Two Letters

Walking home, Martel felt worn out. His visit to the Lyceum had taken an emotional toll; far more than he had expected. There was a final conversation he needed to have before tomorrow’s event, though with someone absent, meaning a letter would have to do. He could wait until tomorrow morning, probably, but it would feel rushed to do it before the Senate assembled, and today seemed a day for conversations of this nature. Thus, once Martel reached his quarters, he sat down at the desk made available to him and dipped his quill in ink.

Dear mum,

I’m sorry it has been so long since you heard from me. Probably a year or longer. I would have written if I could, but no letter from me would have reached you in all this time. It would simply have reminded my enemies of your existence and informed them of your residence. Me not writing is no guarantee that you are safe, of course. I have no idea if you have suffered for my sake and been punished for my perceived sins.

I also couldn’t write, as I couldn’t be sure how things would turn out. It seemed cruel to write you a letter claiming everything would be fine, only for you to hear the day after that my legions had been defeated in battle and my head mounted on a pike. Forgive me if that is unnecessarily gruesome. I find that hard to determine these days.

But now, I can write. There is no war that disrupts the delivery of letters. I am no longer a traitor, at least not in the eyes of the law. As of tomorrow, all my actions will be considered legal, and your son will have ascended to the highest position of authority in the land.

This also means that no matter what happens, I can finally let you know I am safe. My enemies are all defeated, whether on the battlefield or at the negotiation table. Some will grumble, undoubtedly, and they might even make ill-advised plans for my demise. But I am the strongest battlemage this Empire has seen. I welcome them to try. I have incinerated hundreds upon the field. They could not defeat me with legions at their back, and they dared not wage war against me when they had twice the numbers. I do not fear those so pathetic, their only hope is to strike in secrecy.

I digress. I also write to tell you I might not be coming to see you, although none now command me, and I should be free to do so. The reason for this uncertainty is that tomorrow, I face a decision that feels too big. If I choose what is simple, I will be free of all duties and burdens. I shall travel to Nordmark without delay, and you will never read this letter, as I shall burn it at my first convenience.

But if I choose what is complicated, I must remain in Morcaster. I will seize with both hands the responsibility otherwise only lent to me, along with the lives of a thousand times a thousand Imperial subjects. Are there more? Twice that number? Thrice? Ridiculous as it sounds, I don’t even know how many people I would rule over. It does not matter either, only what I decide to do.

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I once told an old monk that power should only be used when necessary. It is a privilege in that regard. But what if using it is a responsibility? Could you be compelled to seize power and use it because the end result would be that the lives of others would improve at a greater pace than if you did not? Would it be even more urgent if there was risk that their lives would degrade or even be lost without your intervention?

Mum, once I wanted to be a weathermage. I wanted to learn a spell that prevented frost and stopped hail and brought rain in times of drought. I believed that if I knew such magic, I would need nothing else in the world. Now I have learned a dozen spells to kill a man, often more than one at the same time, and I can imagine a dozen other ways as well. I think that is my real motivation for even considering taking this position. It seems the only way I can ever balance the scales of lives saved compared to lives taken.

Since I am revealing everything, I should tell you that I broke down. Not physically, I am as healthy and strong as ever. But we, Eleanor and I – you remember her, my protector – travelled alone through an underground passage that reminded me of unpleasant memories, and I completely lost hold of myself. I cried more than I did when William threw my frog down from the roof and killed it. I’m still angry about that, I realise, but that’s for another time. My point is, maybe I can’t be trusted with this much power. What if a crucial decision must be made, and I become paralysed with fear?

I don’t know. I feel as if I no longer know anything. And now that I have reminded myself of that journey below ground, I once again see before me the river of blood I have unleashed. I can never balance the scales. The more I try, the more they tip the wrong way.

Love, Martel

He sat a while, only illuminated by his own magical flame that burned above his head, waiting for the ink to dry. He had no thoughts anymore beyond what lay on the surface of his mind. Everything below had been poured out into the letter. Once it felt safe to do so, he folded it together, placed it an envelope, and wrote his mother’s name outside.

This task complete, he held it between his fingertips and summoned a flame. He could never send this letter or anything like this. He could never let anyone know what thoughts stirred within him. The only one who came close to knowing would be Eleanor, and he would not burden her further.

Once ash flaked from his hand to dirty the floor, Martel returned his quill to his hand.

Dear mum,

Forgive me that it has been so long since I last wrote. I know you must have been sick with worry, just as I have been worried about you and everyone else. I pray with all my heart this letter finds you all safe. I wish that I could come and see you, but matters in Morcaster detain me. At least we have peace now, which I hope you will also experience the benefits of up in Nordmark. As I can’t come to you, I’ve sent a detachment of soldiers under the leadership of my good friend Valerius to bring you here, if you wish. I dearly hope you can come, and I will show you all I’ve accomplished.

Love,

Martel

Once again, after the ink had dried, he prepared an envelope. Whether he would have to send this letter, staying in Morcaster, or be free to leave, that remained to be seen. Tomorrow would be a day of decisions.