In the Shadow of Lightning

36

Saying that Fort Bryce was a disaster was both unfair and an understatement.

Demir stood in the fort commander’s office, looking out the window toward the Copper Hills, where the few roads were jammed with every farmer and townsman from here to the coast desperately trying to get away from the Grent army and their mercenaries and into the protective embrace of Ossa. He wondered what those people would think if he were to tell them that the protective embrace was a lie; that the Foreign Legion was shattered, the forts undermanned and outdated, and the Inner Assembly privately admitting that this weeklong war had been a terrible mistake.

He couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t so much as mention his doubts to anyone, lest they trickle down through behavior and rumor to affect the common soldiery. Piss knew they were already plagued by enough of their own after having been handed the worst defeat witnessed by the Foreign Legion in centuries. Demir needed to wear a mask of confidence that defied all his doubts about this new command, as well as hid the more private horrors lurking around in his mind. Thessa was a Holikan orphan. The savior of his guild-family; his new business partner; someone who had flirted with him – was a victim of his failures. The moment she found out, everything would come crashing down.

He thrust it from his mind and turned to Colonel Wessen, the fort’s commander. Wessen was a mousy man in his mid-forties, wringing his hands, spectacles constantly sliding down to the end of his nose and having to be readjusted. He was so hunched, his face so drawn, that he appeared to have neither shoulders nor a chin. Despite his appearance he was not a coward. Just … ill-prepared.

“Are all the forts like this?” Demir asked.

“Yes, sir,” Colonel Wessen replied quietly.

They had just finished a whirlwind half-hour inspection of the massive star fort, and Demir had found that every one of Father Vorcien’s statements was true: the walls were crumbling, the weapons were out of date, the garrison was fat and ill-equipped. Even the massive earthen bulwarks that were the first defense against enemy artillery were overgrown and eroding – mostly into moats that hadn’t been dredged in decades.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Colonel Wessen continued. “My whole tenure here we’ve had to scrimp and save just to keep the garrison fed. We’re technically part of the Foreign Legion but they don’t treat us like proper legionaries. Shipments go missing, salaries are delayed, I–”

“Does it take money to dredge the moats?” Demir asked. “Or skilled labor?”

“No, sir.”

Demir walked from one end of the office to the other. If Wessen were living the high life – if his office were decorated and perfumed and his home were a big one on a nearby hill – then Demir would assume corruption and have no hesitance in tearing him apart. But the colonel’s uniform was even more moth-bitten than Demir’s, his office dusty, his liquor cabinet bare. This was not a man living fat on a government payroll like most Ossan senior officers.

“I’m not going to lecture you on fort maintenance,” Demir told him, turning back to face the colonel. “You know the situation we’re in. I’ve called in a few favors – Capric Vorcien is arranging for every team of craftsmen and laborers that you might possibly need. The first will arrive tonight, and they will set to work making the necessary repairs to the bastion.”

Colonel Wessen blinked back at him. “But sir, some of those repairs will take months. And … and … shouldn’t we retreat, sir? This fort cannot hold against the Grent and their mercenaries.”

Demir folded his hands across his stomach to display both of his silic sigils at the same time. The effect was not lost on the colonel, who swallowed hard. Demir said, “What repairs can be made in a short time will be done. You will have supplies and new muskets by the end of the day tomorrow. All of this will happen while I, and what’s left of the Foreign Legion, go out there and lay down our lives to slow down Kerite and her Grent masters. We’re not retreating, Wessen. There’s nowhere to retreat to. Understand?”

Another hard swallow, the colonel’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down comically. “Yes, sir.”

“In the meantime, you and your officers are going to drill your garrison into the ground. Artillery drills, musket drills, bayonet drills. Whip this garrison into shape. I’ll make sure you have the double rations and the equipment to do so.” Demir dropped his hands from his stomach. He didn’t know if any of this would help, but he was damned well going to try. “Now give me the room. Send in Major Grappo, wait ninety seconds, and send in Colonel Jorfax.”

At the mention of Jorfax, Wessen’s eyes grew wide with terror. “Yes, sir.” Colonel Wessen scuttled to the door, took a deep breath, and turned toward Demir. “I wish you’d come along years ago, sir.”

Demir answered with a tight smile. “Believe me, I wish you and your garrison were still being pleasantly ignored because no one actually needed you. Go on.”

Wessen was gone for moments before Tadeas swept in. His uniform was torn, a piece of milkglass at his ear, though his injuries seemed healed. He looked around the office sharply before kicking the door closed behind him. “I knew the forts were dumps, but this is worse than I’d feared.”

“Glassdamned fools, neglecting our last line of defense,” Demir answered.

