Chapter 526: A Gathering of Black
If audio player doesn't work, press Stop then Play button again
Chapter 526: A Gathering of Black
A Gathering of Black
When their morning spar had ended, Eleanor stepped back and gave Martel a scrutinising look. "How do you feel? After yesterday, I mean."
"Fine," he replied truthfully. "It could have gone a lot worse."
"I guess you have been in fights before."
"Once or twice. And you?" Martel suddenly felt guilty that he had not given her the same consideration. She had seemed at home in her reactions to the ambush; it had not occurred to him that she might be feeling troubled by it.
"After what we went through in the catacombs of Morcaster, I doubt any Khivans could ever frighten me," she told him; a sentiment he agreed with. "Well, maybe their cannons might make me reconsider. I truly do not know if my magic shield can stand up to such force."
"Let's never have to find out."
She laughed a little. "No risk of that here, it seems. They would have to drag that monstrosity for miles through forest and hills, avoiding our patrols, just to get within range of the camp."
And yet Henry enchanted the walls to be certain they could withstand such a barrage; it could simply be because of excessive caution, but presumably, it was not beyond the realm of possibilities. "Yeah."
"Plans for today?"
"None, besides a bit of apothecary work. Feel free to roam without me."
"Well, the other mageknights are gathering at the tavern tonight."
"The Salty Mug?" Martel asked, mostly to confirm whether that was indeed its name.
"Yeah, do you know of any other watering hole?"
"I do not."
"There is your answer."
"This feels reminiscent of Morcaster," Martel related. "Me and a bunch of black tunics."
"They are your only peers in this place," she remarked. "Wizards befriend wizards. Other than the stonemage, I suppose. Still, it would not hurt for you to come along tonight."
"I'll see you there," he promised.
"Wait, we're still missing one. Where's Avery?"
"Out on patrol. Some concern that the Khivans might have been able to cross in small numbers, up north."
"Is it not the responsibility of the Thirteenth to prevent that?"
"Sure, but if they don't, it's us that'll feel the consequences! Can't blame the legate for being cautious."
Unable to keep up with the conversation, Martel simply kept quiet.
"Firemage, Fontaine claims you defeated a berserker. As a novice, no less." The remark cut through the chatter and came from the mageknight at the end of the table, one of the few wearing armour. His soldier's pin did not show an eagle, but a horse, declaring him to be the decurion, leader of the mounted cohort and third in command of the legion.
He regarded Martel with scrutinising eyes, who spent a moment chewing on the remark. The tone reminded him of the same condescension shown by Reynard, the Master of War at the Lyceum. But perhaps Martel judged him too hastily; in any case, it seemed best to remain calm.
"I did, with some help. I had a mageknight providing distraction. You lot are good at that," he added with half a smile, glancing around the table, and he was rewarded with laughter from a few.
"How did you accomplish such a feat?" the decurion asked.
"I strangled him with a golden chain." Martel sipped from his cup, pretending not to notice the incredulous looks.
"Bloody Tyrians!" another mageknight exclaimed. "My father and brother both died fighting those bastards."
"Maybe you will get your chance at revenge soon," the decurion remarked and got up.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You will find out when you are supposed to. Now excuse me Avery should be back by now, and the legate expects me present when she reports." With those words, the decurion left.
"Is he always like that?" Martel asked the old mageknight by his side.
"Ah, don't mind him. You put that horse pin on a prefect, they immediately get too big for their breeches. Now, Martel, what sort of name is that?" Lucius asked, slamming his empty cup down. "Sounds Aquilan."
"It may very well be, though I hail from "
"Not the worst to have at your back, Aquilans!" the old mageknight continued. "I remember once, on campaign, mind you"
Martel took a deep breath and signalled the barkeep for another drink.
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
Chapter 526: A Gathering of Black
A Gathering of Black
When their morning spar had ended, Eleanor stepped back and gave Martel a scrutinising look. "How do you feel? After yesterday, I mean."
"Fine," he replied truthfully. "It could have gone a lot worse."
"I guess you have been in fights before."
"Once or twice. And you?" Martel suddenly felt guilty that he had not given her the same consideration. She had seemed at home in her reactions to the ambush; it had not occurred to him that she might be feeling troubled by it.
"After what we went through in the catacombs of Morcaster, I doubt any Khivans could ever frighten me," she told him; a sentiment he agreed with. "Well, maybe their cannons might make me reconsider. I truly do not know if my magic shield can stand up to such force."
"Let's never have to find out."
She laughed a little. "No risk of that here, it seems. They would have to drag that monstrosity for miles through forest and hills, avoiding our patrols, just to get within range of the camp."
And yet Henry enchanted the walls to be certain they could withstand such a barrage; it could simply be because of excessive caution, but presumably, it was not beyond the realm of possibilities. "Yeah."
"Plans for today?"
"None, besides a bit of apothecary work. Feel free to roam without me."
"Well, the other mageknights are gathering at the tavern tonight."
"The Salty Mug?" Martel asked, mostly to confirm whether that was indeed its name.
"Yeah, do you know of any other watering hole?"
"I do not."
"There is your answer."
"This feels reminiscent of Morcaster," Martel related. "Me and a bunch of black tunics."
"They are your only peers in this place," she remarked. "Wizards befriend wizards. Other than the stonemage, I suppose. Still, it would not hurt for you to come along tonight."
"I'll see you there," he promised.
"Wait, we're still missing one. Where's Avery?"
