Vol 7, Chapter 18

"We cannot allow them to approach the castle and begin a siege. We must strike them on the march. Here, near the river."
The Marquise's long fingernail tapped the map, leaving a dent.

"I hope this decision is truly dictated by military necessity, and not by the fact that your own lands begin precisely there?" Count Bicon pressed his lips together.
His displeasure was understandable—his lands lay closest to Lothingham and had surely already been ravaged.

"No. If we give them time to set up a magical circle, we might as well surrender without a fight. But if we catch them by surprise…" The Marquise spoke slowly, trying to sound reasonable, but was interrupted by a hysterical cry:

"That's impossible! The Duke's forces outnumber us in every way. Your hope that the King will send aid to Marquess Henri—"

"Your hope⁈ I remind you that we are jointly…" Erin exploded.

The council was rapidly turning into a farce. Mutual accusations quickly descended into old grudges and disputes, with threats of duels flying more and more often, while the Marquise struggled to calm them down.

Silently, I pulled the map toward myself. According to reports, the Second Duke's army numbered fifteen thousand men. Some spies claimed forty or even fifty thousand, but those figures seemed greatly exaggerated to me. More than that, I was certain that we could field a force which, if not equal, was at least comparable in numbers.

Alas, comparable only in numbers, not in quality. The lion's share of our army consisted of militia, not even mercenaries. Our knights were poorer and weaker. We had far fewer chimeras, while the enemy still retained their magical equivalent of artillery, whereas our own artillery was late to the battle. Without long-range weapons, dealing with enemy mages would be… difficult. Very.

We would have to make serious changes to our tactics.
Only…

The shouting in the hall had already merged into one indistinct roar, with no sign of abating. I unfastened my holster.

A shot!

The echo pounded in my ears, and small stone chips rained down on the map from the ceiling.

"When will they reach this point?" I asked, once the ringing in my ears subsided.

"May I answer, your grace?" Falcon requested.
I nodded.

"At their current pace—three days. If we march immediately, we have a chance to intercept them at this point. They're not moving very quickly. Their baggage train is so large they're dragging it along the river with fishing boats and barges. I assume these are trophies taken in Lothingham. It seems they plan to send them straight to Renvel by river."

"So, they're tied to the river. I propose we intercept them here, further downstream." I pointed with the revolver's barrel at a new point.

The hall erupted again.

"You want to leave my lands at their mercy?"

"We leave the road to the castle open—what will prevent them from coming straight here?"

"Count, that spot is a plain! At the point my mother suggested, along the river, there's a forest. We could set up an ambush and deliver a sudden blow!"

Another shot silenced the arguments completely.
The nobles winced and clutched their ears.

"Now I'll answer in order." I shifted my gaze to the stout baroness who had been shouting about her lands. "Yes, they will. But if we lose, they'll ravage all the lands. Besides, after the trophies taken in Lothingham, I doubt they'll care much about your estate."
Her broad face flushed red, but her eyes betrayed… interest? Ugh, for heaven's sake!

"Ahem. What was the second question?" I faltered.

"The passage to the castle." The Marquise crossed her arms. "You plan to simply let them march across our lands?"

"No. They won't abandon the baggage train, I'm sure of it. They'll have to turn toward Renvel and try to crush our army. Otherwise, everything they've plundered will fall straight into our hands."

"And if they don't turn and keep advancing straight here⁈" she gestured nervously.

"Then all the worse for them. We'll strike from the rear and seize the river convoy as well."

"Our supply lines will be threatened. Your plan practically hands our rear to the enemy. But… if we split the army… and strike from behind once they pursue us…" Erin mused.

An interesting proposal, but… under such circumstances, actually dividing our forces would be suicidal. However, we could pretend to divide them!

"Good thought, Countess," I nodded approvingly. "Let the recruiters gather more peasants—at least three thousand."

"Peasants? We've already taken into the militia everyone who can hold a spear!"

"Then let the recruiters pay anyone, even those who cannot. Let them take pitchforks, axes, anything at all…"

"But they won't be able to fight!"

"They won't need to; they only have to create the impression that they can fight. That will be enough."

Erin shook her head, while the Marquise clapped her hands.