There was a brief pause, which Tadeas acknowledged with a shrug. “I never thought I’d see you in one of those uniforms again.”

“Me neither,” Demir answered unhappily. He felt his mask slip for a moment, his eyes growing wet, his face warm and his throat tight. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Uncle Tad.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Demir drew a hand across his face, pulling himself together from the inside out. “When Idrian saw me in this uniform, I thought the big bastard was going to faint.”

Tadeas chuckled. “We had a long night. You were a shock to all of us. A welcome shock to be sure.”

“At least my cuirassiers were.”

“Nah,” Tadeas said with a shake of his head. “I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks or says. I’d be a glassdamned fool if I wanted anyone else opposing Kerite. Stavri almost got me and the Ironhorns killed.”

“And you don’t think I will?”

“At least you’ll do it more creatively than Stavri.”

Demir searched his uncle’s eyes for a lie or omission, but couldn’t find it. He really did want Demir here. Poor, misguided idiot. Demir grinned at him, feeling his mask slide back into place. “Straighten your uniform. Colonel Jorfax will be here any moment.”

Tadeas cringed at the name. “Why?”

“Because she’s in charge of the Foreign Legion’s glassdancers, and if I want to get anything done, I’ll need their help.” A knock sounded at the door. “Come!” he called.

The woman who entered was in every way the opposite of Colonel Wessen. She was tall and beautiful, with short blond hair, an angular, distinct face, and an expression that could hammer an ox to a barn door. Demir had once seen a gossip column refer to her as an ancient beauty chiseled from granite. The columnist had disappeared the next day and the body had never been found. Jorfax fell into a military pose in the middle of the room facing the desk, despite the fact that Demir was at the window. Her hands were clasped in front of her in a way that displayed the silic sigil of a glassdancer on her left hand and the much smaller silic sigil on her right that indicated that she’d been adopted by the Vorcien guild-family.

“You called, sir?” Jorfax asked, speaking to the empty desk.

Demir felt his eyes narrow. He knew glassdancers. He’d trained under them, he’d met hundreds, and they were as dismissive of authority as they were a terror to their underlings. They were, he suddenly realized, all just as arrogant as he was. A shudder went through him at the self-realization. He snapped his fingers. “Over here, Jorfax.”

She turned her head in his direction, staring straight into his soul with those piercing blue eyes. He stared right back. “How many glassdancers did you lose in the Copper Hills?” he asked.

“We haven’t finished our count yet, sir.” She pronounced the word “sir” with something that was just a hair shy of outright disdain.

“How many?”

“I just said–”

“Jorfax,” Demir said softly, “if you’d like to have a pissing contest then I’ll meet you at dawn with smallswords in eight weeks’ time. Right now I have a glassdamned war to win. Now how many glassdancers do you have left?”

Jorfax’s expression did not change in the slightest, but she worked her jaw a little before answering. “Thirty-four.”

“Out of?”

“Sixty.”

“Ouch.” Demir glanced toward Uncle Tadeas, who’d taken up a position against the wall with the casual air of a man watching a bear-baiting at the circus. He wasn’t scared of the bear, but he was definitely ready to run if the bear got loose.

Jorfax said, “You’re not going to win against Kerite.”

“Perhaps not,” Demir admitted, “but I’m going to do a damned sight better than Stavri, or even you and your glassdancers. In fact, I believe that at least ten of your glassdancers are only alive because Tadeas here provided an avenue for their escape.”

“Thank you, Major Grappo,” Jorfax said without inflection, her eyes not once leaving Demir. “With all due respect, sir, you’ll be dead by the end of the week.”

“Are you referring to the Grent glassdancer assassins that killed Stavri? I’m slightly better equipped for a threat like that.”

“No. I’m referring to facing her on the field of battle. She will roll right over you no matter what you do.”

“Kerite is that good?”

“I fought her on a campaign in Purnia. One of those damned colonial proxy wars. She’s the best general in the world, perhaps of all time.”

“Everyone knows that.”

“But few people have lived to tell the tale,” Jorfax said, her voice finally showing some emotion. “Her soldiers always have the best equipment, the best pay, the best training. They’re better than the Foreign Legion, and they’re loyal to a fault. Stavri was a fool to face both her and the Grent on the open battlefield.”

“Did you tell him that?”

Jorfax flinched. “No.”

“Good thing you don’t fear or respect me then, otherwise you wouldn’t bother to warn me.” Demir eyed the glassdancer carefully. He did not fear her – certainly not one-on-one – but Tadeas was right to regard her as a muzzled bear. One wrong move and she could go berserk. “I have work for you and your glassdancers. Kerite flanked Stavri by blinding his scouts. I’m going to do the same thing to her. Our new scouting policy is squads of twelve light cavalry with a glassdancer attached to each squad.”

