A Perverted Path to Victory

Evie

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She found herself sprinting toward Graf, moving so quickly her collection of flintlock pistols were nearly flung from their holsters. Graf smiled kindly at her, hands still folded behind his back.

“As soon as I heard that you had founded the Powdered Lead, I made a note to–”

She interrupted Graf by crashing into his chest, their breastplates filling the air with a piercing clang. Her arms wrapped tight around him, holding him close.

“I-” Graf tried to take a step back, but he only dragged her with him. “Ah. Well, then.” She felt his arms tentatively unfold, then slowly wrap around her in turn. It was the first time she had known the great Graf Urs to be at an utter loss, completely taken aback.

It wasn’t as if he were inhuman, however. Just… unused to this behavior from Evie. She could not blame him. She hadn’t expected it herself. She held him close, and he held her. Evie… Evie could not remember another person save her wives who she had embraced like this. Who she had been embraced by.

After a time, he leaned down a touch, speaking quietly.

“They’ve been good for you, haven’t they?”

Evie kept her cheek pressed to his steel-clad chest. Graf’s arms slid over her shoulders, one palm gently patting her back. The ring on his middle finger made a tink-tink-tink noise as it tapped the buckle of her cuirassier’s plate.

She released him, stepping away.

Then, in a fit of inspiration, one spawned by the many movies Sara had been showing her, she drew her arm back.

And slapped him.

Graf raised his eyebrows as her palm bounced off his cheek. His skin had not so much as rippled. She shook her hand out as she clenched and unclenched it, swearing quietly. That had hurt.

“You were present for the entire battle?” She demanded. “And you did not make me aware? Does the Empire know you are present?”

“Which Empire?”

“The one that has hired the Powdered Lead, of course,” Evie scoffed. She scanned her surroundings, searching for General Borek. “My employer will be coming to inspect their prize soon enough. If they don’t know you are here…”

“I did not warn them, but I suspect they are already aware. They have mages in their retinue, and I am not a difficult man to notice.” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together with a kindly smile. “Now, tell me of your first battle.”

“You said you were watching, were you not?”

“I was. But I wish to hear your account of it. Learning of a commander’s own reasoning is perhaps the best way to gain a proper understanding of the strategies on display.”

Evie opened her mouth, happy to begin answering, but then held her breath.

“First, I must see to Mui,” she said, turning to the catfolk man.

“Of course,” Graf said agreeably, making way. “After I saw him get struck, I found this healer among the Imperial forces. He seemed to be an important member of your staff.”

“Of a sorts.”

Evie knelt next to Mui, inspecting his wounds for herself. The healer had the dark skin of an Imperial native, and she was focusing with a quiet intensity on her work. Evie wondered what the woman had thought, when a strange northern man had suddenly demanded she follow him to an injured soldier.

Likely very little, she decided. Healers were rarely disinterested in plying their god-given trade. The woman did barely more than flick her eyes up at Evie’s approach before returning her full attention to her patient.

Mui’s wounds were no longer life-threatening, not after the aid of a potion and healer, but they had started that way. Two bullets had torn lines up Mui’s right arm, leaving deep, unnatural grooves in the flesh. He wouldn’t have much use of his arm without healing, but that was by far his lesser concern, practically superficial next to the damage further up. A lead ball had caught him between his shoulder and neck, diving in at a shallow angle to collide with his clavicle, shattering a chunk of the now-exposed stretch of ivory white. The ball had then ricocheted upward to make its exit from his upper back, tearing an eerily symmetrical valley from his flesh. While it appeared to have missed most vital arteries, the initial gush of blood she had seen would have shortly led to his death if not for the potion she had forced down his muzzle. That potion had stemmed the tide of crimson only enough that she had felt confident leaving him alone for the brief period required to deal with the ambush.