"I will see to it immediately. We'll need to assign some reliable men to keep watch, otherwise the peasants will simply scatter. But I believe it will pay off if the Duke is forced to strengthen his rear."

I nodded and bit my lip. Later. I would tell the Marquise later, much later, that those "reliable men" would in fact be some of my own soldiers, dressed in rags, playing the role of overseers. There were too many people at this council, and we could not be sure there were no spies of the Second among them. Ha, here every second man would be glad to sell him information in exchange for a promise of life. As long as the Duke held the advantage, such thoughts would inevitably tempt people.

"But still, if we fight here, we will have no chance of surprise. The false army idea is not bad, but we would need to fall back at least ten miles further… or march straight on Renvel itself. But then the same could be done to us, we could be caught in a pincer. I cannot believe Renvel has no garrison," Erin mused.

"No forests." I shuddered inwardly, recalling how the knights of the First burned in the goblin forest. No, I had no desire to share their fate.

"If we cannot reach the enemy mages…"

"I will deal with them. Understood?"

She still hesitated. And not only she; skepticism ran openly through the barons and knights. Even Grandfather succumbed to the prevailing mood.

"Kh-kh." He coughed. "I do not mean to spoil your brilliant plans, but remember: the river is an obstacle only for us. The Duke always carries a water mage with him in case his troops must cross. If the attack is not sudden, he'll simply have the mages cross on ice to the other side, and we won't be able to reach them. Therefore, I support the Marquise's original plan, despite the risk that we might be destroyed in the forest."

"Oh! That's no problem. If needed, I can freeze the river for you as well." Asha proclaimed, who had been quietly munching something in the corner until now. Judging by the crumbs, cookies.

"Aren't you an Ashiran?" the plump baroness asked suspiciously.

"Well, yes." She answered, pulling another cookie from her robe pocket.

"For a heavy rider to cross, the ice needs to be twenty centimeters thick. Can you manage that?"

"How much is that? Can you show me with your hands? Ah, whatever! If I must, I'll freeze it all the way to the bottom; that should be enough," she boasted, continuing to eat.

"Asha exaggerates," I interjected, rising from my seat.

"What? You don't believe me?" she gasped, eyes wide with wounded innocence.

"You shouldn't brag about being able to freeze a little water…"

"Oh, really!" Her fists clenched angrily.

"Come on, out with you. Who even let you in here…" I shoved her toward the door. An indignant shout followed me:

"Mean! I'll get you back for this! When your bed is frozen solid tonight, don't be surprised!"

I slammed the door shut and felt dozens of eyes on me.

"She overestimates her strength. Yes, she can create a thin sheet of ice, but no rider will cross on that." I tried to sound as convincing as possible, but…

"We could form a small circle and channel power to her," Count Beacon began.

Damn it! Shut up, just shut up!

"We'll discuss that when we draft the battle plan," I cut him off, but too late. I could already see in their eyes they had guessed I had deliberately downplayed her abilities. Honestly, it hadn't been hard.

There went a trump card. If a spy of the Second was here, he would surely report this. Once again, I would have to adjust the plan…

"Aren't we discussing this now?" uncertain voices asked.

"You don't trust us!" the plump Baroness cried, echoed immediately by others.

The Marquise tried to calm them, but in vain.

A gunshot! Damn it, I'll waste all my powder on these fools.

"Silence. Yes, I don't trust you. We all understand that it would be no trouble for the Second to learn what we are discussing here…"

The hall instantly drowned in cries, drowning out my words.

Two more bullets flew into the ceiling, silencing them all. Abyss, my hair was already full of stone dust.

"Shut up, damn you, or the next one goes into the head of whoever's loudest!"

"Count, you are behaving inappropriately! I am obliged to challenge you to a duel!"

"After we crush the Duke's forces, Count Bicon, I'll gladly accept your challenge, if you still wish it then."

"Ho-ho; I fear Count Condor has a problem with trust…" the stout Baroness announced as though sharing a secret. "But how can we trust him, if he does not trust us? He has not even told us the main reason why he insists so strongly on moving the battlefield closer to Renvel."

"And you know it?" her neighbor asked obsequiously.

"Of course. The fact is, a ship with mages is moving toward us along the river, capable of opposing the Second Duke's circle!"

