Book 7: Chapter 49: The end of a goose
Sailing along the southern coast of Aster, they could not yet see Morcaster further ahead, but Martel knew it approached fast. A day or two at most. He was unsure how he felt about a return to that fateful place, capital of an Empire. Last time, he had arrived as a conqueror, his troops sweeping the city. Hundreds if not thousands dead in futile defence, many by his own hands. And as conspicuous as his entry had been, his departure had been little better than a thief stealing away at night.
This promised to be neither, somewhere in between; he was not an imperator appearing at the head of an army, nor a former captain prefect fleeing responsibilities. He was just a citizen, summoned by the Senate to perform a task for them. He wondered how the city would receive him; maybe it would not take note of him at all, which he would be perfectly fine with.
As the two travellers stood on the deck, watching the coastline glide by, they were joined by Wulfstan. “Since we’re soon arriving to Morcaster, I figured you’d want to know what will be happening.”
“That seems sensible,” Eleanor said in the neutral voice she used for every conversation with the spy.
“As soon as we arrive, I’ll send word to the foreign council, and we’ll go to the Senatorial Palace the day after to meet them.”
“Wait, council?” Martel questioned. “I thought we were meeting the Senate.”
“There’s too much work for the full Senate to debate and do altogether. They have divided up the tasks and assigned them to different councils. You can probably guess what the foreign council is in charge of,” Wulfstan remarked dryly.
“So we’ll meet them, and then what?” Martel asked.
“Very simple. They will officially name you emissary to Khiva with the right to conduct negotiations, such as concluding the peace treaty. We set sail again the day after.”
“Seems straightforward.” Martel looked at Eleanor. “I don’t suppose you have to be present for that. You could go elsewhere, see people on your own.” Such as her family, though Martel kept that to himself; this was not the time to start an argument with other company present. “I am not leaving your side until all of this is over,” Eleanor declared.
“I doubt I’ll be in danger in the Imperial – Senatorial Palace,” Martel chuckled. “It’s guarded by the fifth and sixth cohort under Valerius. Probably the safest place for me on the entire continent.”
“I am going with you.”
Wulfstan cleared his throat. “Well, that is your business. I must see the captain.”
As he left them alone, Martel considered again raising the question of Eleanor seeing her family, but she did not seem in a pliable mood, and he raised another subject. “I’m not spending another night on this ship if it can be helped. So we have to find somewhere in town to stay.”
“We do know of a tavern that has welcomed our patronage in the past. You think the troupe will welcome us again?”
“Considering we got them a performance inside the palace, they better,” Martel snorted.
“It is agreed then.”
The walls of Morcaster coming into sight, Martel thought back on the last time he had arrived by sea. It had been close to winter, much like now, when he was still a dutiful prefect; Eleanor had obtained leave for them both to spend in the city. He realised that he wished they would be staying longer; he looked forward to seeing Regnar and the others, which only made him wish she could see his other friends as well. In particular, he was curious how the Lyceum fared, one year under the leadership of Juliana, or how Master Alastair was training his fire acolytes. Perhaps he already had another fire-touched student.
Sensing someone approach from behind, Martel reached out with his heat sense to read their shape; by now, he knew Eleanor’s form and how it appeared before his inner eye, but this was another. “You seem apprehensive, Master Wulfstan. Or do you often sneak up on mages?”
He laughed, and Martel realised it might be the first time he noticed any sign of emotion from the spy. “I pride myself on my ability to move silently, but that’s no good when it comes to wizards.”
“Indeed. Since you are here… tell me about this foreign council.”
“I believe the name explains itself. They deal with all matters of diplomacy, such as appointing envoys.”
“But who is on it? How is that determined?”
“Each of these councils has a representative from every province, the Faith, the nobility, and so on. Think of them as tiny versions of the Senate, dealing with the minutiae of administrating the Empire,” Wulfstan explained.
“Sure, that makes sense. But who’s on the foreign council?” While most of the senators would be unknown to Martel, he was familiar with a handful of them, including those he had negotiated with to end the civil war.
“Probably nobody you’ve had dealings with,” the spy claimed. He hesitated briefly. “Except for the head of the council, Duke Cheval.”
Martel slowly turned to look at the other man. “Is that a jest?”
Wulfstan shook his head. “It’s not ideal. I’m aware of the animosity between you.”
“To put it mildly.”
“In this case, his hands are tied. You are the only man for the task, and the rest of the council is in agreement. There’s nothing he can do.”
Except that having full knowledge of Martel’s journey, he could plan all sorts of surprises. It was exactly the sort of plot the duke preferred; if something happened to Martel in a foreign land, especially Khiva of all places, none would think twice about it. “You of all people should know what is possible for those with power, political or otherwise.”
“True,” the spy conceded. “But you are popular with the Senate, the military, and the common people. An achievement unheard of. The duke is the most pragmatic man I have ever met. I doubt he would risk the backlash just to settle a personal grudge.”
Martel was unsure; concocting a complicated plot involving him being sent to Khiva was exactly the kind of scheming where the duke excelled. Martel had spared his life because killing a prominent member of the Senate, newly restored by his own hand, would undermine it. Certainly he knew Cheval to be patient; waiting a year before taking revenge was easily believable. With all these considerations, Martel belatedly realised what else Wulfstan had told him. “I’m popular?”
Wulfstan gave him a slightly incredulous look. “You ended a foreign war and negotiated peace for a civil war rather than fight it out. You had the power of the emperor, and you relinquished it. They’re making songs about the Firebrand, master Martel.”
“I cannot wait to experience that,” Eleanor smirked, joining them.
Martel shot her a look. “You had to hear that part, did you?”
Once the ship had docked, the two mages quickly disembarked with their luggage and hired a cart to take them into the city. “Just up the main thoroughfare,” Martel told the driver. “Where the harbour meets the market district, there’s a tavern with the sign of a goose.”
“Aye, I know it, though I can tell the good master hasn’t been in Morcaster a while,” the old man mumbled with coarse laughter, setting the cart into motion.
Ignoring the rambling from the driver’s seat, Martel made himself comfortable in the back, watching the streets of Morcaster slowly pass by behind Eleanor seated opposite him.
“You think any of these people recognise you?” she asked.
“I doubt it. I’m not in uniform, and nobody has reason to know I’m here, unless they are privy to the decisions of the Senate. We look like just another pair of mages, I bet, rare as those might be.” He placed his new staff over his legs, his hands idly running along the smooth wood.
“Maybe. The city may not know your face, but it certainly remembers your name. The bold and brave Firebrand,” she teased.
“I wouldn’t mind if they forgot that,” he muttered, pulling a face.
The cart came to a stop, and as Eleanor looked ahead, he burst into laughter. “Little chance of that, I fear.”
“There you are, good master, as requested. New name, same old building,” the driver declared as he jumped down from his seat.
Martel followed Eleanor’s gaze to see that the sign had been replaced. Instead of a goose, it showed a wizard staff wreathed in flames. Underneath, letters proudly proclaimed the name of the tavern to be The Firebrand.