As Evie watched, the missing piece of his collarbone began to regrow, lines of golden spiderwebs building a latticework over the empty space. Shining white bone began to spread from within the hollow spaces of light, floating weightlessly in midair. There was a small click every time one of their creeping edges met one another, steadily creating a case around what had been missing. Evie noted that none of his skin or musculature was being regrown at the same time. Sara’s studies of the merits of surgery vs healing had shown that most healers wasted considerable energy by treating every wound simultaneously, driven as they were to end their patient’s pain as soon as possible. That this woman was avoiding the error meant she was intelligent, experienced, and most importantly of all, at least in Evie’s estimation, calloused. She stared at the healer’s face, taking a moment to commit it to memory in case her services would be needed later.

That done, Evie put a hand on Mui’s good shoulder. The catfolk’s eyes twisted open, his breath coming in shallow, barely controlled gasps.

“Are you injured anywhere else?” She asked.

“My arm only.” He swallowed. “I… I think.”

“Good. I don’t believe this ambush was an assassination attempt, but I still would like you back on your feet and in our camp as soon as possible. Collect some of the reserve as guards, under my authority.”

To his credit, Mui managed a weak chuckle. “Until you said that… I hadn’t ever considered that I would be the target of assassination.”

“To the enemies of my wife, you are a distant fourth priority. I don’t believe you need to concern yourself overly with the notion. Still, a fourth priority is more than almost any other in this army can claim.” Evie frowned, social arithmetic running through her head. “We should force General Borek’s hand in order to requisition you a set of enchanted armor. You may not be formally important enough to justify the expenditure, but I am certain Sara and I can establish a series of owed favors within the Imperial military hierarchy which will allow us–”

“I need… no such thing,” Mui said, forcing the words through his clenched teeth. “Let some Warrior who is in the thick of battle… take that armor. If this was not an assassination attempt, there is no reason to protect me above others.”

Sara’s favor is more than enough reason, was what Evie wanted to say, but she held her tongue. She knew most people wouldn’t enjoy being viewed as little more than an expensive trinket on her wife’s desk. True, she did value Mui’s life for reasons beyond Sara’s entanglement with him, but… she would be lying if she claimed her wife’s theoretical reaction to his death wasn’t her primary concern.

Mui was in too much pain to argue the point. He blinked slowly, blowing out a tense breath. “For now, I will do as you suggested… and move to the camp as soon as I am healed.” He turned his eyes to the healer, wisely unwilling to twist his neck. “Thank you for your aid, ma’am. I have known many healers who treated lesser wounds of mine while causing me a great deal more pain than you are now.”

The woman offered nothing more in response than a distracted grunt, never looking away from her work.

Yes, Evie decided, I will remember her face.

Evie rose to her feet, stepping aside to face Master Graf once more. She waved for the Powdered Lead to give them space while she also gained some distance from Mui and the healer.

The months that had passed since she last saw Graf had produced no change to his countenance. He was still the same old man, his patchy beard and thinning hair white as snow. He had the same frown lines, the same smile lines, all of them wrapped within the wrinkles of hard-fought age. Depending on which biographer one trusted, Master Graf was soon to be eighty-one or eighty-two, and he showed every one of those years across his twisted and gnarled body.

He also showed the signs of how he had spent that long life. His thin, sun-spotted skin was wrapped around a frame of sleek, cabled muscle. The few humans Evie had met of a similar age to Master Graf were trembling, weak, mumbling old fools. If she hadn’t ever met her swordsmanship tutor, she would have thought all elderly were like that. But here Master Graf was, standing before her in unenchanted steel that weighed fifty pounds, his burden worsened by the overstuffed pouches on his belt and heavy shield strapped across his back. His posture was straight, his footing firm, and his eyes were as piercingly alert as they had ever been.

Graf Urs, Evie had often heard the Night’s Eye boast, was a man who had not yet reached his prime.

“You said you wanted to hear the commanding officer’s account of the battle?” Evie asked, recovering a fraction of her normal decorum. “Then why are you speaking with me?”

“It has been months since we spoke over more than letters,” he replied. “Why would I want to speak with anyone else?”

“I’m glad to see you as well, Master Graf, but if you wish to learn of the battle’s strategies, I expect you’ll have more success speaking to Sara or General Borek.” She looked out at the ruined remains of the fort, sniffing disdainfully. “What little strategy was involved, anyway.”