Damn it. I had worked hard to keep that to myself. How had she learned about our artillery ship? Could the soldiers really have been so loose-tongued? The last bullet went into the ceiling.

The nobles looked at me with barely concealed displeasure, but I didn't care.

"What is your name?"

"Um, Syrel… yes, Syrel," the Baroness stammered.

"I'll remember. The battle plan will be given on the spot: an hour before the fight. This council is over. We march in two hours, prepare your troops."

"I must note, you are not our suze…"

"I agree with the Count's words," the Marquise raised her voice. "Obey. The destination is the one he indicated."

The nobles left the hall. I remained, waiting. As Falcon passed by, I stopped him with a gesture and whispered quietly:

"Fly along the river, find our barge. Tell them to hurry, no doubt the Second will try to interfere."

He nodded and left. Finally, only our family remained, the Marquise with her daughter and husband.

The woman leaned back in her chair.

"You have seriously damaged my reputation."

"I'd say I'm sorry if I were sorry. But I fear your vassals are not particularly reliable."

"We must pretend they are reliable; otherwise they certainly will stop being so."

"As long as they play their part, I don't need anything more from them."

"Have you often suffered assassination attempts, Count?"

"A couple of times."

"Strange that only a couple. With such behavior, I would expect far, far more. But let's leave that. I fear Karl was too late with your upbringing, and you clearly did not linger here to acquire common sense."

"I need isolite. All you have," I cut straight to the point.

She frowned.

"That is our strategic reserve. Without it, we cannot initiate warriors into knighthood."

"If the Second Duke wins, you will not be able to do that anyway."

"Reasonable. Anything else?"

"Horses. The fastest you have."

"That will be difficult… how many?"

"Considering our workshop managed only forty-eight revolvers, twenty-four horses."

"I can find that many."

"Wait!" Erin interrupted. "I thought you would give the revolvers to the knights, so we'd have a chance against their knights."

I shook my head.

"Knightly armor is too strong, and the armor of the Second Duchy's knights… I'm not sure even a musket would pierce it. They would be useless."

"I don't want to be an alarmist, but without a trump card, we'll be crushed in open battle. And that's even if the Duchess herself is not among their cavalry." Her tone was serious. I was sure it had been hard for her to admit that; Erin did not like acknowledging weakness.

"I'll handle it. But you'll receive the weapons at the very last moment. The Duke already knows too much, I don't want him learning more."

"Is this connected to you collecting all the salt in the region?"

"You'll know when the time comes."

She sighed.

"You really think there are spies among us?"

"Not among us, but among them…" I pointed to the door the nobles had left through.

"I've known those people since childhood. I think you're being unfair to them."

"We'll see. Now I must go; too much to do."

With a short bow, I stepped out the door and bumped into Asha. Her nose pressed into my chest, glaring at me angrily.

"It was necessary, but I apologize," I said quickly.

"Bend down!" she ordered.

Sighing, I leaned forward and felt her warm hands brush the stone crumbs from my hair.

"Looks like it really is gray; I thought it was just dust," she smirked.

"Life is stressful."

Suddenly her fingers clenched painfully in my hair and yanked me closer.

"Don't you dare underestimate me, got it?" she snapped, then added softly: "Even as a joke… please."

"Randal!" someone called from behind, but Asha wasn't embarrassed in the least. She didn't let go, staring straight into my eyes.

I noticed her eyelids were a little swollen, her lashes slightly damp.

"Sorry. I promise."

With a sigh, she released my hair.

"I ought to kick you…" she muttered.

"Randal!" the voice called again from behind.

"What is it?" I turned around.

Erin flinched, struggling to find her words, as if she had forgotten what she meant to ask.

"Um, eh… What if the barge doesn't arrive in time?"

"Then we'll win without it. What else can we do?"

***********************************************************

◆ River, Surroundings of Renvel, Dolan POV ◆

The steel barge floated down the river. Floated, and didn't even think of sinking despite all the cargo.

A strange sight, but after a week and a half Dolan had gotten used to it. After all, what was so strange about it? The copper pots his comrades tossed into the river to show off their marksmanship didn't sink either, so long as they were sealed well.

At least, they didn't sink until they were pierced with bolts!

The marksman smirked and went on peeling his shriveled apple, tossing the peel straight into the cold autumn water.

