Firebrand

For the next days, Martel and Eleanor stayed by the Firebrand. A trickle of people came by throughout the day, asking about the expedition. Most seemed merely curious or perhaps more attracted by the sight of the famous mages than their venture. Only a handful signed on, usually by making a simple mark on the parchments meticulously prepared by Eleanor.

“Well, at this speed, old age may put us in our graves before we’ve got enough people to set sail,” Martel remarked. He was feeling cantankerous; besides the lack of interest, he was tired of the tavern. The noise rose to unbelievable heights in the late nights, and the troupe usually put on the same play afternoon and evening for a whole fiveday or two. Martel enjoyed their work, but not that frequent.

“Just go out,” Eleanor told him. “You are pacing back and forth like a wolf in a cage. I am more than capable of handling matters here.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with all the work.”

“Do you feel currently that you are providing any assistance, walking in a circle of ten steps with a look that you might set people on fire?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll sit down.” Martel fell into a chair, crossing his arms. “We need to think of new ways to garner interest.”

“Let us not ride the horse before the saddle is on,” Eleanor cautioned him. “It is still early days. Once we have affirmation about investments, that is certain to spark a strong interest in our expedition.”

Martel stretched his neck. “Let’s hope so.”

Shortly before evening, news arrived in the form of Valerius, appearing in the tavern. “The man himself,” Martel declared. “Is that good or bad?”

“I figured you should hear it from a friend.” Valerius extended an envelope in his hand. “I heard the discussions. You did not sway them.” Eleanor grabbed the letter and broke the seal. Her eyes ran over the contents. “Too risky. An unsafe investment for money and people alike.”

“Great,” Martel mumbled.

“I can arrange for you to have another meeting,” Valerius suggested. “Perhaps you can come up with new arguments to persuade them.”

“The offer is appreciated, but it is doubtful,” Eleanor admitted. “Not unless we agree to submit to Asterian rule.”

“I’d rather do it without any money,” Martel declared. He had been a pawn of the Empire before; he would never go back to that.

“The expedition doesn’t have money?” asked a man standing nearby. Martel recognised him from earlier, having inquired about the project. In addition, the tavern was packed in anticipation of the evening play.

“We do, and we will get more,” Eleanor promised.

“But what does that mean? You can’t afford that we go?”

“Is there anything else we should know?”

“Do you have seed, livestock?”

“Are you sure this is safe?”

Others joined in until it felt like a chorus, and Martel felt the old urge of a battlemage to strike through the noise with an intimidating spell or two, but he suppressed it. Instead he stomped his staff into the ground until he got the silence he demanded. “Calm yourselves. As legate, Eleanor Fontaine organised five legions marching across half the Empire. She is more than capable of handling every issue that might appear. This is not an easy undertaking, and there will be obstacles, but we are more than a match for them.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re a mage! You’ll be fine no matter what happens!”

The accusation stung and felt spurious, but Martel controlled his anger. He leapt up onto the stage in the common room, commanding the attention of everyone. “I am a mage, and that’s to all our benefits. There was a time when I was in the wild, hunted as a deserter, with only one person by my side.” He glanced at Eleanor, and the sight of her alone filled him with confidence to speak on. “And then I convinced five legions to follow me, and together, we conquered an empire! Now I am pouring all my power into this expedition, and if you will follow me, imagine what we can accomplish together!”

Murmurs spread across the crowd, though he could not tell if they agreed with him or not. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Theo the storyteller had begun to eagerly scribble something down.

“This will not be the conquest of an empire, but the foundation of a city. Where all are equal. Mages, nobility, farmers, craftsmen, whoever you are,” Martel declared, letting his gaze sweep across the assembly. “We will all be citizens. If you are hungry, your neighbour will ensure you have food. If your neighbour starves, you will share yours with him. We all work together, and we will build a city this world has never seen before. That is my promise to you!”

The clamour came with encouraging shouts, but plenty looked doubtful still.

