Firebrand

Chapter 520: Making Friends

Making Friends

The next morning followed what Martel figured would become the established pattern, cooking breakfast with Eleanor before a training session. When they had been at it a long while, Martel wiped the sweat from his brow and looked inside his tent. "That's nearly an hour. That has to be enough," he declared.

Eleanor frowned. "How can you know? Wait, did you bring your Khivan clock to the camp?" She spoke the offending word quietly.

"Of course! It's the most valuable thing I own," Martel pointed out.

She simply shook her head, muttering to herself as she disappeared back into her tent. Martel went to his own, washing himself and changing clothes.

"See you later," he shouted in the direction of Eleanor's dwelling as he left again; with a full pouch hanging by his belt, today was a day for visitations.

***

Martel chose the closest location first, making his way to the camp prefect's tent. Robert was at work by his desk with a pile of documents and parchment. Long lists and columns, detailing the minutiae of the legion's supplies, personnel, and everything else he had to keep track of. He looked up as Martel entered. "Prefect. What brings you here?"

Martel pulled out a lightstone from his pouch. It easily illuminated the tent far better than the pale morning sun could. "I thought you might have use of this. No need to refill oil on your lamp, or concern about a fire breaking out."

"I'd never be so careless," Robert declared, even as he reached out a hand to accept the gift.

"Well, it certainly smells better than lamps or candles."

"I don't smell anything."

"Exactly."

"Alright, well, thank you. But if you need something from me, gifts aren't required. They're not even useful. My decision will be whether your request is within the regulations or not."

Martel raised his hands in front of himself in a show of innocence. "I have no requests, prefect. This was a simple thing for me to make, and I thought it might make your evenings a little easier. We're all on the same side here, after all."

"I suppose that's true enough." Although frowning, Robert placed the lightstone on his desk, still looking at it.

"A blessed day to you, prefect," Martel told him and left.

***

Headed into town, Martel found Henry's home with little difficulty. After knocking, he waited only briefly until Henry opened the door. "Master Martel," he spoke with a glint in his eyes. "Please, enter my humble residence." contemporary romance

Martel did so, entering a room furnished with a thick carpet, a dining table, and several chairs. A small writing desk stood to the side, and a chest filled the remaining available space. A closed door led to the remaining rooms, including a kitchen and bedroom, presumably. "You may call it 'humble', but it's quite a step up from my tent."

Henry chortled. "One reason I'm glad to be a civilian. Even if I'm attached the legion, I'm afforded some privileges you'll have to do without." He gestured for Martel to take a seat.

"You've built the walls, right?" Martel asked, sitting down.

"Not those surrounding Esmouth. They're from before my time," the stonemage explained as he dug out two cups. "I've simply repaired them as need be. But the wall around the camp, aye, that's me." He left the room briefly and returned with two jars, using one to pour wine into Martel's cup. "I'll let you decide how strong you want it."

He placed the other jar before Martel, who grabbed it and added water to his wine. "To your health," the battlemage spoke, raising his cup, which Henry reciprocated. "How long have you served in Esmouth?"

"Since I graduated, which was seventeen years ago. Before the war, though, I occasionally went elsewhere to help with constructions, as need demanded. But since war broke out, I've had my hands full. They don't want to risk the enchantment upon the stonework fading, or the Khivan cannons won't have trouble smashing the walls to rubble."

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Martel thought about his brief encounter with the fearsome weapon when the galley shot at them, though Henry's remark reminded him about the reason for his visit. He drew out a lightstone. "Speaking of such work, I thought you'd might like this."

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Henry picked up the stone and clasped it. "Decent work, especially given the stone is rough and less suited for spellwork."

"I would certainly listen to advice from a master when it comes to selecting stones for enchanting," Martel suggested.

Henry gave half a smile. "I can do better. When I have time, I'll get you something shaped by my own hand, which will soak in your magic like a sponge."

The very offer Martel had hoped to receive. "I'd be most grateful for that. Besides light, I can also provide you with heat, if you can get me a rock suitable for that."

"Certainly." The stonemage regarded his visitor with discerning eyes. "I've met a few battlemages in my time, and none of them have been like you. I didn't even realise any of your sort did enchanting work."

Martel smiled, picking up his goblet. "I'm a different kind."