"Why waste it? I'd have eaten it," Dorvan rumbled, watching the peel float by.

"Eat your rations. Maybe then we'll sail faster," Dolan advised.

The sooner they arrived, the better…

The knife suddenly tore itself from his hand.

Pit. A thorn in his ass.

"Thanks, I just need to check something, I'll bring it right back!"

Yeah, sure. He had already "brought back" a dozen cuirasses he begged off the artillerymen. Now all of them had become the clanking steam engine standing right on deck. Yes, a steam engine on a ship carrying tons of gunpowder—brilliant idea.

On the other hand, at least it gave them heat…

With a smack of his hand Pit tested the simple sail on the steel mast, then looked thoughtfully at the knife.

"All right, looks sturdy enough. Testing time!"

He yanked a lever, and a jet of steam struck the sail, billowing it out.

The mage burst into wild laughter, hopping about the deck.

"Speed, measure the speed!" he ordered, thrilled.

The artilleryman, (a sailor by necessity), obeyed immediately, tossing a rope with knotted loops overboard.

The rope unwound lazily. Very lazily.

"Four knots!"

"Only? We didn't accelerate at all?" the mage exclaimed. "Impossible! My mechanical air mage must work better than that!"

"Whose turn is it to knock sense into him?" Dolan asked his massive companion. Dorvan silently jabbed a finger at him.

"What do you mean mine? I already stopped him yesterday from fishing with our anchor!"

"Well, last night I didn't let him make a 'catapult for flinging chamber pots onto the shore,'" Dorvan grumbled and blew his nose overboard.

"You probably shouldn't have. You don't carry them out, do you?"

"Don't joke like that! You want him turning all our armor into chamber pots⁉"

"All right, all right. My turn then." Dolan handed his friend the half-eaten apple and approached the raving mage at the stern.

"Sir, steam will make the sails heavy and useless. They might even tear apart!"

"Yes, that's a problem… We need iron sails instead. Just listen to that—iron! Sails! Ha. Sounds bloody brilliant. Hey, what's the speed now?"

"Still the same, sir!"

"What's wrong with you!" The mage slammed his fist into the steam engine, then grabbed the funnel belching steam as if trying to strangle it.

Naturally, he burned his hands.

"Abyss, why doesn't it work again? Ah, right! Right-right-right!" he muttered, seizing the hot pipe with his eyes squeezed shut. A moment later it bent, the funnel pointing astern. The jet of steam shot toward a sailor, who leapt aside with a curse at the last instant.

"Reactive force! Exactly. Assistant, measure... ah." He stopped short, seeing the steam blast had simply blown the rope into the water. "Well, I think we accelerated. I can definitely feel it, and it's not self-deception!"

"Maybe you could do something useful? Like, I don't know, build a machine to help the men row?" Dolan tried in vain to steer the madness toward something practical.

"Any fool can row. But how many fools can blow into a sail with such force that the ship rushes forward? Exactly! Only mages and my mechanical mage!" He patted the machine proudly.

Dolan sighed.

Yes, the current carried them now, but soon, once they passed Renvel, they would have to go against it, and without rowers, that would be a problem. Honestly, Dolan already doubted whether rowers could pull such a weight against the current… Considering the ship's creator was a full-blown psychopath, he fully expected it might not work at all.

"But if you figure out where to move the cannons, I'll build another rower's deck!" the mage offered cheerfully.

"Thanks for the suggestion," the sniper answered diplomatically, genuinely wishing he could line the mage-inventor up in his musket sights.

The towers of Renvel were already visible on the horizon, and mist lay upon the river. An ordinary sight—except not at midday. The sniper's sharp eyes scanned the shore, the water… No, something was wrong here.

"Dorvan, drop the anchor," Dolan said slowly, peering into the fog.

"How can I drop it when steam's blasting into our stern?"

"Mage, to the Abyss with your contraption, shut it down! NOW!" the sniper roared, finally seeing what hid in the fog.

In response, the anchor rose into the air by Pit's magic and splashed overboard. A jolt. A crunch. The barge slowed.

The capital's river had never frozen here before, but the fact was undeniable.

Ahead of the barge stretched a solid wall of ice. The river was frozen.