Firebrand

The days became routine. Martel spent his hours in the tower, learning alchemy; evenings, he went out with Eleanor to visit different parts of the city she had discovered, sometimes eating at local tavernae, other times back at the roadhouse. In this manner, they lived their lives together, staying in the same place longer than anywhere else since they first left Morcaster and their past duties behind.

While this was an opportunity to form friendships, Martel did not do so. The other apprentices in the tower were much younger, often half his age or less, and few of them spoke Asterian to begin with. As for the guests lodging with Lucrecia, Martel simply saw no common ground. He had no interest in trade, diplomacy, or smithing, and discussing magic or alchemy with those unable to understand either seemed futile.

This did not bother him; his years at the Lyceum had taught him to find solace in his own company, and Eleanor provided him with all the companionship he needed. She proved adept at navigating the city and unearthing curious places to visit or unusual entertainment. Pataliputra had theatres much like Morcaster, and some were performed completely without speech, which proved perfect for foreigners unable to speak Sindhian.

Martel was entranced by a particular play following a young man tricked into drinking a magical potion that made him fall asleep for many years. The audience watched him lie on the ground as the sun painted on the background set and rose many times; what caught Martel’s attention was watching the hair and beard literally grow before their eyes, as the youth slept.

It took him a moment to realise that when the actor drank the supposed elixir earlier in the play, it was indeed a magical potion; while it did not make him fall asleep, which after all was an effect that could be obtained through mundane acting, the elixir made the drinker’s hair grow wildly. Realising how the local alchemy could thus be put to use made Martel laugh, and while he had never worried about becoming bald, he knew where to find a remedy if it ever became pertinent.

Nearly a month passed where Martel learned and lived among the Sindhians, and he was far from growing weary; he could easily imagine staying another month or two, assuming Eleanor had no objection. But one morning, walking toward the tower, he saw Wulfstan.

“No.” Martel turned around and began to walk away. He did not need or wish to hear anything; his reply would serve no matter the situation.

Whenever the spy had come into his life, it had spelled trouble. Wulfstan omitted half the truth whenever he spoke, and he lied about the other half. Part of Martel felt that the wisest move would be to simply incinerate him before he could be allowed to speak; he only refrained from doing so because in the end, the spy’s motives seemed sincere rather than self-serving.

“The foreign council is planning war.” The Asterian words cut through the noise of Sindhian vendors vying for attention, hawking their goods. It served to make Martel stop in his tracks. This had to be a fabrication; he should simply continue walking away, but something in him felt the need to refute the claim. “Ridiculous,” he replied over his shoulder. “We just signed a treaty for peace. Why would they immediately break it?”

“Not with Khiva. Their aim is war with the Tyrian tribes.”

Martel squinted, still sceptical. “Why? After nearly a century, they’re barely able to hold Nordmark. What purpose would war serve?”

“Pushing the Tyrians back might allow Nordmark to flourish, promising land to settlers. It would make use of the five legions that guard the border and drain Imperial coffers without much gained in return. And with the eastern legions disbanded, Morcaster is full of veterans unable to find work. Raising new legions would solve that,” Wulfstan explained. “I’m sure those on the foreign council have thought of ways that war would be profitable to them personally.”

Martel could not judge the first reasons, but he believed the last one mentioned. Cheval especially seemed skilled at such manoeuvres. “The Great Charter forbids the Senate from declaring war, though. Even if that’s their plan, they can’t.”

Wulfstan hid the condescending expression on his face as swiftly as it appeared. “That will not hinder those truly determined. In fact, that’s how my colleagues first discovered this conspiracy. It’s a simple matter of causing a provocation. One legate in the north, sympathetic to their cause, causes a skirmish with the Tyrians and make it seem as if we intend to invade. They’ll rally together and attack us, and we have a war on our hands.”

Martel exhaled. He could well imagine the duke or others in power could pull such strings. But it did not explain why the spy appeared here, once again, no doubt to beg for Martel to extinguish this fire, probably by invoking Martel’s family; if the Tyrians broke through the northern legions, they would sweep across Nordmark.

If so, Martel would intervene to save them. He had left politics behind; it could not be his duty to save the Empire, not again. They – the Senate, military intelligence, the legions, anyone – had no right to ask that of him. “That may all be true. But it’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Unfortunately, captain, it has everything to do with you. You made this possible.” Chapters fırst released on novel⁂fire.net

Here came another lie distorted to look like the truth, Martel guessed, forged to guilt him into doing what the spy wanted. “You’re lying.”

“Afraid not, captain. You see, for this plan to work, the Tyrian tribes must unite against their common enemy. As they did last time we invaded, some hundred odd years ago. Then, it was a bard who enflamed the tribes. This time, we have heard tale of a berserker with ambitions to make herself ruler of all Tyria. For this, she needs a reason for the tribes to unite.”

“You think she’s working with the foreign council to provoke this war. Who is she?”

“You know her. She’s of the Raven tribe. She recently became its jarl, which only whetted her ambition, it seems. Do I need to say her name?”

Martel’s vision became dark briefly. “Halfrid.”

“Our intelligence is correct, in that case? There’s a connection between you and her.”

He knew he had underestimated the berserker when they had returned to Svartheim after slaying the wyrm and she had used it to make herself jarl. Martel had underestimated her again, thinking that was the extent of her plans. But it finally appeared clear in his mind. Who better to lead the tribes against a foreign invader than a wyrm slayer, someone already proven a hero? And Martel, thinking himself a good and kind person by bartering his services for slaying the beast in exchange for the freedom of a few thralls, had tilled and ploughed the earth for her, sowing the seeds of war that now ripened. “Your intelligence is correct.”

“I have a plan to stop this, but it requires both you and Lady Fontaine. My ship is loading supplies, but it’ll be ready to depart tomorrow morning.”

“We’ll be there tonight.”

Wulfstan turned to move but arrested himself. “Be careful. My colleagues have been watching you, and so have others. I can’t say with certainty who has taken an interest in you, or who commands them, but we’ve taken notice. I fear the conspirators know you and your companion pose a threat to their plans.”

No matter how far they travelled, it seemed they could never escape Aster. “Understood.”