“Don’t discredit your victory,” Graf said sternly. “I have met more than my fair share of fools who could easily squander an advantage like yours. When victory is assured, the essence of strategy lies in minimizing one’s losses.”

“You know, Sara’s world had a famous text full of little quotes like that. It was called the ‘Art of War,’ and as I understand it, the book was some sort of collection of vague truisms and catchy pieces of advice regarding battle. Two thousands years after its scribing, it is still being studied by aspiring military officers. You could certainly write something of equal merit, if not greater.”

“Perhaps I should,” Graf said, chuckling. “Someone will have to keep all those spoiled noble brats in line when I am gone. Perhaps my words will harry them from beyond the grave.”

Evie’s ears twitched at that. Even when Master Graf was among friends and speaking casually, such a direct insult to the nobility was not something he normally dared. She spent a short time contemplating how best to tease the clues out of him, wondering which particular phrase might influence him to speak further on the topic.

Then she thought of how Sara would handle the situation.

“What does that mean? Has the tension between the Night’s Eye and the Upper Nobility not eased, then? Our sources have told us that the King was quietly irate with your decision to pursue firearm development, and that many Nobles have been slowly drawn into the debate. I wasn’t aware that tensions had risen to the point you would openly insult their station.”

Graf froze for a half second, like a startled deer. Then he smiled slightly, shaking his head.

“Do you know how often I find myself wishing you’d paid less attention to your tutors, dear?”

“I was as diligent a student as I could be. No matter how much I despised my mother, only a fool would squander access to the Kingdom’s best and brightest.”

“Most young girls are fools, Evie.” Graf took a deep breath through his nose, held it for a count of two, then blew it out, shaking his head. “But no, I am sorry. The tension you speak of does exist, but it has not festered to the degree my errant comment might have suggested. I simply have grown… less reserved, I think. It’s my old age, I assume. Things like that come too easily to my tongue these days.”

“Mm,” Evie hummed, disappointed. Though Sara was horrified by the thought of a Sporaton civil war, thinking only of the peasants which might get caught in the churn of battle, Evie was privately praying for it. Tulian’s situation would be far more secure if their greatest foe was busy stabbing themselves in the gut.

“But come now,” Graf said, changing the topic. “I didn’t travel all this way to discuss my own life. I came to discuss yours! How fared your first battle?”

“Again, you seem to think I was in command. I was not.” Evie glanced at the nearby mercenaries, assuring herself they had politely retreated out of earshot. “If you weren’t aware, my command of the Powdered Lead is wholly symbolic, to avoid establishing the precedent of Tulian’s Governess being in possession of a private military force. In all actuality, Sara is in charge. I offer only occasional pieces of advice to her and General Borek, who were the true architects of this battle.”

Graf cocked an eyebrow. “And how often did they disregard your advice, if ever?”

“...I can’t recall an instance of them doing so. But I speak only when absolutely certain, and make sure to explain myself well. After all, it was you who taught me the proper way to communicate an idea to a superior officer without causing offense.”

Graf’s eyes twinkled, as if amused by a joke only he had heard.

“Of course, of course. You are an advisor only. And I would enjoy conversing with Sara, should she be willing. But still, seeing as I am already here, why not regale me with your thoughts on the battle’s progression? It was the Empire’s first deployment of firearms, and Tulian’s first major military engagement since your wife defeated me at the end of the war. There is much I want to learn.”

Evie took a breath to respond, shocked to find herself positively eager to have this discussion. It was an opportunity to relive the happiest memories of her youth, when she had spent hours reviewing her training with Master Graf.

But then the frustrating, unavoidable implications of Graf’s wording began to worm its way into her mind. When studied from a more cynical lens, this conversation could take on an entirely different light. She was speaking to Graf Urs, a loyal Sporaton mercenary. He was once considered a personal friend of the king, and was even technically a member of the nobility. Yet she had very nearly begun blithely sharing the details of both Tulian and Imperial military secrets with him. When they had last met face to face, Master Graf had made himself clear: no matter how much he disagreed with the King’s decisions, he would always be a subject of Sporatos.