Martel decided to continue. “I swore an oath to my legions when they made me their leader. I swore to be the first into danger and the last out. Ask that man, Sir Valerius, prefect of the fifth cohort of the Tenth Legion, did I keep my promise?”

He pointed out the mageknight in the crowd, making everyone’s heads turn towards him. Valerius nodded in reply. “You did. He did,” he added, louder. “At the battle of the Alonde, he charged the enemy, fighting from the first until we had victory, and I fought beside him. The proudest moment of my life.”

“I will not allow anything to stand in the way of our success,” Martel continued. “This city will be built, I swear it upon my honour. You know all that I have accomplished. Do you doubt I can accomplish this?”

“No!” several shouted, especially Martel’s friends among the acting troupe, skilled in the art of getting a crowd excited.

“Join me,” Martel spoke in invitation. “Join us, and we shall build a home for us all!”

In response, the people roared.

“Impressive,” Valerius spoke as Martel walked down from the stage and the crowd spread out across the room, waiting for the play to begin. “I did not know you were an orator.”

“I just said what came to mind,” the battlemage mumbled, feeling self-conscious.

“Well, I know how we’ll get you more recruits now,” said Theo, joining them with a grin. He waved some parchment in his hand around. “Can you remind me, did you say four or five legions?”

“Five,” Martel replied before he caught up to the conversation. “Wait, why do you ask?”

Theo showed him what he had written down. “Your words were brilliant. Rumours and whispers aren’t enough, mate, to get people excited for your little trip. But this, this’ll get their imagination going!”

Martel frowned. “You expect me to run around saying this again?”

“Nah, you’re a terrible actor. You could only do it because you didn’t know you were acting,” Theo declared. “I’ll have the troupe memorise it and spread it around the city. We do monologues as advertisement anyway, so why not? Come catch a play and sign up for an adventure.” He grinned. “I got to get to the stage, but excellent work, Martel!”

As the storyteller hurried away, Valerius watched him before turning his attention back to his friend. “Did you truly mean it? All that about a city where everyone is equal, and we all look after each other.”

“I did.” Martel felt more self-conscious as ever, knowing his words would be repeated around the city, but he believed them. Even if he could imagine a patrician like his friend would dislike the notion. “I’ve watched enough people starve, Valerius, or die because they couldn’t afford a cure for their disease. If I get to choose, I’m making a city where that doesn’t happen. And I think we’ll be stronger for it.”

Valerius nodded thoughtfully. “I’m guessing you need all sorts. Even mageknights can be useful.” Follow current novels on NoveI[F]ire.net

“Oh, certainly,” Martel replied, looking over at Eleanor, crowded by people asking for information about the expedition.

“So if I want to sign up, I speak to Eleanor?”

Martel whipped his head back. “You… you want to join?”

The mageknight shrugged. “I feel inspired.”

“I’m not sure it’ll be what you expect. I don’t think we’ll have a legion or cohorts that need prefects.” The prospective founders of the new Archen had not discussed this matter, but Martel doubted that a standing army would be worth the resources this required, or rather, that they would have the resources for it. A militia would have to serve as their defence, bolstered by any mages that joined them.

“I can haul stone around, then.” Valerius laughed. “I am a decent hand at empowering magic.”

“But you’re captain of the Senatorial Guard. First among all prefects in the legion. Why would you give all that up?”

“I guard doorways, Martel. Or rather, I order my men to do so. Any can do that. And when I listen to the discussions, I hear old men bicker about the value of copper coins, each thinking only about their own narrow interests.”

“You think ours will be better?” Another question they had not discussed. While Archen would be led by the Triumvirate set up by Atreus, Eleanor, and him, it would not suffice for leadership. Something like the Conclave would have to be reestablished, but there were a myriad ways to do so.

“I have no idea. But you believe in this city, Martel, and I believe in you.” Valerius smiled. “I will talk to Eleanor and add my name to your lists.”

Lost for words, Martel grabbed his shoulder and returned the smile.