Firebrand

Chapter 642: A Council of Command

A Council of Command

After allowing Martel and Eleanor a moment of reunion, Lara joined them. "Finally. Your return will buy some time, ease tensions, and we can finally get to work."

"Buy time?" Martel asked confused.

"While most of the legion follows us, there are malcontents. And the further this drags on without a conclusion, the more restless the soldiers become. Your presence will renew their faith in us, but we must take action now. I have already told the other prefects to convene." She looked at them both. "Follow me."

Martel would have liked a moment to catch his breath, physically and metaphorically, but Eleanor immediately went along with the legion prefect, so he did the same. They did not go far; a large tent had been raised in the middle of the camp, and inside stood a number of chairs, most of them occupied by the mageknights of the legion, eight of them present. Martel and his companions arrived last; as they entered, the prefects all rose, saluting them.

Taken aback, Martel returned the salute, and they all sat down again. Lara went to one seat at the edge; Martel noticed two remained empty in the middle of the semicircle, which he and Eleanor took. "Sir Lucius is missing," he noticed. "Should we wait for him? He should return tomorrow."

Sir Lara shook her head. "I have communicated with him, including my intentions for our next course of action, and he has declared himself in agreement. Besides, every day counts. We cannot afford to wait any further. Now that emotions have calmed down, the soldiers are worried about how Morcaster will react, if they will be declared as outlaws, where supplies shall come from, whether they will receive their salaries, and so forth."

Martel felt a little overwhelmed; yet he had not considered any of those things. He had assumed that if the Tenth Legion abandoned its position by the river, the war would be so untenable, the High Council would be forced to make peace. He had not considered any of the practical concerns, such as during the two months when a message could reach Morcaster and return, how to keep the legionaries fed and satisfied.

"I have written a list of our demands to be sent to Morcaster," the legion prefect continued. "Nothing outrageous. Immediate negotiations for peace with the kingdom of Khiva, amnesty for every member of the Tenth Legion and any other that joins our refusal to fight, allowance for legionaries to be discharged before contract's end once peace is negotiated, and a guarantee that full salaries will be paid regardless of circumstances," she rattled off. "Along with missives to be sent to every other legion at the front, urging them to join our armistice."

Nobody spoke. Martel noticed that everybody looked at him, which seemed absurd; he was probably the least qualified to cast judgement on Lara's work. While he knew every mageknight by name, he had scarcely talked to them on more than a handful of occasions; he felt that he really only knew Valerius, Lucius, and Avery, one of whom was absent, another dead. "That sounds excellent. You didn't have to wait for me, you could just have sent all that long ago." If time was of such concern, he did not understand why they would have wasted fivedays waiting for him.

"Forgive me, Sir Martel, but we could not. We are entering negotiations with the Imperial administration under threat of sedition. Such negotiations cannot be led by an acting legate. The document sent to Morcaster must be signed and sealed by someone with greater authority than me."

"So why don't we make you legate?" Martel said, suggesting what he felt was the obvious move. "You are already the legion prefect."

"I am not the right choice. I served in that role under Legate Varus, which casts aspersions on me. Especially as I did not lead the charge against his corrupt leadership."

"We thought Sir Fontaine should take his post, given she roused us to action," explained Theodore of the second cohort.

"And she got rid of him," Valerius added with a mumble.

Martel looked around the semicircle; nobody argued against. He got the impression they had already agreed on this and simply waited for his confirmation. "I agree." He turned his eyes on Eleanor. "You're qualified and skilled, and you'll do great." He looked at Lara. "Is that it? We all agree to make Eleanor the legate, and we can move things along?"

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Not quite." The legion prefect wetted her lips. "While Sir Fontaine is the right choice to lead this legion – as you say, she has the necessary skills, and the soldiers respect her more than anybody, save you, Sir Martel – we need another to lead our cause."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You were not present, but Sir Fontaine convinced the soldiers by using you and all your deeds as an example. By now, every legionary in the East knows the name of the Firebrand."

Martel tensed up; he did not like where this was going.

"To negotiate with Morcaster, to convince the other legions to join us, we need the strongest symbol we can get. There is none better than the heroic battlemage, whose power surpasses any other mage in the legions. If a fire-touched wizard of your mettle and reputation argues in favour of peace, who can argue against? Who can doubt your strength or cast aspersions upon your service?"