“Are you insane?” Jorfax replied, finally turning her whole body to face Demir, her professionalism slipping.

Demir continued on as if he’d not been interrupted. “The glassdancers will kill all of Kerite’s scouts, and they’ll do it silently. The escort will only be there in case there’s some sort of a scrape a lone glassdancer can’t handle.”

“No,” Jorfax snapped. “I’m not giving that order. No one would follow it! We’re not common scouts, we’re glassdancers and–”

“Cowards?” Demir asked lightly.

Jorfax’s hand dropped to the smallsword at her belt, her expression somehow growing even more icy. “How dare you?”

“Say the word,” Demir replied. “We can even duel with sorcery if you want. Or you can stop being a pampered little artillery supplement and get your glassdancers out into the field. How about that?”

“I–”

Demir talked right over her. “You lost twenty-six glassdancers in a single battle because Stavri thought you could outmuscle a superior army, and you went along with it. I’m not going to play the same game. I’d just lose. Instead, your glassdancers are going to help me put a shard in her eye. Silent killers. The scouts won’t see what hit them. Once Kerite is blind, I’ll actually be able to maneuver around her.”

Jorfax peered hard at Demir, her eyes searching his face for something while her jaw worked like she was chewing a wad of tobacco. Finally she said, “It’s completely against custom.”

“Correct. That’s why it’ll work. Not even Kerite can convince her glassdancers to get their delicate hands dirty.”

“You of all people should know how hard it is to glassdance from horseback. It’s almost as hard as learning to shoot at a full gallop. The skill, the focus, the practice. None of my glassdancers have it.”

“Perhaps in a large, chaotic battle. But I’m not sending you out there to fight battalions. I’m sending you to murder individual scouts, maybe small squads at the largest, and I think any military-trained glassdancer should be able to handle that. So are you going to give that order, or am I going to have to strip you of command and work my way through all the remaining glassdancers until I find someone who will?”

If Jorfax had been silently fuming, she was furious now. Demir could see it in the way every sinew on her face was straining as if there were someone inside trying to get out. She said, “You don’t have that authority.”

“Let’s ask Father Vorcien. He’s got other glassdancers in his family. He doesn’t have other competent generals in Ossa.”

“Competent generals?” Jorfax demanded. “Do you want to talk about what happened after–”

“You’ll want to shut your mouth right now,” Tadeas suddenly spoke up. He added a soft smile and a “ma’am” to the end of the sentence. “Before you speak of things you know nothing about and say something you’ll regret later.”

Somehow, some way, Tadeas seemed to break through Jorfax’s steely exterior in a way that Demir couldn’t. She turned her eyes on Tadeas, a frown finally pulling down on the corners of her mouth. “You stand behind him, Major Grappo?”

“Yes.”

“For family, or for faith?”

“What do you think?” Tadeas asked.

Something seemed to pass between the two of them, and Jorfax finally gave a sharp nod. “I’ll give the order. Have your scout squads ready to go out within the hour. I hope you plan on moving quick, because the moment Kerite figures out what you’re doing she’ll move to counter it.” She turned on her heel and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Demir took a deep breath and looked down, realizing that he’d been gripping a piece of skyglass tightly the whole time. He didn’t even remember pulling it from his pocket. “What happened there?” he asked.

“Last night wasn’t the first time I’ve saved Jorfax’s glassdancers,” Tadeas answered. “Or the second, or third. We call them glass cannons for a reason. Glassdancers can get disoriented under fire, and once they’re even a little bit confused they die as easily as anyone else.” He pursed his lips. “Also I think she has a thing for Idrian.”

Demir snorted. “I’ve met Idrian. Every woman and some of the men in the Foreign Legion should have a thing for him.”

“Hah! She’s right, you know. You have to be ready to move quick. You can’t just blind Kerite and not act.”

“Come now,” Demir replied with more confidence than he felt. “Have you met me?”

“So what are we going to do?”

Demir looked out the window, where he could see down into the fort’s central courtyard. A lone scout approached at a gallop, crossing the moat, waving at the guards. She reached the courtyard and leapt from her horse. He could hear her shouting to a nearby soldier for directions to the commanding officer.

“I suspect,” he said over his shoulder to Tadeas, “that we’re about to find out. Before I can act, I need to know where Kerite is going. She can do a million little things at this point, but she only really has seven realistic options for her next big maneuver. The three most likely are that she attacks Harbortown to try and destroy our route to the sea; that she comes straight here to crush Fort Bryce before we can regroup; or that she turns sharply south and attacks Fort Alameda in order to capture the river.