“...you are an enemy of the Tulian state,” she said, her voice as sad as it was guarded. “And you are unfamiliar with the capabilities of our weapons and their tactics. If someone other than myself were to reveal such information to you, I would have them hanged for treason.”

Graf snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Evie. What are you worried about exposing? The capabilities of your twelve-pounder Napoleons and rifled muskets that you used today?”

“I-”

In a display that she immediately recognized as a mocking imitation, Graf began making a show of inspecting his fingernails, picking at each finger. Just as she had as a child.

“Or would the discussion somehow turn to the four 64-pounders you have recently installed in the North Star? Or perhaps you are concerned about divulging the secrets of the rifled 32-pounders your wife’s apprentices are developing in her absence, which will be the first deployed prototypes of breechloading, emcotton-powered cannons? Of course I wouldn’t expect you to divulge the secrets of whatever it is Tinvel and Chona have been spending their days doing with Archmage Garen in the lowest rooms of the Tulian University, nor the mechanism which drives the flight of the biplanes they created. I would be curious to see one fly, however, if you have one present. Particularly these ‘monoplanes’ I have begun to hear whispers of.”

Evie’s jaw clenched, her teeth audibly grinding. The joy she had felt for seeing Master Graf was being leeched away, replaced by simmering frustration.

“How many spies have you placed among our people?”

“Placed?” He flicked his wrist dismissively, returning his hands behind his back. “None. I simply never removed the agents which monitored Old Tulian. It would have been foolish in the extreme to leave southern Sporatos unguarded, no matter what the King said. Of course, I was only anticipating some minor warlords to emerge from the rubble, perhaps growing powerful enough to raid Sporaton villages, not…” He made a circling motion to indicate the general area. “All of this. Regardless, my dear, I do not think you need to worry that our conversation will be exposing secrets to your family’s enemies.”

Behind her cold eyes, Evie seized on one particular data point. That the spies Graf had in Tulian were remnants from Old Tulian, which fell ten years ago. Graf did not trust embedded work to younger individuals, viewing them too likely to ‘go native,’ and so they would have been twenty years old at the youngest when they were sent to Old Tulian. Given the decade since its fall, that put an absolute lower bound of thirty years old on her targets, with a fair likelihood of them being considerably older. Graf did not trust easily, and she doubted he found those who had gained his confidence often enough to cycle his agents frequently. If she read through records of Sporaton-Tulian relations to find the most recent period of heightened tensions between the Kingdoms before the storms, further suspicion could be cast upon those who had moved to the nation during that time.

“Have you told all this to the King?” Evie asked. “You know far more than even our greatest estimates of Sporaton intelligence.”

Even I don’t know what Tinvel and Chona are working on with Garen, she reflected privately. I thought they were only working on the planes. Perhaps Graf was misinformed, his source misled by routine lessons they attended? I will have to ask Sara later.

“To withhold information from the King is high treason,” Graf said, sarcasm dripping from the statement. “But to answer the spirit of your question?” He smiled coyly. “No. Simply put, the King hasn’t asked. It was determined long ago that it is impossible to have spies in the city of Amarat’s Champion. And I do not intend to volunteer the information. I told Sara that I would rejoice should her experimental government succeed, and I was not lying. I have no interest in sabotaging her efforts.”

Evie did her best to not let her relief show, but she felt a great wave of it, enough so that she threatened to sag in place. So many of Tulian’s strategies depended on what Sara called “shock and awe,” of taking their enemies by surprise. While Sara and David’s minds contained the designs of weapons capable of defending Tulian almost single-handedly, they were painfully hesitant to use them. The unnatural technological progress they could encourage in Tulian had its limits, and each step would inevitably be imitated. If they dragged the wider world to the precipice of their expertise, they would eventually find themselves facing weapons that were not just their equal, but their outright superior, wielded by massive armies and bolstered by powerful enchantments they had no chance of replicating. This was why they intended to stretch their technological development across years and decades, waiting long enough to allow Tulian’s population to swell, to allow for its spell and artificery industries to rival the great powers. Only then could they be confident in the nation’s long-term safety.

