Firebrand

Chapter 697: The Riddle of Two

The Riddle of Two

Martel still felt the effect of last night’s event when he woke up the following morning. While no marks could be seen on him, not the slightest burn on his skin, resisting fire of such intensity had taken its toll. He was glad he would not be facing combat again today; when feeling worn this way on previous occasions, it had taken a few days before he felt himself again.

Waking up late, he spent a few hours in idle fashion for once. Since exchanging the fortress for the palace as his residence, he had not given audience in his capacity as imperator of the provinces, and he saw no reason to engage any of the delegates in private conversation. Those who could be convinced by him had already been so. It would require outside influence to bring the rest of them in line; as fifth bell approached, Martel left the palace to acquire exactly that.

***

Eleanor accompanied the captain to the meeting with the Friar. They walked as before, preferring discretion to speed. As they reached the shrine, she glanced it over. “I would have thought we would be going to the Basilica or thereabouts, not this inauspicious temple.”

“Sometimes, those most unassuming wields the most power.” Martel entered, followed by her, and the priests made themselves scarce except for the grey-clad monk sitting on his bench.

He stood up this time, noticing Martel’s companion. “And this is?”

“Eleanor Fontaine, legate of the Tenth Legion, and the person I trust most,” Martel said in introduction. “Eleanor, this is the Friar.”

As they both bowed their heads, she regarded Martel and the monk with curiosity. “No name beyond that?”

“For some of us, our names fade away until only our position remains.” The Friar smiled briefly before he looked at Martel. “I have spoken with the high priest of Sol. He is willing to bless your intentions and support you at the table, in person.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Ten seats of your Senate will be given to members appointed by him.”

“That is more than what any province will receive put together,” Eleanor pointed out.

“The Faith encompasses all provinces, so that’s only reasonable,” the Friar calmly stated.

Martel snorted. “He can have five.” He had expected something like this would be the price; everyone in support of the Senate did so from expectations of wielding more influence through it than without it. And five had been the seats already given in consideration to the Faith in the first draft of the Great Charter, so Martel saw no harm in promising as much.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“Nine.”

“Six.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

“Eight,” the Friar repeated.

Martel kept his gaze. “Eight. But he’ll probably have to argue his case for it, should the others disagree. But I’ll support it if he shows up to support me.”

“Eight it is,” the monk agreed. “Tell me the bell tomorrow, and I shall inform His Reverence when to appear.”

“Third bell,” Martel declared with a look at Eleanor, who nodded in agreement.

“Very well. Congratulations, Martel. You shall have your Senate.”

“Thanks.” That had gone faster than he had expected; they had not even bothered to sit down. If only all negotiations could be done this swiftly.

“Before you leave, would you mind indulging an old man’s curiosity? As you once did before.”

Martel frowned. “I did? What is it?”

“Our first conversation. Do you recall? I told you the riddle of three.”

A hazy memory fought its way to the surface. The question asked by the apprentice to his masters about when to refrain from using magic, where each of the three archmages gave a different answer. “Right. I remember, yes.”

“You answered as the third master did,” the Friar reminded him. “That power should only be used when needed. If I asked you again the same question – would your answer remain the same?”

Martel exhaled, not in the mood for riddles. But he did not wish to insult an ally. “I don’t know. I was an acolyte when you asked me. Things seem far less clear-cut now.”

“Experience has that effect on us, I find. No matter. Just idle curiosity from my side. I shall take my leave and convey your answer to the high priest without delay. Farewell, captain. Legate.” The Friar bowed his head to them and walked away.

***

“What an odd conversation,” Eleanor remarked as they stood outside. “I have never seen him before, and he wore no insignia of rank or status. Yet he bargained as if he were the high priest himself.”

“Some people do their best work in the background.”

“I suppose so. What was that about at the end? The question he asked you.”

“What? Oh, right. Do you know the riddle of three?”

“The one about the apprentice asking a question of his masters?”

“Yes, that’s the one. First time I meet the Friar, he told me of it. I guess he wanted to know if my answer had changed since then.” Walking outside and feeling more relaxed, Martel’s mind returned to the riddle. Now he also wondered if he thought differently. “What was your answer?”

“The first one. Save your strength for the next battle.”

“Of course it was. You are such a mageknight,” Martel spoke with good-natured mockery in his voice.

“I shall take no cheek from a battlemage in that regard.” A moment passed before Eleanor spoke again. “What a strange conversation between the two of you! And you trust him to deliver as he promised?”

“I do, at least when it comes to matters of the Faith. He has yet to fail me in that regard,” Martel explained. The words spoken by the Friar finally sank in. He had his Senate. “In fact, I think we may have done it. We’ve made peace, Eleanor.”

Her usually calm composure fractured for a moment as excitement filled her expression, and she grabbed him by the arm. “We have made peace.” They both laughed as they continued down the street, walking among the temples and monasteries of Morcaster.