Book 7: Chapter 70: The fall of ambition
The duke of Cheval occasionally spent solstice in his own lands when his affairs in Morcaster allowed him to take a reprieve and spend the holy days at his family estate together with his kin. He had done so this year, and after a month of festivities, hunting, and watching the harvest brought in, he and his retinue began the journey back to the capital.
A scandal had erupted in the Senate, which threatened to not only remove an ally from her post as legate, but also undermine his own position in the foreign counsel. For this reason, his cortege made haste travelling on the Imperial Road leading south, and the duke sat in his carriage alone, going through papers and missives to help prepare him for the upcoming arguments.
After a fiveday on the road, a storm broke out as they passed through a forested area in the evening. While the former slowed their progress, the surroundings did not give cause to concern; they were a large group, including a score of well-armed soldiers, dissuading even the foolhardiest of brigands. Nobody anticipated the lightning bolt that struck from the sky, tearing up a tree to send its flaming trunk onto the road in the middle of the procession.
The horses panicked, sending riders and carriages in different directions, some of them smashing together. The darkness obscured everything beyond the immediate reach of the flames illuminating what lay closest, and confusion overtook the travellers as they attempted to calm the beasts and regain control of the situation. It took them a while before they were ready to resume travelling; only at that point did they realise that the duke had vanished from his carriage.
Miles from where they had ambushed the travelling party, Martel and Eleanor finally halted. She threw the duke down on the ground, tied and gagged. While Martel used his powers to part the earth and make a hole, Eleanor pulled the nobleman back up to be on his knees. The grave ready, Martel turned around and removed the gag. “If you have a final prayer to say, now’s the time.”
“What can I offer you?” Cheval asked, speaking quickly but with a steady voice. He struck an odd figure; dressed in expensive fabric, yet drenched from the rain and his hands chained behind his back with the golden manacles once plundered from a dead inquisitor. He tried to get up, but Eleanor placed a hand on his shoulder and forced him to remain on his knees.
“Nothing.” Martel looked down on his nemesis. In the distance, thunder came again, and another bolt of lightning tore the night sky, this time born of the storm rather than Martel’s magic. They had tracked the procession ever since it left the estate, waiting for the right opportunity to strike without being discovered.
“I shall give you anything.”
“All we wanted was peace. But you couldn’t be satisfied.” Martel kneeled to look directly into the duke’s eyes. “You had to have more, always more.” He recalled his first meeting with the nobleman; Martel had been a naïve boy from Nordmark with scarcely any control of his potential. Little remained of who he had been; Cheval, on the other hand, seemed exactly the same. Hearing his offer rejected, the duke’s face hardened, and he stared at the mage with defiance. “I would not expect you to understand. Ambition is how empires are built.”
“And how they fall.” Martel looked up at Eleanor, still standing behind their captive. Her sword came with a swift movement downward, cutting his neck until the tip of the blade extended through his throat. Dead, the duke fell over.
Martel reached out his hand and let a ray of flames shoot out, burning the body to a crisp. When nothing remained that looked human, Eleanor grabbed the corpse and pulled it into the awaiting grave. Martel used his magic to close the earth again, hiding the evidence of their act.
Watching the burnt body disappear underneath the dirt, Martel might have thought he would have felt far more than he did. A sense of elation, revenge fulfilled, or deep-seated satisfaction. Instead, he simply felt like a chore had been carried out, no different than making a campfire. Cheval had been beneath his attention, unworthy of it; removing him had been a simple necessity. Leaving the duke to his shallow grave, Martel turned away and followed Eleanor.
They went deeper into the forest, away from the road. They had barely any possessions with them, having left their travel chest behind on the galley; Wulfstan would deliver it to their friends for safekeeping, once the ship reached Morcaster. Nor did they travel by horse; such creatures would have slowed them through the forest, and leaving them in a nearby village to be stabled would cause the locals to remember them, should any come asking questions.
Instead, the two travellers journeyed by foot, avoiding settlements until they had a considerable distance between themselves and the final resting place of the duke. Once back on the Imperial road, deep inside Aster, they had to decide their next destination.
“We don’t have to go to Morcaster at once. Regnar and the others will keep our things safe as long as needed.”
“Aquila is not much closer anyway, and those are the major ports.” Eleanor shrugged. “It is one or the other. At least Morcaster offers the opportunity to visit old friends.”
“It does indeed.” After crossing the continent back and forth, Martel would not mind some days of relaxation and good company.
“Also,” she continued with uncharacteristic hesitation, “I thought I might visit my family.”
“Do you think – last time, they didn’t…” Martel was not sure how to phrase himself without causing hurt to her, without throwing her family’s rejection into her face.
“I am not of a mind to be refused anymore.” She gave him a look that he could not describe, but which held all the secrets between them, including their latest act. “I am of a mind to do what I want.”
Martel bowed his head in acknowledgement. “We’ll go to Morcaster.”