Chapter 23

There’s a certain energy to a city that’s on the verge of war. You can feel it in the air. It’s like standing next to a mage charging up for a wide area of effect spell, only, it doesn’t make your fillings spark.

Officially, Namic wasn’t under siege. Not yet. Lady Flir’s army was nowhere to be seen. The City Watch patrolled as usual. Businesses were open. The port transferred cargo from autocarriages to barges, and vice versa. Life went on.

There were signs that something was coming. The Royal Army garrison was busy conducting drills outside the city when we pulled into the station. Not as many as I hoped, but their skills would be fresh.

Prices on grains and meats were exorbitant at the markets we passed, a sure sign of rationing. The Quartermaster Corps was gathering up everything they could get their hands on, shrinking supplies and opening the door for price gouging. Flyers from the Ministry of Public Health were plastered on nearly every vertical surface, reminding people to dispose of waste properly.

Everyone knew what was coming. It was only a matter of time.

At least we had our pick of inns.

Any merchants who had the means to escape before the siege got the hell out. Everyone else would have to wait for the general evacuation, once the groundwork was laid. If there was one upside to living in a major commercial port on a river, it was the optional nature of sieges. Anyone who stayed for the fighting would stay because they wanted to.

Kaze and I managed to snag a penthouse suite with a good view of the western gate for a song. The innkeeper was practically beside herself to have paying guests, promising service that would rival anything Lugar had on offer on his boat.

Personally, I doubted she could make good on her veiled promises of companionship. Sex workers would be the first to evacuate. Those who had the liquid capital to relocate helped the ones who didn’t. Prostitutes were easy targets for abuse at the best of times. In the leadup to a siege, to say nothing of the battle itself, exploitation wasn’t a possibility so much as an inevitability. The ones who were left were undoubtedly laying low, and definitely not taking clients.

For all that, the view was nice. The hotel was of a newer design that used a steel frame to reach higher than its brick and mortar counterparts, giving it a commanding view of the surrounding landscape, no doubt to the chagrin of its shorter, less splendid neighbors. An easy target for siege weapons, to be sure. We would have to take care to plan our evacuation in the event we drew the eye of some enterprising artillery commander.

“Let’s see,” I said, scribbling some numbers on a piece of paper. “The base of the inn is four hundred meters from the gate. We’re around fifty meters up. That puts the gate at-”

“Four hundred and three meters from our current position,” Kaze said, not bothering to look up from her table. She had all her knives laid out, and was inspecting each one. “Is that far enough to be worth correcting?”

“Not really, but it’s nice to know,” I said. “Aim small, miss small.”

“I’ll leave that to you. I haven’t the experience to try my hand at sniping.”

“There’s an art to it,” I said.

“What’s the furthest shot you ever made?”

“With my old musket? About thirteen hundred meters. Smoothbores require fin stabilized projectiles out past a hundred meters or so, and those aren’t easy to come by. I didn’t make a habit of stretching the range. If my math is right, I should be good for at least twice that with the new rifled musket.”

“Impressive,” she said.

“How about you with your knives?”

“Close quarters only, I’m afraid. After thirty meters or so, I lose fine control.”

“That’s still better than the average swordsman,” I said.

“Oh, aye. The problem is, if I can’t pin them down before they get within close measure, I’m finished.”

That was a problem common to most mages. Range and fantastic destructive power, but few options in a close quarters brawl. Knights and men at arms who could weather the storm with enchanted armor had the advantage inside of ten meters. Pinning them down and chipping away at their mana was the only sure way to take them out. That took time and undivided attention, two things in short supply on the battlefield.

I preferred just to shoot the bastards through the groin. Much simpler that way.

“There’s something that’s been on my mind,” she continued.

“Oh?”

“I’m comfortable claiming the title of knife witch. I spent a decade training under an acknowledged master of the art. I’ve passed every trial and test for mastery. When I completed them, I felt a sense of pride unlike anything before or since.”

“And it doesn’t feel right that Pesden gave you a badge after three days and a single spell?”

“Well, yes. I could teach you the rudiments of kinetomancy in three days. I wouldn’t dare trust you to manipulate a live blade, much less acknowledge you as a practitioner.”

“There’s two answers to that,” I said. “One you’re gonna like, and one you won’t. Which one do you want first?”

“Let’s start with the one where my ego remains intact.”

“Fair enough. Simply put: you’re underestimating how difficult mastering that one basic spell is,” I said. “It’s the fundament for everything we do. It’s also consistently ranked as one of the ten or so hardest fundamental spells by scholars who sit around ranking such things.”

“I refuse to believe such an occupation exists,” she said.

“Oh trust me, it’s real. And that’s about the least onerous thing those stuffy pricks get up to. In this case, I’d say they have it right. You cottoned onto the secret remarkably quick. There are no convenient shortcuts from other disciplines or shared principles. Your art gave you a frame of reference to understand what we do, but that’s it. It didn’t actually help you with the spell itself, just the visualization.”

“Visualization is half the battle.”

“It is when you’re uncommonly talented and wickedly clever,” I said. “And when you’re uncommonly talented and wickedly clever, you can muddle your way through to the harder stuff with, if not ease, then at least confidence. That’s no small thing.”

“When you put it like that…”

“Helps that we don’t really do formal ranks. Sclopetarius just means the old man trusts you enough to figure it out. Three days, three decades, it’s all the same to him.”

“Ah. I suppose that was the reason I wouldn’t like so much,” she said.

“No, that’s just the reality of ignimancy. The one you won’t like is, that badge is a calculated poke in Lady Flir’s eye. Took her years to get it, and when she went to kill the old man, he beat her ass and took it back. He hasn’t given out another one since.”

Kaze winced.

“You’re right. I like that one far less,” she said. “Oh, Soeh. Is this her old badge?”

“The old man’s not that mean. Whether he had an ulterior motive or not, you earned your own badge. He melted hers down into a bullet. If she shows back up, he’ll give it back a lot faster than he took it.”