Swift Negotiations

After ten days of marching, five legions had the walls of Morcaster within their sights. All of them wore Asterian colours and carried banners of the Empire; many of the legionaries called the city their home. Every legion had been raised to defend Aster, fight for it, and expand its borders; now they viewed the capital as one would look upon a hostile city, to be conquered. The soldiers on the walls, defending their city, wore the same uniforms as the attackers; yet each side stood ready to kill the other.

But first, any number of practical matters required attention. Undoubtedly, the garrison prepared in every way imaginable, conscripting and training militia, increasing the number of sentinels everywhere, and what else they might think of.

As for the invading army, they first sought to their own defences; it was a common mistake to underestimate an enemy inferior in number and disregard any threat of an attack. Wiser than that, the legions made a fully fortified camp with palisades, watchtowers, and ditches, right against the Alonde River, protecting them from assault in that direction and ensuring plenty of fresh water.

Furthermore, their engineers had a floating bridge built to allow a swift crossing and control of both shorelines. Once that had been completed, they turned their attention towards siege machinery such as rams to attack against gates, ladders to scale the walls, and rolling towers that would allow their archers to rain arrows down on the garrison.

If the captain's plan worked, none of it would be needed, but their appearance outside the city fortifications would act as a credible threat to lure defenders away; if the stratagem failed, the siege engines might very well be required after all.

***

On the second day, a small party on horseback approached the camp. The rider in front carried the banner of the emperor; behind him came a magistrate in purple robes, and two praetorians followed afterwards. The guards at the gates escorted them into the camp to reach the centre, where the tent of the captain prefect and the legate stood. Both of them appeared, looking up at the visitors.

The magistrate let his horse forward and spoke in a loud voice, "I am Felix Aurelius, military magistrate on the High Council and appointed as envoy by His Imperial Majesty to the rebellious legions that make camp outside his city. With whom should I entreat?"

"This is Captain Prefect Martel," Eleanor declared. "He commands the eastern legions, chosen by them all to lead them in battle or negotiations, whichever is needed to see our righteous demands are met."

Martel appreciated that Eleanor would step in; she knew better than him how to deal with the formalities of such a situation. If up to him, he would have told the magistrate to leg it.

"For once, the truth seems worse than rumours," the magistrate sniffed. "Is there anywhere in this unwelcoming place we might discuss matters? I should like to get out of the sun."

"Of course. We have a tent for such purposes. Follow us." Eleanor turned and Martel followed her as they walked towards the tent they used for council while the magistrate and his men dismounted.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"If he's feeling hot now, I know a few fire spells that'll make him revise that statement," Martel muttered under his breath, and he noticed Eleanor hiding a smile from her face.

As soon as the pair reached the tent, accompanied by the magistrate, the latter began to speak. "Very well. We see your intentions. We are ready to negotiate."

His voice and demeanour had changed; apparently, he had put on a little act outside, though Martel could not guess as to why. "You know our demands." He shrugged. "Accept or reject them."

"I should have expected such rigidity from a legionary," Aurelius mumbled. "The Stars cursed me the day I was chosen to oversee our military."

"That is between you and Sol," Eleanor declared. "You have our terms."

"Well, yes, but you understand the situation is complicated."

"I don't see how," Martel replied. "The war against Khiva has been lost, so there's no reason to continue it. Our soldiers must be allowed to seek discharge without loss of the pay they have earned, and none of us are to be considered guilty of any offences."

"I wish I had such a simple view of the world," the magistrate breathed. "The emperor cannot simply agree to this, or every legion will refuse to fight the moment they are unsatisfied with their breakfast or the weather of their posting."

"We will not concede any of our demands," the captain stated.

"Well, while it is beneath the emperor to barter with his own subjects, the High Council is willing to accommodate your terms with certain alterations."

"Such as?" Eleanor asked.

"Firstly, every soldier who participated in this sedition must swear a new oath of allegiance to the emperor. All those with the rank of prefect or above must do so to him personally while for the common soldiery, swearing upon the eagle standard will suffice."

"Firstly?" Martel said, which the magistrate seemed to take as an encouragement to continue.

"Secondly, we will not sue for peace at any cost with Khiva. Should negotiations fail, we cannot allow soldiers to be discharged before their contracts are at an end, or we shall find ourselves at war without soldiers."

Martel leaned back in his seat. He would swear an oath if it ended this conflict, but this second change felt like a trap.

"Lastly, punishment must be meted out. At least five persons of the rank of prefect or above must be denounced as ringleaders and handed over to face the emperor's justice."

"Only five?" Martel exclaimed sarcastically.

"One for each legion. That is all." Aurelius sat with an overbearing look as if he thought he was being charitable.

The battlemage stood up to tower over the magistrate. "Do you think you can make demands when I hold the knife at your throat? Return to your High Council, Felix Aurelius, and mark each of their faces. When I have taken the city, do not expect to see any of them again. I am the Firebrand, and I will take the emperor's city with the same ease that I took five of his legions and made them mine!"

Aurelius seemed unimpressed. He got on his feet. "At least the negotiations were mercifully swift. You are a young lad, Master Martel, playing at leadership."

"Wait," Eleanor quickly said. "Something else. Master Aurelius, could you tell me of Legate Fontaine? We did not find him among the dead, but I should like to know for sure."

The magistrate gave her a measured look. "You must be the Fontaine child. Your father lives, girl, but he has been stripped of his rank. His loyalty was already in question, given your treasonous actions, and his failure to defend the bridge earned him no favours either. If you are worried about his fate, you should have considered how your actions would reflect on him." He turned on his heel and strode away.

"I'm sorry," Martel muttered. While it might seem like good news that her father would not command the defence of the city, it helped little if he had been thrown into the dungeons or worse.

"My father chose to ride the wrong horse, and it has thrown him off," Eleanor replied. "I will live with the consequences of my actions – he must live with his." She looked at him. "Are we still leaving tonight?"

"Assuming Henry has found us an entrance, yes."

"Very well. I shall make my final preparations and meet you tonight." She hurried away.