A Captain's Voice

Martel woke in an unfamiliar room. He had arrived late last night and only seen it in the dark, too exhausted to even light a small flame with his magic. In the daylight, it looked entirely different. It was part of the legate's offices at the fortress, converted into a simple bedroom for his convenience. It held the same furniture that his tent normally did in camp, so he had slept on his usual cot. Not that it had done much for the quality of his sleep. Martel thought that when Eleanor had nearly died on the shore of the Savena River, it had been the worst day of his life. The last forty-eight hours might be worse.

He did not understand the weakness that had come over him in the Undercroft, leaving him catatonic. If it happened again, his soldiers would not follow him, and everything might fall apart just when he was so close to being done. But maybe he fretted over nothing. Eleanor would never tell, and there was no reason he would ever return to that wretched place below.

That made Martel feel a little better, until the events of last night forced themselves to the forefront of his thoughts. He had no knowledge of the emperor's sister. She might have been the most dreadful noblewoman, mistreating servants with great cruelty. But she had sacrificed herself for her children's sake, so she must have had some virtues. Regardless, flaws or not, she had not been a part of the combat, and she was dead because of Martel's spell.

It reminded him of the criminal he had faced, going through his examination as an acolyte. He had stood no chance against Martel, being pitted against him solely to teach the prospective battlemage how to kill.

All these thoughts, troubling his mind like insects biting him. He had his own mother to consider, whether she was safe through all of this. Nordmark was far away, and there was no reason trouble should reach his family, but he could not know for sure. Postal service had broken down between the regions controlled by his legions and the north; not that Martel would dare to write, directing attention towards them.

So many concerns with no answers. In addition, he felt sweaty, his nightshirt sticking to his skin. One problem with a clear solution, at least. He called for the guard outside his room. "Tell them to fill the water in the baths. Don't bother heating it up." Martel ignited a small flame at the tip of his finger; at least his magic had returned, regardless of how poorly he had slept.

***

Hot water helped Martel's physical discomfort, as did clean clothes. He wished that he could return to the red robes of a mage, but with the danger of loyalists hiding out in the city, waiting for a chance to strike, he accepted wearing armour and a prefect's uniform.

After something to eat, he went to his offices. Eleanor and Lara both greeted him, the latter standing up to salute. "I grant you an exception to do that every time you see me," he muttered. "Or you'll give me a heart attack, jumping up like that."

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"Right you are, sir." Lara cleared her throat. "No strict formality under these circumstances."

"Something like that, yes."

"We have prepared a study for you, sir. The door just opposite the hallway. Relevant information and reports will be left for you there, and you may receive visitors in private as needed," the legion prefect explained.

"Great. I imagine there's plenty of paper already stacked up in there."

"Just lists of casualties," Eleanor remarked.

"Ah. Right."

"Your commanders are ready to assemble when you wish to discuss what we do next," Lara told him. When he looked at her in confusion, she continued, "Unless you have already made such decisions?"

"No, I haven't. Of course. We still have to make actual peace in this damned Empire." Martel left, crossing the hallway to enter the study set aside for him. It was austere with a desk and a few chairs. He closed the door and took his seat.

In the dungeons below him sat the emperor. Every member of the High Council was under house arrest. Half the Empire remained under control of loyalist legions, but the other half, its government, and Morcaster itself obeyed him, willingly or not. Where his soldiers walked, Martel held imperium as undisputed ruler. He buried his head in his hands, at a loss on how to feel about this. He was only nineteen.

***

The commanders of the rebellion gathered in the evening in one of the rooms of the fortress. With the change in leadership, plenty of them had become available. Once Martel had arrived and all the saluting was done with, they each gave their report.

"There have been no instances of clashing with the old garrison for a full day. I consider the city fully under our control."

"Related to that, all the legionaries who surrendered have been released. We have gathered all the officers in a single warehouse, as they are still too many for the dungeons, but this seems a short-lived solution. We should consider what to do with them soon."

"With the old garrison released back onto the streets, we suddenly have a rather large, unemployed group ready to stir up trouble. We should be prepared for riots."

"Thirty-seven instances of looting and assault has been discovered so far during the storm on the palace. Given the captain's dislike for executions, they have been flogged. I continue to investigate."

It continued like that for a while. Their voices merged, and unless Martel happened to look directly at whose lips moved, he could not tell the speaker.

"More importantly, we should consider Khiva. Our armistice has held so far."

"They are not going to attack us while we are busy fighting among ourselves and give us a common enemy to unite against."

"Regardless, with our recent victory, we have the legitimacy to negotiate a permanent peace. The sooner, the better. We want to have some results to show the troops."

"Who should be sent as envoy?"

"Captain? Who should we send?"

Martel blinked. "Eleanor and Lara may choose. I trust their judgement."

A brief silence followed. "Very well. We have other negotiations to consider as well. At least some of the northern and the urban legions will be marching against us. We must persuade them to accept our victory here, given our control of the emperor and the High Council."

"Not just the legions. We should speak with representatives from every major city. We need them all to acknowledge our control of the situation, or someone will continue to fan the flames of civil war."

"Agreed, but let them come to us. This is the capital. That is only reasonable."

"Yes. Captain, should we dispatch couriers?"

"Inviting them to negotiate?"

He noticed their stares. "Yes, of course." Martel cleared his throat. "Do that. We need this war done with."

The voices resumed talking, yet fading away immediately after.