Ad Portam

Hundreds of miles lay between the legions and Morcaster, but they had reached fertile lands, civilised and populated, unlike the frontier near Khiva. The days being late summer meant blossoming fields surrounded them, though it also made for hot weather during their marches.

At one of the evening meetings between the legion prefects, Arianna of the Twentieth raised an issue. "I had three deserters in the night, all from the same centuria. I suspect they are local boys, who could not resist being this close to home. Normally, I would dispatch patrols to hunt them down, but I thought I should defer to you, captain."

They all looked at Martel. "Do nothing. We don't want our soldiers getting into trouble across the countryside, getting into fights with local units. Besides, it will slow us down." It also spared Martel of his dislike for punishing deserters, given he had done the exact same.

Arianna looked less than pleased, but she bowed her head. "As you command. But more will follow, especially as our legion's treasury is running low. Normally, I might persuade the soldiers they would get their salaries next month, but given our situation, that is obviously not a guarantee I can make."

Next to her, Lara nodded assent. "We need coin. More supplies never hurt either."

"Only one way for an army to acquire either while in enemy territory," Arianna continued.

She left her conclusion unspoken, but Martel caught it. "We are not plundering our own lands."

"We must do something. A lot of soldiers are only following us because they have nowhere better to go. If we cannot adequately feed and pay them, we will have mass desertion on our hands. While on the march like this, it is all too easy for soldiers to disappear," Lara warned her commander.

"What about a tax?" Godwin suggested. "That is how an army is supposed to be paid. We avoid plunder, harassing the locals, and we gain what we need. In two days, we pass near the city of Segundis. I imagine knowing of our approach, they have gathered all grain, livestock, and silver inside their walls."

"The city will have a garrison. A cohort, at least. In their eyes, we are rebels. If we want what they have, we must storm the city," Lara argued.

"Not if we pressure the city to relinquish what we require," Eleanor suggested. "Besides our superior numbers, we have several mageknights, three battlemages including our captain, a berserker, and even a stonemage. Between all of us, I daresay they will be cowed into submission."

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Nobody spoke for a moment as they all considered her suggestion. In the end, they looked at Martel. "We are ending a thirteen year long war. A tax to support this, considering the relief it will bring, seems only reasonable." He glanced around at his subordinates. "The Tenth will divert to Segundis and claim what we need. The rest of you continue on your march. We will catch up to you."

"Yes, sir!"

***

Two days later, they reached a fork in the Imperial road. It ran directly west towards Morcaster; the other, south to the city of Segundis. Placed on the coast with a natural harbour, it was a thriving mercantile port, surrounded by fertile fields. If not for competition from Morcaster stealing much of the trade, it would undoubtedly have been a much larger settlement. Even so, it could still boast of a population numbering in the thousands. It usually had two cohorts of the Seventh Legion as a garrison, though as the Tyrian scouts had noticed, half had been called away for the defence of the capital.

Martel stood before the walls in front of its northern gates, through which the Imperial road ran to connect it with the rest of the Empire. On the fortifications, hundreds of soldiers stood; presumably, a good number of them were militia, called up to defend their home but with little military training.

"Is the commander of your garrison present?" Martel called out. Behind him stood six of his cohorts, with several others having manoeuvred east and west to add pressure and divide the defenders.

"I am Sir Decimus, prefect of the second cohort, Seventh Legion," a man yelled from atop the gatehouse. "This is a peaceful city. Why have you come in such numbers to our walls?"

"Sir Decimus, I'm Martel, captain prefect of five legions, who have banded together to end the war in the east. We march to Morcaster to enforce our demands and be granted the peace we deserve, after many years of loyal service."

"A noble goal, but it does not explain why you threaten our doorstep."

"We need provisions. And silver."

"We have only enough for our own needs. If you speak the truth, you will accept this and leave. Only a hostile army would attack this city, plundering our stores and putting the citizens to the sword," the mageknight declared.

"I'm afraid you force my hand in that case," Martel replied. "In a moment, I will send four cohorts into the city to seize what we need. If you do not resist, nobody will be hurt, and we will be gone before day's end. But if you try to resist despite our overwhelming force, I cannot guarantee that any of your men will survive, nor the safety of the citizens."

"That is the behaviour of thugs, resorting to threats. We have only enough to cover our needs! If you empty our stores, our children will go hungry!"

"You are a thriving port. You can find ways to replace it, I'm sure."

"With what?" the mageknight asked bitterly. "Spending the coin you will also rob from us?"

"Sir Decimus, my patience is at an end. We will now enter your city. I urge you not to attempt any kind of resistance."

"You may try, but you shall find our walls are strong and our gate barred."

"Not much longer," Martel mumbled to himself. He stepped forward with Eleanor by his side, ready to intervene should arrows fly. Martel placed his staff against the ground, and the ruby glowed. Lightning burst forward to smash against the gate and tear it apart. As the defenders watched in disbelief, four cohorts of the Tenth Legion marched forward. They reached the open entrance and passed through. Atop the gatehouse, Sir Decimus stared at the Firebrand and finally commanded his men to stand down.