Firebrand - Chapter 666: The Third Starlit Eve

The Third Starlit Eve

The gate to the Imperial palace grounds had already been destroyed, but the invading soldiers had not gone beyond. The prefects in charge had set a sharp watch to surround the great complex, larger than any other in Morcaster, and otherwise waited for orders.

They arrived in the shape of the captain himself together with his second-in-command and a legion prefect. “Anything happen so far?” Martel asked, dismounting from his horse. By now, darkness had fallen, though the moon offered faint illumination.

“Nothing, sir. No sign at all of those inside. The men are ready at your command, sir,” one of the mageknights replied after he had saluted.

“Very well. Tell them we make our assault soon.” Martel looked at Godwin, who had accompanied him. “Yes or no. Don’t let them draw it out,” he commanded.

The prefect bowed his head and unfurled a green banner, showing he had come to negotiate. Alone, he rode through the empty gate.

Meanwhile, Martel turned his attention back on his subordinates. “Our goal is to capture the emperor and his family alive. Any harm done to them will be punished. The same goes for anybody looting or assaulting those unarmed. Kill any praetorian who does not surrender, but nobody else. Make sure your men known this.”

“Yes, sir!”

***

Godwin returned not long after. “They told me in cordial terms to get lost,” he said in answer to their unspoken question, dismounting from his horse. “I should like to join the assault, sir,” he told Martel. “It feels wrong to be present and leave while others prepare to risk their lives.”

“How’s your spellpower?”

“Plenty to spare, sir.”

Martel nodded. “Join in.” He looked at his cohort prefects, gathered along with a score of other mageknights. “Are your men ready?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Give the command.”

***

Hundreds of legionaries stormed across the grounds with many hundreds more waiting to join them. Mageknights drawn from every legion led the charge. They reached the main gate into the palace itself with a primitive ram and set to work. While sturdy and made from bronze, the doors into the complex were created with beauty in mind rather than strength, covered in countless landscapes and figurines to please the eye. It would take time, but they would not hold.

As the main force waited for this, smaller groups branched off to seek out other entrances, either to invade or simply take control of them and prevent any escape.

Once the gate fell, the soldiers stormed forward. They met resistance right inside; knowing what was about to happen, the praetorians had barricaded the entrance hall and now defended their hastily assembled wall. The assault was immediately held back as neither legionaries nor prefects could break through the praetorian knights and their defensive magic.

This was Martel’s moment. He pushed through, Eleanor by his side, to enter the palace. Once, he had marvelled at the beauty of this hall, stretching above him with white marble pillars flanking a visitor’s approach, and statues of exquisite shape adorning each alcove. Now, he noticed only the barricade, hobbled together from furniture, dismantled doors, and the like. Flammable materials.

Martel simply released a ray of fire to ignite the barricade. As smoke rose, he raised the wind behind him to push it inwards, covering the defenders. Coughing and their eyes tearing up, they had to retreat, abandoning the entrance hall to the attackers.

***

“Sir, this way!” a prefect yelled at Martel. Together with Eleanor, he followed his officer to the location that needed help, stepping over the bodies of praetorians and legionaries alike. In the hall where he had once danced with the legate standing next to him, a group of defenders pushed the attackers back, aided by a stonemage. He tore up the marble tiles from the ground and hurled them as projectiles through the air, crushing helmets and heads where they landed. Judging by the corpses strewn across the space, he had claimed plenty of victims.

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Martel’s own men, engaging the praetorian soldiers, roared as they heard the Firebrand had come. He did not notice this, purely focused on the enemy wizard. He clearly had great skill with his element, able to wield it to such an effect. Realising who had entered the hall, he cast his spell once more, aimed at the captain.

For all his skill, the spellcraft of the stonemage did not match the destructive power of a cannon. Compared to stopping a projectile fired from such a weapon, Martel had no difficulty using his counterspell against the wizard’s efforts. Before he could recover from his surprise at seeing all the tiles fall to the ground, he received a bolt of lightning that not only struck him down, but did the same to his surrounding defenders. The attackers cheered and rushed forward, slaughtering every praetorian in the hall.

