat erupted, and with superior numbers, the Asterians were able to cut down some of the Khivans; the rest turned and fled rapidly, forgoing their orderly retreat.

Hurrying off in pursuit, some of the legionaries burst through the ice, forcing their comrades to stop and help them up. "Stick to the islands!" Valerius roared; here and there, small strips of land stood out as beacons of refuge, but it further complicated their advance. In the distance, the sounds of fighting told them that the other cohorts had also engaged the Khivans.

They had not progressed much further before meeting resistance again, this time of a far more substantial nature. Several rows of musketmen met them, and once again, dozens of legionaries fell. Martel knew what Eleanor was thinking, and he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Go I will be fine!" he spoke into her ear, over the sound of battle.

***

The arrival of another cohort decided the fight. The Khivans began to jump into the water, swimming across for safety. Javelins followed them, though the legionaries did not pursue all the way to the edge of the river; the cannon on the other side remained a potent threat. As it grew dark, the prefects shouted for a retreat, further inland. They had gained as much victory as they could; the remaining Khivans would be allowed to escape, assuming they knew how to swim.

Regrouping on a small spit of land, Martel looked at his fellow prefects. Eleanor was unharmed, more or less. Valerius on the other hand had taken deep cuts, and he looked pale. They would have to make a stretcher for him. The last in their company was Lucius, whose cohort had come to their aid. "A good day's work," the old prefect declared. "Valerius, you're not looking your best. Sit down before you fall down, and let's get the medicus to look at you."

Around them, the soldiers were catching their breaths as best they could; it was not feasible to spend the night in the current location, and it would take several hours of marching to reach camp.

"Medicus, maleficus," Valerius grunted, reciting an old wordplay, though he did sit down. "More likely to kill me than help me."

"I'll do it," Martel declared. The mageknight was only in this position because he had spoken up at the council, agreeing with the battlemage. And Martel had plenty of experience treating wounds, between his time in the infirmary at the Lyceum and looking after Eleanor.

"A battlemage and a physician," Lucius laughed. "I'd say that sounds ludicrous, but nothing stranger than a battlemage doing nocturnal work as an alchemist."

"Save your laughter and help me get his armour off," Martel mumbled.

"I shall get a stretcher prepared," Eleanor told them. "The sooner we can leave, the better." They all set to their tasks, as the sun descended in the horizon.