Chapter 650: The Road Taken

Chapter 650: The Road Taken

The Road Taken

The legions under Martel's command continued their inexorable march towards Morcaster. They did not meet any resistance; no force existed close enough to offer meaningful opposition. All available troops were being pulled to the capital; the Tyrian scouts found only empty roads ahead.

After two fivedays, Martel and his officers knew this would come to an end. Their patrols had reached the Alonde River and seen the standards of the First Legion on the opposite bank. Beyond the waters lay Morcaster, their destination; before they could take the city, they would have to cross the river.

Once intelligence had been gathered as to the expected resistance, the leaders of the rebellion gathered for a council. For once, they had a table in the middle of the semicircle; on a piece of parchment, Lara had drawn a black, flowing line to indicate the river, with a few houses denoting Morcaster and some tents displaying the location of known enemy troops and their own camp.

"The world lost a great artist when you became a knight," said Arianna of the Twentieth Legion.

Lara ignored the remark and placed a number of pebbles on the parchment. "We estimate that Legate Fontaine –" she interrupted herself and began anew. "We estimate that the First Legion has close to ten thousand soldiers for the defence of the city. They will hardly march all of them outside, but given the extensive fortifications they must defend, it makes sense that they would rather try to stop us from crossing the river."

"Any way we can simply outmanoeuvre them?" Martel asked. So far, they had avoided pitched battles; he would prefer if they could do so again, even though he knew that it would eventually come to battle once they attacked the city itself.

"There are three bridges near us," Lara explained. "South by the city, directly west, and one north of us. The enemy is positioned near the first two. If we go for the latter, it will add several days to our journey. And the enemy will obviously notice our movements and may seek to hinder our crossing up north as well."

"Since we have a significant advantage in numbers, we can better afford splitting our troops," Eleanor argued. "We send one legion north, and that will force a significant part of their forces to respond. We cannot bring all our troops across the same bridge in a single day regardless, so it does not reduce our offensive capabilities."

"There is sense in that," Godwin assented. "But that still leaves us with a choice of which bridge to attack for our main crossing. The one near us or the one to the south, near Morcaster?"

"It has to be the former," Arianna argued. "They can easily reinforce if we fight near the city."

"But they know that as well," Eleanor pointed out. "The bridge to the west will be heavily defended by now. And not just by soldiers. Mageknights and who knows what else?"

"Legio Urbis has no battlemage attached to it, does it?" Godwin asked.

The council at an end, they separated; each legion prefect had orders to issue, preparing their troops. As for Martel, he went alongside Eleanor to their own tents, raised next each other as usual, and bid her goodnight. Yet a thought troubled him, spawned by the evening's debate; although little mention had been made of the issue, Martel could only imagine that it weighed on Eleanor. So he got up and went to stand outside her tent. "Are you asleep?"

"Since you saw me five breaths ago? I have not even begun removing my armour."

"May I enter?"

"Of course. Come inside."

He pushed the fabric aside to walk into her tent, and she stood up from her cot. "What is on your mind?"

"Just something that hadn't occurred to me before tonight." He hesitated, unsure how to phrase it. "Very soon, we will have to fight your father's legion. That can't be easy."

She glanced away and spoke with an emotionless voice, "No, it is not."

"Before the fighting begins, I can make an appeal. Maybe he'll see reason. Or we can convince the soldiers to join our cause like we did at Esmouth – without your father getting hurt, of course." Not that Martel knew how to accomplish any of this.

She looked at him with a resigned smile. "My father considers disloyalty far worse than death. When they took his command and gave him the First Legion instead, he did not even try to argue his case. As for the soldiers, they live an easy life in the capital. They have no understanding of why we are doing this. We are nothing but traitors and rebels to them."

Martel had feared as much. The only reason that the eastern legions followed him was because the continued war against Khiva seemed worse than mutiny. The soldiers of the First Legion had no such incentive. "I'm so sorry that you are placed in this position. I wish there was anything I could do."

She regarded him with an expression he could not interpret, but it did not look far from tears; she placed her arms around him in an embrace, hiding her face. Martel hugged her back, feeling helpless that this was the best he could offer her.

After a brief moment, they separated, bid each other goodnight once more, and Martel returned to his tent. He thought about the chain of events that had pitted Eleanor against her father; tracing her pain to its original source, he found only himself. The current revolt, deserting, fighting at the front, and being assigned to the Tenth; every step of that road had been Martel's, and Eleanor had only taken that same journey for his sake.

Alone in his tent, Martel could not avoid the thought that for the person he cared most about, it would have been better for her if they had never met.