“Well?” Graf prompted. “Have I addressed your concerns? I hope so. I am growing impatient in my desire to hear the tale of your victory.”

Evie allowed herself a small sigh, easing the spring of tension that had coiled within her chest. She turned to the Powdered Lead mercenaries milling nearby and waved their sergeant over.

“Your squadron is dismissed to continue your duties,” she told him. “But if you find the opportunity, have some members of your squad bring up a table and chairs for Master Graf and I.”

“Is Sergeant Mui still in charge, ma’am?” He asked.

She glanced at the catfolk. He was doing better, but he was not in any condition to take command. Besides, she couldn’t be certain that hadn’t been an assassination attempt.

“No, but you are familiar with the mission parameters. It seems the worst of the Imperial offenses have tapered off, though that is a fragile statement. Guard the civilians below from Imperial retribution, if you would, and should the situation begin to spiral out of control, fire a shot into the air. I am near enough to reach you in moments.”

“Will do, ma’am,” he said, ducking his head. Then he hesitated.

“What? Out with it.”

“Just wondering if I should leave some of my squad behind as a guard for you, ma’am.”

“No. I am safe in Master Graf’s presence.”

“Not trying to insult any friend o’ yours,” the sergeant hurriedly assured her, holding his hands up placatingly. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I was more concerned about some rebel getting a funny idea and trying to knife you in the back or some such. Y’understand.”

Evie pursed her lips. “Allow me to clarify. It is due to Master Graf’s presence that I am safe. So long as he is with me, I have no need of protection. You are dismissed, Sergeant.”

The sergeant’s eyes flicked to Graf, wondering just who he was. He’d likely heard of the Night’s Eye, but that didn’t mean he knew a thing about their leader. The sergeant shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “Yes ma’am,” he said, saluting sharply. He turned away and began to bark orders.

Evie turned her attention back to Graf, who had watched the entire exchange with a small, proud smile.

“You have encouraged far more independence in your junior officers than I ever anticipated you would, dear.”

“While Sara’s ideas are at times frighteningly liberal, I cannot disregard the fruit they have borne in our military. Firearms have changed everything. The patient discipline and unthinking obedience which won the battles of yesteryear are now a death sentence. Officers who dogmatically follow orders end up overwhelmed and dead.”

“And do you believe this doctrinal change was responsible for today’s overwhelming victory?”

“No. The Imperial troops have proved maddeningly resistant to any of our more radical reforms. They were raised in a culture of absolute subservience, one perhaps even more extreme than Sporatos. I can barely convince them to fire at an enemy Irregular, much less put thought and effort into it. They seem convinced their shot’s failure is preordained.”

“But your mercenaries, then? They have benefited from your emphasis on independent action?”

“Certainly. But this battle required little initiative. With their rifles…” Evie paused, narrowing her eyes at Graf. “What is the range of the standard Tulian soldier’s infantry rifle?”

“Per government specifications, four hundred yards, though that number has proven in practice to vary by as much as twenty percent depending on the smithy responsible for an individual weapon’s construction. Hot Rifles, however, have been shown to maintain a shot deviation of three inches at 800 yards, well beyond the ability of most riflemen to spot a target. The personal work of Hurlish…” Graf shrugged. “I have never been able to uncover the performance of the weapons she creates. If you’ve a record of it somewhere, it’s unknown to me.”

Evie cursed under her breath. “You still are far too well informed. I cannot fathom how much I will demand in ransom for your spies when we finally catch them. A Duchy’s worth, to start the bidding. At least their work has made this conversation easier to have.”

“A duchy?” Graf laughed. “I am a wealthy man, my dear, but not that wealthy.”

“Don’t bother lying to me. My mother’s agents stole copies of the Night’s Eye account books, including your personal accountants. I have an inkling of how many Kings owe you debts and favors. But regardless, as I was saying, little initiative was required in this battle by the Powdered Lead. They remained beyond the range of enemy archers, picking off anyone who was left exposed as a result of the artillery fire. They essentially served the same role as a five-hundred strong company of Irregular longbows.”

