Nineteen, Twenty

While the message from Morcaster was foreboding, it was most of all met by relief. The long waiting and uncertainty had ended. While some had hoped that the High Council would see reason and acquiesce to the demands, at least the rebel legions now knew where they stood. This was no longer a mutiny, but a full rebellion supported by three legions. A formidable force, though as Eleanor told Martel, that left seventeen legions still loyal to the Empire.

They sat in the large tent, accompanied by the different legion prefects. By now, the number of mageknights under Martel's command was too many for an effective council; listening to the voices of all the prefects from just his own legion had made Martel feel dizzy during their previous meetings.

"But they can't bring all those soldiers against us, I take it." If the Empire could march that many soldiers to the eastern border, they would not have been content fighting the war with only five legions.

"No. Marching the legions out of Nordmark means effectively abandoning the province," Lara explained. "Nor can all the urban legions simply leave their cities, though each of them may send some of their forces against us. And it is true they will be constrained if they tried to fight us here. Same as we are, trying to feed fifteen thousand men in a region that scarcely grows food."

"That makes our choice simple," Martel declared. "We have to go west to find fields and men working them. We also have to force a confrontation, as we cannot afford sitting idle."

"Correct," spoke the legion prefect from the Seventeenth; Martel had forgotten his name. "I fear my men are perhaps more restless than yours. They do not have the same knowledge of your reputation, captain, and Sir Godwin's – removal of the legate ruffled some feathers."

Next to him, the aforementioned mageknight shrugged.

"Going west will allow us to forage food or demand it from nearby cities," Eleanor began to say, "but it is a temporary reprieve. Right now, couriers are travelling to every loyal legion, demanding them to spare soldiers. With enough time, the High Council will gather an army large enough to crush ours."

The inevitable conclusion stared them all in the face, but nobody seemed willing to say it. They all looked towards the captain prefect. "We got no choice, do we?" He let his gaze move across the room. "We have to force them to accept our demands. The only way we can do this is by taking Morcaster."

Nobody disagreed, nor did they look happy at the prospect. "We cannot afford a lengthy siege. We will not have the provisions for it, and sooner or later, a relief army will arrive from the north to trap us against the city walls," Lara explained. "If facing complete defeat, they may abandon Nordmark altogether and recall all northern legions."

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"If the decision is to lose Nordmark or Morcaster, I would imagine they choose to keep Morcaster," Eleanor added.

"So we have to find a way to breach the walls or otherwise be able to storm the city. Without taking so many casualties that we are immediately vulnerable against the relief army," Martel considered. "And we must do this with such speed, that the Emperor and the High Council do not flee and simply continue the fight from elsewhere." The last part might be the hardest part to accomplish.

"That seems to be the situation in a nutshell, sir," Lara confirmed.

Eleanor looked at him; they all did. "The decision is yours."

"I don't see how we have any choice. Prepare the soldiers." He took a deep breath. "We march on Morcaster."

***

Moving three legions was a considerable logistical undertaking, but the Asterians excelled at this. Within a day, preparations were made as needed, packing up provisions and equipment onto carts. The following morning, the legionaries pulled down their tents, added them to the supply train, and set out. Patrols on horseback rode ahead on the Imperial road; a vanguard of a full cohort followed, ready to deal with minor obstacles or pockets of resistance. Three legions marched afterwards, with another cohort protecting the rear.

Each night, Martel met with Eleanor and the three legion prefects to discuss their progress along with any incidents that had happened during the day's march. A fiveday after they had left Esmouth, Godwin appeared to the meeting with a soldier in tow. "Sir, the rearguard met this messenger with news for you."

They all looked at the legionary. "Speak," Martel bade him.

The messenger saluted. "Captain prefect. I bear word from the Nineteenth and the Twentieth Legions."

The last of the Asterian forces in the east; Martel had wondered what they might do, or if they would react to his own troops marching on Morcaster. "Go on."

"They heard of the battle near Esmouth, or lack of same. Both legions have deposed their legates," he related. "For the Nineteenth, it was a bloodless affair. For the Twentieth, it came to blows, and half their prefects are dead, including the legate." He cleared his throat. "Both legions request permission to join the armistice with the Khivans, abandon the siege of Nahavand, and join up with the captain's forces."

Every prefect in the tent shared looks of incredulity, joy, or both. "Rest up," Martel told him. "Tomorrow, you will return. Tell the Nineteenth and Twentieth Legions to join us on our march to Morcaster at all speed."

The legionary saluted. "Yes, sir!"

Once he left, laughter erupted in the tent. "Two more! At this speed, the whole Empire will be behind us!" someone jested.

Eleanor looked at Martel. "We have five legions."

He smiled. "We have five legions."

The news recreated the euphoria from after the duel outside Esmouth when their numbers had first swelled. They had grown from five to twenty-five thousand of the most battle-hardened soldiers in the Empire. In comparison, only a single legion spread out between the smaller cities along the Imperial road stood between them and the capital, itself also guarded by another solitary legion. The road to Morcaster was open.