Firebrand

Dark Clouds

Early in the morning, the Twentieth Legion marched out of camp, headed north. They stayed within sight of the river, allowing anybody on the western bank to witness their progress. As for the remaining soldiers, half of them spent the day improving the camp's defences, deepening ditches, adding spiked poles to the earthworks, and otherwise gave the impression of an army digging themselves in. The other half of the legionaries rested, slept if they could, and made sure to eat well.

As night fell, luck seemed to favour them; heavy clouds covered the sky, blocking out the moon's light. In near complete darkness, the cohorts of the Tenth Legion moved out of camp, with the Thirteenth ready to follow.

"I should be in the first wave," Martel muttered as he rode ahead of the column with his legate and legion prefect on either side.

"And if the bridge is covered in pitch set aflame the moment our soldiers step foot on it?" Lara asked.

"That wouldn't hurt me at all," the battlemage shrugged.

"You know what she means," Eleanor chastised him. "If you die, we lose our leader, the symbol of our cause, and our strongest mage. You are not to take risks."

"We are marching to battle. Risk is inevitable," he argued.

"Which is why we try to minimise it," she retorted.

They rode on in silence, though the sound of boots marching behind them could be heard. Regardless of their efforts to hide their nocturnal assault, Martel knew that they had to expect discovery before they reached the bridge; it was simply impossible to move this number of soldiers with stealth. The question was whether they could achieve a breakthrough before reinforcements arrived. Even with surprise and speed on their side, they had to expect a fierce defence. Martel felt uneasy, deep in his stomach; he had ordered this assault, and no matter what happened, the consequences would be on his head.

***

After several miles, a scout appeared. The darkness meant that they could not see the bridge or the river, but the Tyrian had been sent ahead to investigate and also alert them of when they came near the enemy. The columns stopped, knowing that if they moved closer, they would probably be noticed; this was the last moment before beginning the battle.

The scout approached the commanders. "Everything looks quiet, but lots of guards on the bridge, more soldiers behind them." His clothing and hair dripped with water; he had gone into the river to get a close enough look. "Hundreds, at least. Hard to tell if more."

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"Any sign of them on our side? Scouts, sentinels?"

The Tyrian shook his head. "No. They stay on their side."

"Thanks. You've done your work," Martel told him, and the Tyrian disappeared. He looked at his officers on either side of him. "Any last words?"

"Ready on your orders, sir," Lara declared.

"We shall win," Eleanor assured him.

The captain took a deep breath. "Prefect, give the command to the second cohort."

She nodded and turned in her saddle. "Sir Theodore, commence the assault."

The prefect saluted and passed the order on to his centurions. Five columns moved forward. While Martel could not see it, the bridge was perhaps half a mile ahead. The sound of their footsteps suddenly seemed deafening to him.

Abandoning secrecy, Theodore roared the order to charge. The legionaries began to run, though saving their full speed for the final yards.

The darkness began to swallow them, hiding them from Martel's vision. Theodore and the front ranks could no longer be seen, which meant that any moment, they would step onto the bridge. The defenders must have realised they were under attack by now; while Martel could not distinguish the sounds coming from his own men and the enemy, he imagined they shouted cries of alarm while arranging themselves in ranks.

The clouds disappeared as if violently torn away, and the moon bathed the landscape in light. It happened so suddenly, Martel could only think of one explanation. Magic, done by a mage skilled with weather work. The enemy had expected them all this time.

"Pull them back!" Martel shouted; his men were running into a trap.

"Second cohort, retreat!" Lara yelled, and she spurred her horse forward, repeating her command.

With the clouds gone, Martel could see it was too late; his soldiers had already reached the bridge and crossed nearly all of it. The defenders did not move at all, staying at the edge while waiting.

Martel felt a tinge of magic. He looked at Eleanor, who reacted the same way. This did not come from their side of the river; across, a mage was casting a spell so powerful, they felt the release of power this far away.

The back lines of the soldiers had begun to withdraw, heeding Lara's order as she rode towards them, but most of the cohort was on the bridge when the spell was released, and Martel saw the effect.

Water receded from under the bridge, like an arm being pulled back only to be forced forward and strike like a fist. The water rushed over the stonework, flooding it to wash away his men and carry them into the river on the other side. The Tenth Legion watched with horror as their comrades disappeared into the waters.

Martel pushed the sense of dread from his mind; this was not the time for it. They needed a response. This was not the work of a simple weathermage. Controlling such massive amounts of water with this speed and ferocity – this was either a skilled frostmage or a possibly a stormmage. Either way, their use of water magic called for a counter. And Martel knew the element to match against such powers.

"I have to fight." He spoke it to himself before looking at Eleanor. "I must fight!" he reiterated louder for her to hear; the wind had picked up, adding noise.

"Martel, we have no knowledge of what other magic they might possess! Or if we can stop a tidal wave like that!"

"I can!" he declared. "And I'm the only one who can! Are you with me?"

She met his gaze. "Yes."

"Sir Valerius," Martel roared over his shoulder, "sixth cohort with me!" He leapt from his horse, grabbing his staff from the saddlebags. Next to him, Eleanor did likewise. With five hundred men behind him and two mageknights by his side, Martel charged the bridge.