“Kerite is incredibly good,” Demir continued, “but she can be predicted. When I was a teenager I wore out copies of every one of her unauthorized biographies. I memorized every move she made on a dozen campaigns – not because I thought I’d ever fight her, but to emulate her style. She does not stop, she does not slow down. Her momentum is part of her mastery of the battlefield.”

Tadeas laughed. “That’s why you risked pissing off Jorfax, isn’t it? If you blind Kerite, you either destroy her momentum by forcing her to regroup, or you force her to continue her plans without proper intelligence.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s dangerous, Demir. What happens if she catches us in an open battle without our own glassdancers?”

“Then we’re damned,” Demir responded, “but we would be anyway, so what’s the difference?”

Their conversation was interrupted by a desperate knock on the door, and then the scout that had just arrived pushed her way in without bothering to wait for permission. Her face and uniform were dusty from the road, black hair slick with sweat. She snapped a tired salute. “Sir, just got back from the Grent camp in the Copper Hills.”

“They’re gone?” Demir guessed.

“Yes, sir. The camp is abandoned.”

“Which direction did they go?”

“Southeast, sir.”

Demir searched Wessen’s office until he could find the standard officer’s maps, then rummaged through those until he was able to produce one that covered the environs of the capital. His mind had already abandoned the other six predictions and he was now focusing on Kerite’s new target: Fort Alameda and mastery of the Tien River. He gestured for the scout to wait and then showed the map to Tadeas.

“Kerite is going here,” he told his uncle, pointing at a spot where a small tributary of the Tien emptied into the main river. It was right at the border between Ossa and Grent, and the point of land between the two rivers was dominated by another massive star fort. “She’ll be reinforced by riverboat from the duke’s forces still in the city, and she’ll throw all her strength at Fort Alameda. Once that falls, she’ll be able to work her way up the river, capturing Glasstown and then moving directly into the Assembly District.”

Tadeas looked suddenly very tired. “We’ll move everyone to the fort side of the tributary here and contest her crossing?” he asked. “The Ironhorns might be able to get there first and blow the bridges if we leave immediately.”

It was the obvious countermove, but Demir had his doubts. River crossings had never particularly bothered Kerite. Her troops were too organized and well-trained to get themselves slaughtered doing something stupid. Same with the Grent, whose soldiers would have spent their whole careers training on the delta.

No, Kerite would pincer-attack the fortress, hitting it from landing craft, a northern flanking, bridges, and of course her superior artillery. Demir stuck his hand in his pocket and ran his fingers over the godglass there. The sorcery of each piece resonated softly against his fingertips until he found his witglass. He pulled his fingers back with instinctive fear.

Slowly, he forced himself to find the witglass again. He couldn’t put it in his ear. That would be too powerful; too overwhelming. But maybe … He pinched it between his fingers hard, feeling the sorcerous vibrations through his skin. A pain immediately began behind his left ear and crawled forward through his mind like it had done every time he tried to use witglass in the last nine years.

He kept his grip firm, forcing himself to think through the mind-numbing headache. Despite the pain, his thoughts were moving faster, reacting to the sorcery with something more than just pain. He did not let himself dwell on it, instead turning his thoughts to Kerite’s upcoming attack on Fort Alameda. Still clutching the witglass between two fingers, he pulled down all of Wessen’s maps and tore through them until he found a closer look at the fort. He studied it for several minutes, mind racing, head pounding from the effort of such advanced thought. Finally, he let go of the witglass. It was only when he heard the gasp that escaped his own lips that he realized just how much it had hurt.

He didn’t know Fort Alameda, but he did know that tributary Kerite would have to cross to make an approach. He knew the land north of it, and most importantly, he knew the topography. “Tadeas,” he said, “find a well-rested platoon of infantry for me. There’s a Magna warehouse on this side of Glasstown. I need them to march double over there and confiscate a thousand pieces of sightglass.”

“You’re going to start your command by confiscating godglass from the Magna? That’s an … interesting choice.”

“Supi won’t be the last Inner Assembly member I piss off over the next few days. Give the Ironhorns two hours’ rest. We’ll let Jorfax’s glassdancers get ahead of us to eliminate those scouts, and then we’re taking as many barrels of powder as we can get our hands on and heading south.”

Tadeas gazed back at him doubtfully. “You said the Ironhorns.”

“Yes.”

“And everyone else, right?”

“I’ll bring the fresh cavalry,” Demir told him, “but no, I want the rest of the army to have a day to recuperate.”

“You want to take three battalions – a thousand cavalry and five hundred combat engineers – to oppose thirty thousand enemy soldiers?”

“We’re not going to oppose anything,” Demir replied. The plan was mostly formed in his head, daring, dangerous, and perhaps stupid. He could round out the remaining details on the march. “We’re going to attack her.”