Firebrand

Golden Promises

A large procession entered Morcaster through the northwestern gate that lay between the palace and the temple districts. Soldiers filled the fortifications, watching their progress into the city with stern expressions. They also lined the streets from the gate to the palace in a display of force.

As for the envoys, they came with a small cortege of guards and servants, still numbering nearly a hundred people. Much further to the north, a number of legions marched southward as well with Morcaster as the destination, but for now, diplomacy would be given its opportunity.

All signs of battle had been erased where possible. The bodies of the slain had long since been removed and the blood cleaned away. Broken statues and other signs of destruction had been discarded, leaving the occasional empty alcove where a nymph or saint once stood.

In one of the many halls suited for the purpose, Martel awaited the guests with Eleanor by his side, along with the duke of Cheval and the duchess of Trior. As the nine emissaries, six provincial representatives and three commanders, entered, he threw his arms open.

“I greet you, legates and magistrates,” Martel spoke, “and I bid you welcome to Morcaster.”

“Welcome we may be, but by what right do you speak as if the city is yours?” Honorius, chosen as captain prefect, gave him a haughty look.

“Rights or not, the city is under my control,” Martel replied. “I suggest we base our discussions on what is factually true rather than what we wish. But you have journeyed a long distance to be here, and it seems unreasonable to argue already. Quarters are ready for you, where you may eat and rest.”

Despite a disgruntled look, Honorius made a throat sound in acknowledgement, and the envoys dispersed, led by servants to their chambers.

“That went as well as it could,” Cheval claimed.

“I will see you when the negotiations begin,” Martel simply said. He preferred the open hostility of the other captain prefect to the feigned cordiality of his supposed allies, and he stalked away to spare himself further pretence.

***

The first evening bell rang, and the diplomatic parties gathered in what had once been the hall of the High Council. It possessed a large table that could easily seat them all, and they distributed themselves on each side according to affiliation.

This meant Martel had nine people opposite him and three next to him, two of whom he could not trust. He still liked his chances, whether in diplomacy or war, given who supported him unconditionally outside this chamber.

His eyes glanced over the nine men and women on the other side. Honorius seemed to be the leader, not just of their armies but also at this table. She sat with four on either side of her with the two other legates at her immediate right and left. She looked and sounded stern or gruff; a soldier who did not waste time with pleasantries but got the work done. Martel was reminded of Sir Avery in that regard.

As for the representatives, they were a mixed bunch. None of them particularly young and all dressed expensively, but otherwise, they exhibited a variety of emotions. Some looked disdainful or sat with clenched jaws, one or two seemed nervous, and others concealed their emotions entirely.

“Shall we begin? We have terms to offer,” Honorius declared.

Martel knew he would reject them out of hand, but to be polite, he kept this to himself. Best to hear them out, considering how they had travelled to say this. “Go ahead.”

“Your armistice with Khiva will be honoured under appropriate conditions. Your soldiers will not be condemned for their participation in your uprising, but they will receive reduced pay as befits the situation and be discharged with no allowance for renewed conscription. As for you personally, Martel of Engby, you will be exiled from all provinces of Aster except Nordmark, allowing you to return home.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“That will not be acceptable,” Martel declared flatly.

“If we must take the city as you did, it will be an unconditional surrender that sees you decapitated. Depending on rank, your men will follow you in execution or be sent to the galleys.” As Honorius spoke, everyone at her side remained silent.

“I may have made it seem easy, but you’ll find Morcaster better defended than I did.” Martel wished he could speed things along to debate the real argument, but he knew it was best to remove the option of a military resolution first.

“We have more than twice the legions you do.”

“Barely. You have eleven,” Eleanor interjected.

“More than twice,” Honorius repeated. “You cannot face us on the battlefield. We will take Morcaster if we must.”

“You cannot besiege the city as the harbour allows us to bring in as much food as needed,” Martel pointed out. “If the Imperial fleet obeyed you, they would have been here long ago to enact a blockade.” This was a guess on his part, but Eleanor had reasoned they would have commanded the ships to show up as an intimidation tactic. The fact that the harbour remained open suggested the sailors were as tired of losing ships to the Khivans as the legionaries. “Given the number of troops I have to defend this city, I am more than ready to do so. As I also control the Lyceum, I have a host of mages to strengthen my forces.”

“If they will fight for you,” the other captain said.

“Unless you are willing to abandon all of Nordmark after ninety years of attempting to civilise the province while also emptying your cities of all defence, you can’t bring more than seven or eight legions against us. Not nearly enough to take the city by storm.” Martel glanced at the various faces on the other side of the table, trying to measure their reaction to such a suggestion. They did not seem pleased in general at the prospect. “You also face not one, but two fire-touched battlemages.” This was possibly a bluff; Martel had not raised the question with Alastair. But the other side had no way of asking him either. “We can continue listing advantages and disadvantages in a military conflict if you prefer, or we can proceed to discussing a solution that ends this without further bloodshed while satisfying all involved.”

“Will you also turn the contents of your chamber pot into gold?” snorted Alexia, legate of the legion in Anvallum.

Her outburst earned her looks from everyone, and Martel made a note that somebody other than Honorius had spoken. “Better. I plan to convene the Senate.”

Confused looks made it clear that most of their guests had never heard of this. Giles, the magistrate from Marbury, proved an exception. “That’s absurd! There is no basis for this in our laws!”

“On the contrary, while the law may be old, it has never been abolished,” the duchess interjected.

Honorius whipped her head to look at the noblewoman like a bird of prey. “You support this nonsense?”

“The idea is mine to begin with.”

“What exactly is this proposal?” asked one of the representatives sitting at the very edge.

“A council by any other name, meant to rule. No doubt to be filled by the good captain and all his followers,” Giles proclaimed dismissively.

“You expect us to support such a Senate of Morcaster?” Honorius asked.

“It would be a Senate of Aster,” Martel swiftly retorted. “It would have representatives from every province, from the largest guilds in every city with charter rights, from the Faith of the Sun, and anybody else it makes sense to include from across the Empire.”

“What would be the purpose? It would just be another High Council.”

“Except its members would be chosen by the provinces, thereby deciding whom to serve in the different roles of high magistrates. It would not be a High Council chosen by the emperor or select few members of the nobility, or include arbitrary members such as the captain of the Praetorian Guard,” Martel explained. “Ill-fated wars as the one waged against Khiva would not happen again, as no single faction could dominate such a large gathering to force their will through to the detriment of the Empire.” To his satisfaction, he caught Cheval squirming in his seat for a moment; it was the faction he led that had begun the war so many years ago.

“You did not mention the military as members of this new assembly,” Miles remarked, the legate from the northern legion. “Do you not intend a seat for yourself?”

Martel shook his head while noticing that more and more from the other side of the table spoke. The disadvantage of bringing so many people to the table; it was far easier for Martel to present a united front. “I do not. My only involvement will be that I ask this Senate to affirm me as imperator, ratifying my armistice with Khiva and allowing me to discharge my soldiers with full pay. With my decisions for the last few months upheld, I have nothing more I want. I shall resign as captain prefect gladly, having accomplished what I set out to do.”

It seemed that Honorius had made the same observation as Martel, for she raised a hand to silence any questions. “This is an unexpected development none of us had foreseen. You will excuse us if we need time to withdraw and consider your proposal.”

Martel bowed his head in a magnanimous gesture. “Naturally. It is already late, and you have had a long day. I suggest we convene tomorrow at second bell to continue our discussions.”

Honorius grunted in affirmation, and they all dispersed. Next to Martel, the duchess smiled. “Doing better and better.”