***

“Sir! You are needed!” came the cry yet again. “Lots of mageknights, sir, they are pushing us back!” Martel and Eleanor stalked down the corridors, past statues stained by blood, to reach the great vaulted hall known as the Dome of Stars. The ceiling shone with the likes of every star visible in the sky above; Martel saw only the enemy ahead. By the shimmer of magic, six or seven mageknights; the last main knot of resistance. Once cleared out, given all the other mageknights that had already fallen, there could be no significant pockets of defence left.

Eleanor grabbed his arm. Before he could ask, he saw what had spurred her reaction. Ahead, wielding his bloody hammer to fearsome effect, stood Maximilian of Marche. “The others first,” Martel mumbled to her. “Isolate him.”

She nodded and finally drew her sword to enter the fray. As she engaged the closest mageknight, Martel supported her from a distance, adding his spells to her blade. Understanding that help had arrived, Martel’s own men held back, fighting defensively while protecting their legate and their captain, whose spells began to wear down the praetorians.

A mageknight managed to break through the attackers’ line, striking down the soldier in front of Martel. Acting on reflex, Martel released lightning from his staff. Already injured, the praetorian fell to the floor. Martel stepped over his corpse without ever realising it belonged to Guillaume Cheval.

One after the other, the defenders fell until only Maximilian remained. “Stand back!” Martel commanded, and his soldiers obeyed, some of them moving onwards down the corridors. Eleanor engaged the son of House Marche in a duel, using her swiftness and spells to avoid his attacks. He struck repeatedly, swinging his hammer with wrath and frustrated yells, while she used only her blade to lead his attacks away.

At last the opening came that she had waited for. Rather than using weaponry, she kicked him in the stomach, pushing him away towards the back of the hall. Martel, expecting this, raised his wall of flames to cover the floor and imprisoned the praetorian between stone and fire.

Finding himself trapped, Maximilian roared in anger. “Traitorous cowards! Dogs, the lot of you! Face me with honest steel in hand!”

“Maximilian, surrender. The palace has fallen. You have done your duty. There is nothing further you can do,” Eleanor pleaded with him.

He turned his furious eyes on Martel. “All the times I saved your worthless life, I should have let Sol take you! I protected you, kept your secret, and you have destroyed this Empire, betraying us all!”

For once, Martel felt calm despite the carnage surrounding him. The fight was over. He saw no reason to continue it. “Max, she is right. I never knew you to be a fool. Don’t die a fool’s death.”

“I will never be your trophy! Death with my weapon in hand is far better than a life in your chains!” Maximilian tossed his shield aside and raised his hammer. “Remove your pitiful flames and let us be done with it!”

Striking a person with a spell was easy. Their body heat told Martel where to aim. Hitting an object that someone swung around was much harder, but seeing Maximilian frozen in his battle-ready stance, Martel seized his opportunity. As he dispelled his wall, he released a ray of flames from his staff to strike the haft of Maximilian’s hammer. Made from hollow steel, it absorbed all the heat poured into it, and Maximilian dropped it with a surprised exclamation.

“Take him! Alive!” Martel commanded, and together with Eleanor, his remaining legionaries swarmed the praetorian.

***

Once more, Martel found a use for the golden items he had once plundered from inquisitors. This time, their chains were used to bind a furious mageknight, stealing away his strength to make him a prisoner. While they led Maximilian away, Martel sat down on the floor, exhausted. He had spent his spellpower, but it had served. No sounds or reports of fighting came from anywhere. The palace complex had been taken. Martel craned his neck to look at the stars above, performing the celestial dance through enchanted means.

Eleanor sat down next to him. “Thank you.”

“You came up with a good plan.”

“Disarming him was quick thinking. I cannot take the credit for that. To the last, I really thought he would surrender if presented with no other option.”

“He will see reason once he has calmed down. He’s not himself when he’s agitated,” Martel claimed. At least, he had experienced this on a few prior occasions. Granted, none of them with the same kind of extreme circumstances as on this night.

“Sir!” A legionary came running.

“What is it?” Martel got on his feet. He did not feel like he had a single spell left in him, but if urgent, he might draw on his reserves and pay for it afterwards.

“We’ve searched the whole palace, sir. There’s no sign of the emperor or his family.”