Chapter 24

There was only so much sitting around and waiting I was prepared to do.

Ignimancy isn’t an art built for wild improvisation. We’re at our best when we can lay out plans A-Z, and then backups for each in case they fail. I didn’t have time to be that thorough. No news from the garrison, but judging by the frantic pace at which they were preparing defenses, Lady Flir’s forces couldn’t be more than a few days out. That gave me time for plans A-F, and maybe G and H if I hurried.

My primary plans, all variations of “snipe from tower, sow chaos and confusion”, constituted A-D. They were already good to go. The primary point of variation was who showed up at the gate to take it. Each of Flir’s generals required a different response to counter their unique abilities and weaknesses. Mostly, that meant different kinds of bullets.

Plans E and F were based on the possibility that Flir’s ice witch tried to freeze a path across the lake to hit the city from the relatively poorly defended coast. Amphibious invasions simply weren’t a problem in this part of the world. Sailing upstream was too much work. Sailing downstream meant braving the sorts of rapids and waterfalls that even daredevils viewed askance.

Freezing the river changed the equation. March to a point outside the city’s defenses, freeze a path up the river, and suddenly amphibious operations were back on the table. The main difference was whether the freeze was complete or minimum safe depth. Both had their upsides and downsides, and both required different countermeasures. In both cases, “shoot the witch” was the first step. Everything else came down to varying amounts of blasting powder.

All of that, I could set up on my own, or at least, with Kaze’s help. She was a lot better at convincing shop owners trying to catch the last autocarriages out of town to let me booby trap their storefronts. Since invading armies had a nasty habit of putting “pillage and burn” in front of capturing real military objectives, I could do considerable damage by making sure the loot bit back.

There was still the question of plans G and H, neither of which I had the means to enact on my own.

Honestly, you’d think an ignimancer would have an easier time getting their hands on a cannon or ten.

“Look, I just need to speak to your commanding officer. I can help.”

The major gave me the sort of look reserved for dead rodents and dog dung.

“No.”

There’s no official badge to denote nobility in the ranks of the Royal Army. You have to read between the lines. His uniform was tailored, for a start. His sash was fine silk rather than linen. The rank boards sewn into his epaulets were embroidered with real gold thread, not cheaper substitutes. His ceremonial sword was fine craftsmanship, still gleaming and new, without a single dent or scratch on the mirror-bright metalwork.

Compare that to the captain currently in the trenches with her men, stripped to the waist and bellowing at them to keep up with an old woman. They bellowed back with language saltier than the pork they ate for lunch, and that was saying something.

There were officers the troops would follow into hell, and there were officers the men would send there as soon as they had the chance. This fellow was the latter.

“Okay, I’m gonna play a little game with you,” I said. “It’s called ‘which one is bigger’. On the count of three, we’re gonna show our commissions, and the bigger one wins. How’s that?”

The major scoffed and reached for his wallet. It wasn’t unheard of for itinerant mages to have reserve commissions.

I reached for mine, and started the count.

“One…two…three.”

His jaw crashed into his brightly polished gorget when he saw what I was packing.

“Ooh, so close,” I said. “You nearly got me. Best two out of three?”

“How in the HELLS are you a general?”

“Because, unlike you, I know how to fight a bleeding war. Now, we’re gonna try this again: take me to your CO, or I’m gonna round up a group of fighters to haul you to the wall and hang you by your balls.”

“You wouldn’t- you couldn’t-”

I whistled loudly. The captain looked up and came trotting over. I looked her in the eye and nowhere else. Line units are mixed gender and have their own ideas about propriety. It’s still rude to pay too much attention.

“Ho there, Cap,” I said, holding up my commission. “I need four and about twenty feet of rope. This waste of air signed up for castration via defenestration. Can you spare ‘em?”

She snapped to attention and saluted, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Sir!”

“WAIT! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!”

“I can, I will, and I have.”

The major was dogpiled in short order and hauled off to the wall, screaming the whole way. The captain, meanwhile, restored herself to decency.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “Best to weed out the stupid ones before the battle starts. Less fratricide that way.”

“Agreed, but I didn’t have the pull,” she said. “Pardon my bluntness, but who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for your CO. I’ve got some ideas on what’s coming and how to handle it.”

“That was our CO,” she said. “Major Syy took over for Lieutenant Colonel Hipoin, who decided that he had an urgent family emergency when the scouts reported an inbound enemy force.”

“Wow. All he had to do was say ‘why yes, I’m in charge’ and he’d still have the chance to reproduce. By the by, will your men-”

“Yes they bleeding will. You’ll be hard pressed to find an officer more brazenly stupid. We’re out here digging trenches, for Aethna’s sake.”

Her choice of blasphemy marked her as a follower of the goddess of wisdom. That bode well. Aethna was one of the more active deities, especially when it came to followers who claimed her name but not her gifts. She had a wicked sense of humor, or so I heard.

Trenches were great when you had the numbers for defense in depth. I counted the defenders at a company and a half, plus some auxiliaries. Forget depth, that was barely enough for a defense.

“Where’s everyone else? A garrison shouldn’t be less than a battalion.”

“Gone. When Hipoin deserted, everyone else with a lick of sense followed suit.”

“Officers?”

“Just me and a handful of lieutenants.”

“Shit on a stick,” I groaned. “Okay. Captain…I actually didn’t get your name.”

“Degle.”

“Right. Captain Degle, I’m breveting you to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. I doubt it’ll stick, but that should give you access to the town’s arsenal. You’ll have to scrounge up some rank boards.”

“Hah! I stole that bastard Hipoin’s the instant he started packing. I was just waiting for Major Syy to grow a brain and dip before I started wearing them.”

“Taking the initiative, I like it,” I said. “Okay, Lieutenant Colonel Degle. Stop with the trench nonsense. We’ll use the holes for something more constructive. In the meantime, get every swinging dick and clapping clam to the arsenal and bring out every cannon and barrel of powder you can get your hands on.”

“Dare I ask what for?”

“Plans G and H,” I said. “You’ll love ‘em. They’re a blast.”