Firebrand

Fate and Future

Martel stood in shock as the words of the duchess sank in. He wondered if he had misunderstood her, though it was hard to see how. He needed advice, either on what the duchess’s true intentions might be if he had mistaken them, and what he should do if he had not. He stepped out of his quarters and walked the small distance to knock on Eleanor’s door. “It’s me, Martel.”

She opened the door to let him in. Like him, she was also dressed only in the tunic they wore underneath their armour. “What is amiss?”

“Sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but I just had a strange conversation with the duchess of Trior. Unless I’m wrong, I think she made me an offer of marriage.”

The mageknight raised an eyebrow. “She is a tad too old for you, I would imagine.”

“Not with her, but her daughter, who is only fourteen. So the problem is rather the reverse.”

“Tell me exactly what the duchess said to you,” Eleanor commanded.

Martel frowned in thought, walking around in small circles. “She suggested that we celebrate the conclusion of the negotiations with a solstice feast, and that she wants to bring her daughter, and she was looking for a suitable match for the girl.”

“And? What did she say to make you think she considers you a prospect?”

“She wanted a connection to the military. Someone with the rank of legate or higher. When I pointed out that the position of captain prefect is only temporary, she insinuated that she would support someone retaining that rank, assuming they were married to her daughter.” He ceased his movements and looked at her directly. “Am I wrong, or does she want me to remain imperator?”

“Allied to her house, yes.” Eleanor nodded thoughtfully. “A bold plan, but I see the merit. You make the edicts, and she ensures you have the support needed in our new Senate. Much how Duke Cheval controlled the High Council while working with the emperor, except now she would be the power behind the throne.”

“But I promised I would resign immediately when our work is done. If I go back on that, the delegates will surely denounce me and immediately withdraw their agreement. Our Senate would be dead within the first day.”

“There are ways it can be arranged. The duchess and others intervene before you can resign and beg you to stay in your post, at least until the full Senate can be convened with all the representatives intended from each province, which will take two months for messages to arrive and for them to travel to Morcaster,” Eleanor speculated. “In that time, she will use her influence to convert more to your cause, so that by the time the full Senate convenes, you will have a majority supporting you to remain imperator indefinitely.”

Martel stared at her. It had seemed impossible to him, but in a few moments, Eleanor had laid out the exact plan for how to accomplish this. He had certainly come to the right person for advice, though he felt more confused than ever on how to feel about this. “But I can’t,” he stammered. “I never intended for that.”

Eleanor shrugged. “So? That is immaterial. What matters is that you have been presented an opportunity practically nobody else will ever have, nor will it be offered to you again. It deserves careful deliberation.”

“You’re saying I should consider this in earnest?”

“Of course. This is the most decisive moment of your life. Your fate and future will hang upon your decision, and possibly the same goes for countless others. Do not look back on this in ten years and regret your decision, whether for or against, because you chose in haste without due consideration.” She spoke in such a calm manner, detached from emotion, Martel could scarcely believe it.

Stolen story; please report.

“Well, what would you do?”

She shook her head. “I will not advise you on this. The consequences and burden of whatever you choose will be yours to bear. I will not influence you one way or the other.”

They locked eyes until Martel realised he had forgotten to breathe, and he did so until his lungs felt ready to burst. “Alright,” he mumbled as he exhaled once again. “I guess I have a decision to make.”

“Remember, do not make it in haste. The negotiations will undoubtedly continue for many days.” She gave him a smile with closed lips. “Good night, Martel.”

***

Martel entered his chambers in a daze. Thoughts whirled around his head in a maelstrom until they eventually coalesced into two distinct voices.

This had never been his intention. All he wanted was to end a war. He had no interest in ranks or titles, and he had even less interest or experience in all the administrative and political tasks such a position would entail.

At the same time, he had already fulfilled this role for the last few months in practical terms. While he had hardly made sweeping decisions or ground-breaking new policies, that had only been due to the constraints of time; no point issuing such edicts unless he knew they would not be rescinded by his successors. He had already played with the idea of how he could use his short-lived term as imperator, such as appointing a new headmaster of the Lyceum or instituting public works to feed the poor and improve security across the districts of Morcaster. If he had not days, but years, how much more could he accomplish?

He had promised to resign. Undoubtedly, much of the support from the delegates hinged upon that, along with his guarantee that the new Senate would not simply be filled by his own supporters. He would break both of those promises, certain to embitter those he would be meant to work with. In the worst case, some of the provinces and possibly Captain Honorius might withdraw altogether, raising the spectre of civil war once again. Could he really take such a risk for his own ambition?

As long as some of the provinces remained loyal to the agreement, the rest would not dare go against him. They might grumble and argue, but if done right, the ramifications could be contained. Once people saw the results of his work, no one would care about a few broken promises.

Except for himself. If he was willing to go back on his word now just to obtain power, what else might he do to hang onto it? How long until his good intentions slowly became corrupted?

Except his intentions had never been good to begin with. He had not started a mutiny out of some selfless desire to end a war. He had been a deserter, trapped between hostile armies, and the mutiny had been his only way out. Likewise, taking Morcaster to enforce his demands and now resurrecting the Senate were both simply ways he could escape punishment and ensure twenty-five thousand soldiers did not turn on him.

While this was true, Martel could argue he had been given no other choice. This was not the case now. Nothing forced him or even compelled him to accept the duchess’s offer. He could simply resign as soon as his decisions were ratified, and all would be well. Nothing could justify that he stayed in power except his own ambition.

But would this be so bad? Martel had come to Morcaster to study magic, not because he found it fascinating, but to obtain the power to help those who needed it. But how could the power of a wizard, no matter how skilled, ever compare to the power of holding imperium over thousands upon thousands of Imperial subjects? If Martel truly wished to help people, there was no better way.

Except that if Martel refused, someone else would step up. The work would still be done, simply by others. It was arrogant to assume he was best suited for such a complicated position. If he stepped down and left it to others to make the necessary policies for the good of the Empire, he would be free to employ his magic exactly how he thought best, becoming a wizard who helped those that would not otherwise receive help.

But if not Martel as ruler, who would it be? The Senate did not have to choose someone to be imperator after him, of course; they could simply delegate the different positions as high magistrates among themselves. But no matter how diverse and representative the assembly, every member would be drawn from the nobility, the highest ranks of the military or the Imperial administration, or just among the wealthiest of society. None would come from Nordmark, as the province had only a military administration and no cities with charter rights; it would have no representatives to send. Nor did Martel imagine any member of the Senate had or ever would set foot in the copper lanes. Maybe Martel was the only chance for someone with real power and influence to ever consider their needs.

Back and forth, the voices argued; Martel was still caught within this internal debate when his mind finally drifted off to sleep.