***

After a pleasant conversation, Martel left Henry's home. Walking down the main road, he did not set a course for the camp, but stopped outside one of the two main establishments in Esmouth. He wondered if it had a name, or if everyone simply referred to it as the brothel. Regardless, he turned and walked in.

His presence drew attention; either because he was new in town, or his appearance revealed his status as a mage. Perhaps it was both. Regardless, several women approached him with their offers being apparent in their smiles even before they spoke.

"Who is the mistress of this establishment?" Martel asked before any of them could speak.

"You don't need to deal with her, good sir. We'll handle any request you have, any need or desire," replied the nearest girl. She looked as young as Martel, with eyes framed by dark red cosmetics.

"I've come with a singular purpose. Find her and let her know that a wizard should like to speak with her," he declared.

With a pout that she somehow made look adorable, the girl turned around and disappeared into the back. Waiting, Martel let his glance sweep over the room. A handful of staff scattered around the room, some serving drinks while others already busy with the few customers present; all of them soldiers, judging by their attire and appearance.

Moments later, a woman appeared. Thankfully she was not bald; that would have been one similarity too many for Martel's comfort. She was in her fifties, perhaps, and while her staff was dressed to attract eyes, she wore clothing meant to impress. "I am Josephine. You requested my presence?" While her words sounded friendly, they were spoken with a core of steel; she was not to be intimidated, wizard or not.

Martel bowed his head deeply to soften her initial impression of him. "I did, thank you. I wish to discuss a matter with you, under four eyes. Is there a place we might retire to?"

He could feel her eyes measuring him, trying to determine his intentions. "Follow me." With a sweeping gesture, she turned and walked back the way she came, Martel behind her.

Through a set of doors in the back and down a corridor, the mistress of the establishment took Martel to what served as her study. She sat down on her desk rather than behind it, leaving just a few feet of space between them.

"Tell me, master mage, what is it you want?"

"Firstly, to deliver this." From his pouch, he withdrew the last of the lightstones he had prepared the other night. "A gift with my compliments."

Josephine received it, giving it a long look before gazing at him again. "What have I done to deserve such an honour?"

What she really meant was, what did Martel want in return, and he decided to speak plainly. "I want information."

She frowned briefly before hiding her reaction. "Here I thought you intended to barter stone for flesh."

Martel shook his head. "I have no interest in such services, but I assume that every soldier does, high or low. And I know how talkative a man might get once his head touches a pillow. In return for this stone and more of its brethren, enough to fill all your rooms, I only ask that you inform me of anything worthwhile relating."

"I knew a battlemage once. She was a good customer, except for when she got mad and burned the place down. I can't imagine her strolling in here, offering such a trade."

"I'm not your typical wizard clad in red," Martel replied. "Do we have an understanding? If you enlighten me about the events and people of the camp, I shall enlighten your home."

"We understand each other."

***

After a day of striking up friendships, Martel returned to camp for his evening meal. This time, Eleanor had beaten him to it; water boiled in a pot in preparation for soup.

Seeing Martel's pointed glance, Eleanor gave him a look. "I do know how to start a fire without your help."

"Of course. How did your efforts go?"

"Well, the fortifications are solid. No obvious weaknesses, a tower at each corner, and there is obviously only the one gate to defend. The surrounding hills do limit visibility, but at least they have cut down all trees within a hundred feet or more," Eleanor explained. "The real weakness is that we are on the eastern bank, of course, and the wooden bridge would be easy to destroy, cutting us off from the town. We are easy to isolate."

"I see."

"Weapon stores are full, at least, and plenty of arrows. But I did feel a touch of concern walking around camp."

"Why's that?"

Eleanor stirred a ladle around the pot. "Lots of soldiers with day-old stubble or equipment in need of attention. If this was a remote or irrelevant outpost, I would assume lax discipline. But given the clear danger from the Khivans and the importance of this position, I worry that it is something more insidious."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense."

"Weariness. Exhausted morale. Plenty of empty tents, which means the legion is not at full strength, which in turn indicates a general lack of reinforcements. The soldiers are worn down, by my guess."

"Lots of new recruits came with us on the Red Emerald," Martel pointed out.

"Half a centuria's worth. A full cohort would not be enough," Eleanor retorted.

"Well, I'm glad you're keeping track of all that. You have a mind for military matters, unlike me."

"What about you?" she asked. "How did all your errands go?"

He smiled. "I made a friend or two."

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