"Hold on a moment. We just agreed that Eleanor should be legate – why are you now talking about me?"

Lara nodded. "And she will be. But the leader of several legions bears the rank of captain prefect, and no lesser title is fitting for the person who must see our cause victorious."

Another mageknight chimed in. "We need you for that, Sir Martel."

It felt like an ambush; he looked at Eleanor, who clearly was in agreement. Martel had no desire for this responsibility, but all of this had been his idea to begin with; he could not leave it for others to finish. Not to mention, his own freedom depended upon their demands being met, as did Eleanor's. "Alright. I'll do it."

The other prefects looked visibly relieved. "Excellent," Lara declared. "Tomorrow morning, you and Sir Fontaine may swear your oaths to take office. I will have to rewrite them a bit – swearing loyalty to the emperor will look unfortunate."

Martel looked outside; night had fallen. He realised the tent was illuminated by one of his own lightstones; the one he had given the legion prefect long ago. "Is my tent still up? I have not slept much for many days, travelling here with all haste. If there's nothing else, I should like to sleep."

"We put it back up in anticipation of your arrival," Lara told him.

"I will take you," Eleanor promised. She and Martel rose, and as they did so, every other prefect got up as well and saluted them. It felt weird; Martel could not imagine he would get used to that.

***

"You know, if it's in the same place, I can probably find my way back on my own," Martel remarked as they crossed the camp.

"Of course you can. I just wanted us to be able to talk," Eleanor replied.

"I figured that was your reasoning. Is something wrong?"

"Other than us being responsible for this legion, and once we declare our mutiny, we will have no supply lines? Yes, plenty more," she replied.

"Right. I didn't think this all the way through," Martel admitted.

"Nobody could have. There is a lot we must deal with, but we will. We are doing the right thing," she proclaimed. "Anyway, I simply wanted to ask how matters went in the Khivan camp. Did the commander accept the armistice?"

"He did. As far as I can tell. He seemed sincere that he wants peace." Martel noticed that as they progressed, soldiers stopped their activities to look at them. Another odd experience, just as being back in the camp felt strange; he had never imagined he would be.

"No matter what happens, it will favour him. Perhaps we can bargain with them for supplies. Anything else happen of note? Did they treat you well?"

"Mostly. Except that one night they tried to kill me, I guess."

Eleanor came to an immediate halt, and she grabbed him by the arm, turning him towards her. "They tried to assassinate you? The commander included?"

"No, he wasn't part of it. I think. Just four idiots, tried to get me while I slept. I killed them, and Azar executed a few more for good measure."

She exhaled. "Alright. I am glad you can handle yourself." They resumed walking.

"They do train us battlemages pretty rigorously. Ah, home, dear home." Ahead, Martel saw his tent, next to hers, and the familiar sight helped his mood, especially thinking of his bed inside. As they walked in, another surprise awaited him. On his desk lay various items, including blades and jars, and his staff leaned against it. "My belongings!"

"We found them in the legate's house." Eleanor smiled.

He picked up the dagger given to him by Master Jerome and returned it to his sheath. He cared less about the other objects – some jars of alchemy, a few potions, which he could always replace if need be, and the gold-edged dagger he had once taken as plunder from a would-be assassin – but it was still nice to have it all back. "This turned out to be a good day after all," he jested, glancing at her.

Rather than appear amused, she seemed troubled; before he could ask as to why, she flung her arms around him. "I am so sorry I was absent," she mumbled, pressing her face against his clothes. "I did not think they would dare to do anything to you."

He returned the embrace, perhaps enjoying it more than he should. "It's alright. You had to leave. I can handle a couple of halfwit thugs."

"Yeah." She pulled back. "That will not be an issue again. We are not separating like this again."

"I agree with that."

"You should rest. I have plenty of tasks that await me, trying to keep this place reined in. Sleep well, Martel."

"Thanks. Goodnight." She left him alone, and he sat down on his cot, trying to come to terms with everything that had happened today.

THIS CHAPTER UPLOAD FIRST AT NOVELBIN.COM