"Out on patrol. Some concern that the Khivans might have been able to cross in small numbers, up north."
"Is it not the responsibility of the Thirteenth to prevent that?"
"Sure, but if they don't, it's us that'll feel the consequences! Can't blame the legate for being cautious."
Unable to keep up with the conversation, Martel simply kept quiet.
"Firemage, Fontaine claims you defeated a berserker. As a novice, no less." The remark cut through the chatter and came from the mageknight at the end of the table, one of the few wearing armour. His soldier's pin did not show an eagle, but a horse, declaring him to be the decurion, leader of the mounted cohort and third in command of the legion.
He regarded Martel with scrutinising eyes, who spent a moment chewing on the remark. The tone reminded him of the same condescension shown by Reynard, the Master of War at the Lyceum. But perhaps Martel judged him too hastily; in any case, it seemed best to remain calm.
"I did, with some help. I had a mageknight providing distraction. You lot are good at that," he added with half a smile, glancing around the table, and he was rewarded with laughter from a few.
"How did you accomplish such a feat?" the decurion asked.
"I strangled him with a golden chain." Martel sipped from his cup, pretending not to notice the incredulous looks.
"Bloody Tyrians!" another mageknight exclaimed. "My father and brother both died fighting those bastards."
"Maybe you will get your chance at revenge soon," the decurion remarked and got up.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You will find out when you are supposed to. Now excuse me Avery should be back by now, and the legate expects me present when she reports." With those words, the decurion left.
"Is he always like that?" Martel asked the old mageknight by his side.
"Ah, don't mind him. You put that horse pin on a prefect, they immediately get too big for their breeches. Now, Martel, what sort of name is that?" Lucius asked, slamming his empty cup down. "Sounds Aquilan."
"It may very well be, though I hail from "
"Not the worst to have at your back, Aquilans!" the old mageknight continued. "I remember once, on campaign, mind you"
Martel took a deep breath and signalled the barkeep for another drink.
Chapter 526: A Gathering of BlackA Gathering of BlackWhen their morning spar had ended, Eleanor stepped back and gave Martel a scrutinising look. "How do you feel? After yesterday, I mean.""Fine," he replied truthfully. "It could have gone a lot worse.""I guess you have been in fights before.""Once or twice. And you?" Martel suddenly felt guilty that he had not given her the same consideration. She had seemed at home in her reactions to the ambush; it had not occurred to him that she might be feeling troubled by it."After what we went through in the catacombs of Morcaster, I doubt any Khivans could ever frighten me," she told him; a sentiment he agreed with. "Well, maybe their cannons might make me reconsider. I truly do not know if my magic shield can stand up to such force.""Let's never have to find out."She laughed a little. "No risk of that here, it seems. They would have to drag that monstrosity for miles through forest and hills, avoiding our patrols, just to get within range of the camp."And yet Henry enchanted the walls to be certain they could withstand such a barrage; it could simply be because of excessive caution, but presumably, it was not beyond the realm of possibilities. "Yeah.""Plans for today?""None, besides a bit of apothecary work. Feel free to roam without me.""Well, the other mageknights are gathering at the tavern tonight.""The Salty Mug?" Martel asked, mostly to confirm whether that was indeed its name."Yeah, do you know of any other watering hole?""I do not.""There is your answer.""This feels reminiscent of Morcaster," Martel related. "Me and a bunch of black tunics.""They are your only peers in this place," she remarked. "Wizards befriend wizards. Other than the stonemage, I suppose. Still, it would not hurt for you to come along tonight.""I'll see you there," he promised."Wait, we're still missing one. Where's Avery?""Out on patrol. Some concern that the Khivans might have been able to cross in small numbers, up north.""Is it not the responsibility of the Thirteenth to prevent that?""Sure, but if they don't, it's us that'll feel the consequences! Can't blame the legate for being cautious."Unable to keep up with the conversation, Martel simply kept quiet."Firemage, Fontaine claims you defeated a berserker. As a novice, no less." The remark cut through the chatter and came from the mageknight at the end of the table, one of the few wearing armour. His soldier's pin did not show an eagle, but a horse, declaring him to be the decurion, leader of the mounted cohort and third in command of the legion.He regarded Martel with scrutinising eyes, who spent a moment chewing on the remark. The tone reminded him of the same condescension shown by Reynard, the Master of War at the Lyceum. But perhaps Martel judged him too hastily; in any case, it seemed best to remain calm."I did, with some help. I had a mageknight providing distraction. You lot are good at that," he added with half a smile, glancing around the table, and he was rewarded with laughter from a few."How did you accomplish such a feat?" the decurion asked."I strangled him with a golden chain." Martel sipped from his cup, pretending not to notice the incredulous looks."Bloody Tyrians!" another mageknight exclaimed. "My father and brother both died fighting those bastards.""Maybe you will get your chance at revenge soon," the decurion remarked and got up."What is that supposed to mean?""You will find out when you are supposed to. Now excuse me Avery should be back by now, and the legate expects me present when she reports." With those words, the decurion left."Is he always like that?" Martel asked the old mageknight by his side."Ah, don't mind him. You put that horse pin on a prefect, they immediately get too big for their breeches. Now, Martel, what sort of name is that?" Lucius asked, slamming his empty cup down. "Sounds Aquilan.""It may very well be, though I hail from ""Not the worst to have at your back, Aquilans!" the old mageknight continued. "I remember once, on campaign, mind you"Martel took a deep breath and signalled the barkeep for another drink.
