Chapter 21

Kaze and I left at first light. The old man was still asleep. He was never one for goodbyes.

Truthfully, I think being around people wore him out something fierce. He wasn’t as young as he once was, and millennia of experimenting with the fundamental forces of the world took a toll on his body and mind. Without the restorative potions he drank every morning and evening, he wouldn’t stay lucid for long.

Funny how many dwarven folk tales end up with the hero as a stark raving madman atop a mountain. I used to think they were cautionary. I’ve changed my tune on that lately. Now I think they’re aspirational.

Namic was a good seven hundred kilometers to our northwest, about a month on foot. It was also, conveniently, a major inland logistics hub for industry. Raw materials mined in the Breta mountains were floated downstream, at least until the Kibe River turned treacherous.

The last time I was there, they were carried the rest of the way by teams of oxen pulling massive carts that rode on rails. Over the last decades, the Crown decided to invest in infrastructure. They had a ley line to play with, after all. Why not put it to good use?

“Are you quite sure about this?” Kaze asked nervously. “I’ve heard these things top out at forty kilometers an hour. That can’t be healthy.”

“You run faster than that,” I pointed out.

“Over short distances, and I’m exhausted after.”

“Autocarriages don’t get tired,” I said. “And they’re far safer than walking.”

I was more than a little surprised to find an autocarriage station this far out in the boonies, less than a week’s walk from Pesden’s place, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. This region was a major producer of grain. Autocarriages could transport it all across the continent before it had a chance to spoil, especially if they used climate controlled hopper cars.

Passenger transportation was an afterthought during harvest. There was no room for people when there were goods that needed to be hauled. The lines were still there, though, and the carriages couldn’t make money sitting in their yards.

Two tickets to Namic cost us ten silvers apiece. We stood to knock ten days off our journey, and we wouldn’t be exhausted when we arrived. That assumed, of course, that Lady Flir hadn’t already besieged the city when we arrived.

There was no news of an attack yet. If Lady Flir beat us there, I highly doubted the autocarriage would complete the journey.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Kaze said.

We had the car to ourselves. This far out, there weren’t many other passengers aboard. That would likely change when we hit our first major city.

“Oh?”

“By continental standards, Lady Flir’s host is small. She has, or rather had, five generals, each with ten thousand troops, plus her own personal guard of a thousand. Experienced and well seasoned troops, yes, but led by a pack of egotistical maniacs who earned their position through power and connections rather than raw ability.”

“Where do you fit into that paradigm?”

“I killed General Caik in single combat. By her own rules, Lady Flir had to grant me his old position. Imagine her surprise when I not only held it against all comers, but succeeded in taking the cities she ordered me to attack.”

“I could see how that would come as a shock,” I said. “Okay. Let’s game this out. There’s Seze, the weird guy with the bug fetish, and now Deela, assuming she was assigned to be your replacement. Who else?”

“Seze isn’t only known for his bug fetish,” she scolded. “He is a competent, if unremarkable, field commander. He’s also one of the only living practitioners of the Great Wyrm sword style.”

“Yeesh. In other words, don’t get close. Got it.”

“He didn’t earn his position through connections. Underestimate him at your peril.”

“What about Deela?”

“You would be hard pressed to underestimate her. Her talents lay in subterfuge and espionage, particularly the art of seduction. As a combatant, she’s hopeless. As a leader, she’s actively stupid. Only her elven blood buys her any grace with Lady Flir. My old army will likely be assigned to garrison duty. She’s fit for little else, and barely that.”

“Noted. Who else?”

“General Tias is a wildcard. She is brilliant, but lazy and unpredictable. She’s as likely to sleep through the battle as she is to come up with a winning strategy that no commander could prepare for.”

“Any particular skills?”

“Pyromancy, but an odd application. She uses fire to draw the heat out of things rather than the usual inverse. Not good for precise applications, but useful on a battlefield.”

“So look out for uncrossable rivers and lakes being frozen. Got it.”

“Then there is General Centu, a baroness and formal political rival to Lady Flir. She is, I suspect, a case of ‘keep friends close and enemies closer’. Her experience with trade and industry gives her army excellent logistical support. If her leadership is not particularly inspired, her troops will at least be well fed and supplied.”

“Perfect for long sieges. You don’t need brilliant commanders, you need someone who can keep your army from starving to death or falling victim to disease.”

“Which is primarily how she’s used. She has ambitions of her own, but not the means to achieve them. Yet.”

“Could be useful,” I mused. “I’m assuming you’re saving the best for last.”

“You assume correctly. General Reton, late of the Royal Army, followed Lady Flir after falling madly in love with her.”

“Welp. I already hate that guy.”

“Jealousy? Really?”

“What? I know her taste in men,” I said.

“Point. Though ‘taste in men’ doesn’t apply. General Reton is a woman.”

“Ah. Still hate her.”

“Naturally. You’ll like her even less when I tell you that she’s an ignimancer. Lady Flir trained her personally in the arts,” she said.

“Is she any good?”

“Terrifying. I never fought her for much the same reason I was reluctant to fight you. If I could get in close, I would stand a chance. She would never allow it.”

“Good ol’ firepower,” I said, stroking the stock of my new rifled musket fondly. “You make it sound like you wanted to.”

“She and Flir are of a mind when it comes to taste in…entertainment. Young men, tall and handsome and well muscled, were their favorites. They would be summoned at evening muster, and when they returned, they were…broken. It wasn’t until recently that I understood why. I suspect Lady Flir remembers you as fondly as you do her.”

“Lovely.”

“I did what I could to keep Reton from poaching my men. She was no more eager to fight me than I was her,” she said.

“She’ll be even less thrilled at the prospect now that you’ve a musket of your own.”

“I’m eager to train more. I have some ideas on how to incorporate it into my usual fighting style,” she said. “It’s a shame we won’t get the chance.”

“We’ll have time,” I said. “Not everything we do is as flashy as a gunshot.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said. “If Namic is truly Lady Flir’s next target, I would expect to face off against General Centu. The city is well defended. She would be perfect for a siege.”

“Would Flir show up in person?”

“I would assume she would be nearby. She often keeps her personal guard close to a battle as a strategic reserve. When the gates are opened, they come rushing through.”

“No doubt for a rousing round of war crimes,” I said. “That does make our counter strategy clear.”

“Hole up in the city, wait for the attack, figure out the most likely breach point, and stand by?”

“Seems a little passive, I know, but it beats roaming around the countryside poking at bushes with our bayonets.”

“That it does,” she said. “I can’t help but feel there’s something we’re failing to consider, and it bothers me.”

“There’s always something,” I said. “The question is, can we improvise around it, or will it bite us square on the ass?”