Satisfaction
A fiveday passed before the duke of Cheval was summoned to the fortress of Saint Marcellus. He arrived with his solitary guard afforded him, who stayed outside Martel’s study, as did the captain’s own sentinels. Only Martel and Eleanor met the duke, one seated, the other standing behind him.
“Captain.” The duke gave an impeccable bow. It seemed a simple gesture of courtesy, but Martel remembered that last time, he had only bowed his head. “I heard about the attempt on your life. A balm for the soul to see you unhurt.”
“I’m sure.” Martel spoke with a tone flatter than the sea. “The villain in question pointed to the earl of Vergne as the culprit.”
“Shocking! Alas that the word of a known criminal holds no weight in court, especially against a nobleman. Do you have other proof?”
“None that matters. Though my people are convinced it is true, just as they agree that you gave the order to the earl for him to pass along.” Martel stared at the duke.
The nobleman displayed outrage so well, it did not appear feigned at all, and he leapt to his feet. “A spurious accusation without evidence! I will not –”
“Sit down!” Martel roared, standing up as well to place his hands on his desk. Motes of fire appeared around him, and the duke fell back into his seat. “You hide behind the law when it protects you and break it whenever that would yield an advantage. Now I shall do the same, and this is no idle threat. You remember Vitus, I imagine. He controlled the harbour and helped you build your insula in the Khivan quarter.”
“I am sure I have no knowledge of this person,” Cheval mumbled. He did not move, but he looked out of the corner of his eyes rather than directly ahead at Martel.
“He also tried to have me killed, so you have that in common. In retaliation, I burned everything he owned, piece by piece. In the end, I confronted him in front of all his henchmen and gave them a choice. Continue to suffer my wrath or turn on him. His body was later found in an alley with stab wounds, tossed aside like the carcass of a stray dog. I did this as an acolyte. Imagine what I can do now.”
“I am a nobleman,” the duke muttered faintly. “You cannot treat me this way.”
Martel grabbed his desk with one hand and pushed it aside with empowered strength, leaving nothing between him and Cheval. He stepped forward to tower over the man. “I will invoke the very wrath of Sol himself! Lightning will strike everything you own. Your ships and warehouses will burn until every merchant considers you cursed. I will scorch your fields as they are ripe for harvest. I will not relent until your own sons betray you and offer your corpse in tribute to me that I may avert my fury.” Flames engulfed his hands. “Neither law nor status or allies will protect you from my rage.” His voice softened as he continued. “But I offer this respite. If you support me in full without the slightest hesitation in all of the upcoming negotiations, I will spare you. Look at me. Look at me!” Martel waited until Cheval did so. “Tell me you understand.”
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“I understand,” he spoke with a feeble voice.
“You are dismissed.” Martel stepped back, and the duke hurried out of the room.
***
The fire surrounding Martel disappeared. He had talked himself into a frenzy, almost. If his control had been poor, he might have accidentally released magic. But despite the anger in his words, Martel had not been close to losing his restraint. He simply figured Cheval needed a reminder of what a battlemage could do.
He turned around to face Eleanor. “That,” she spoke slowly, “was the most satisfying experience I have witnessed in a long time.”
“I thought so as well. He should be grateful that all he got was a scare, considering all the misery he’s caused others.”
“I know we need his political support. But a little part of me hopes he gives you cause to make good on your threats,” Eleanor confessed.
“You’re usually not so bloodthirsty.” Feeling parched after all his talking, Martel looked at his pitcher of water, which had spilled in his manoeuvre. If he was ever going to do this again, he would have to clear his desk first.
“He tried to have you killed. After all the troubles I have gone to, keeping you alive. I consider it a professional insult.”
He laughed a little. “If he had ever seen you in battle, he would know better than to do that.”
“In earnest, we cannot expect this to be the end of it. He has been intimidated but not actually lost anything. Once the shock wears off, he will plan anew, now that he has learned not to underestimate you,” Eleanor warned him.
“Perhaps we’ll give him a reminder when the time comes,” Martel considered.
“Was it true, the story you told him? About the fellow from the harbour.”
“Ah, yes. Some trouble I got mixed up in.” He emptied what remained in the pitcher into a cup and drank.
“I am not surprised. But you never told me about this.”
“Well, I was engaged in a private war with a criminal gang. It seemed best to leave you out of it.” With another small burst of empowering magic, he grabbed his desk and returned it to its former location.
“Is this when those islanders attacked you on the street? They sent you to the infirmary.”
“No, this was another time.” Though fighting the islanders had proved worthwhile, given that was when Martel had acquired his gold-edged dagger, which had been useful on several occasions since. “This particular instance involved a band of mercenaries called Night Knives.” Martel felt like he might have mentioned them to her before, but he could not recall. “Third time they tried to kill me, actually,” he added with a chuckle.
She crossed her arms. “Martel.”