“A fair enough analogy. I also noticed that your artillery encountered difficulty,” Graf said, nodding to the road the bronze weapons were currently being lugged down. “A considerable portion of the later shots were inaccurate.”

“We didn’t properly account for the jungle’s constraint of the smoke. We expected it to easily filter through the trees, but that didn’t happen.”

“And so you kept firing blindly?”

“Sara anticipated these difficulties, if only when we had a larger cannon battery, and had begun preliminary training of the artillery crews in the practice of receiving shot guidance from a forward observer.” Evie drummed her fingers on her thighs, still frustrated. “This was our first attempt to use the tactic in battle, and it proved woefully inadequate. Due to the forced proximity of the weapons on the jungle road, our observers could not identify which cannon fired which projectile, leading to repeated erroneous corrections, a series of errors which only compounded with time.”

“Then why did you not pause the firing to allow the smoke to dissipate?”

"To do so would have exposed a flaw in our weaponry. In order to break the morale of the enemy as soon as possible, it was critical to maintain psychological as well as physical pressure. If we’d had the positioning to do so, we would have kept firing the cannons even as the infantry advanced.”

“The expenditure of powder would be considerable with such a tactic.”

“Sara would use every ounce of blackpowder in the army’s stores if it meant saving the life of a single soldier.”

“Such affection is dangerous in a commander.”

“As I have told her many times.”

Evie’s soldiers chose that moment to return with a small table and two chairs. It was a simple wooden set, so flimsy that she wondered if they could hold the weight of Graf and his armor. She pointed for the soldiers to set the stolen furniture on a flatter portion of the twisting path, then moved to sit with Graf. He settled into his chair across from her with a relieved groan, stretching out his legs. The wood creaked and shifted, but did not snap.

“It is a relief to get off my feet.” He nodded to the Powdered Lead soldiers. “My thanks. I’m sure you had better things to do than bring an old man a chair.”

Unsure how to respond, the mercenaries just nodded awkwardly before beating a hasty retreat. Evie doubted the average Powdered Lead soldier knew much of Master Graf’s accomplishments, but they were not blind. Anyone who commanded as much respect from Evie as he did was someone exceptional.

“Now,” Graf said, pulling a rolled paper and nub of charcoal from a belt bag. “I noted several oddities throughout the battle that piqued my interest.”

The paper he unraveled was a near flawless sketch of the entire clearing across which the battle had occurred. It put the Imperial scout’s renditions to shame, and its scale claimed accuracy to the range of a single yard.

Graf pointed at the road. “As you deployed your troops, I noted that you used a-”

“Is this a Skill?” Evie interrupted.

Graf’s eyes went wide. “I beg your pardon?”

She snatched the map from him, inspecting it closely. “Even the Night’s Eye scouts don’t produce maps of this precision, and this is your handwriting. Yet I know for a fact that you have no talent for sketching.” She looked up at his aghast expression and rolled her eyes. “Sara was raised in a world which had no taboo regarding Skills, and her attitude has rubbed off on me. Besides, you are an old man. Is it not time that you pass your knowledge onto the younger generations, customs be damned?”

Master Graf ran a hand through his hair, laughing in disbelief.

“You truly have been changing, Evie. I can’t imagine the young girl I trained daring to ask me something a tenth as bold.”

“I am responsible for things I care far too much about these days. I cannot allow sentiment to be an obstacle.”

“I understand. Then…” Graf glanced at Mui and the healer, who were still somewhat nearby. He lowered his voice. “Yes, it is a Skill. Early in my career as a commanding officer, I eschewed a support staff as often as I was able. I found that producing my own maps of the upcoming battle was an excellent way to find a new perspective on the grounds, and this practice eventually earned me a Skill. It has since grown to the heights you see before you.”

“Hm.” Evie handed him back the paper. “Fascinating, but I doubt I will pursue a similar Skill, considering the technological advances we anticipate in the coming years. I apologize for the interruption. Please continue.”

“You aren’t going to elaborate on that cryptic comment about upcoming technology, are you?”

“No.”

“Of course.” Graf cleared his throat, pointing at the paper once more. “Your army’s choice to alternate their deployment from the road, one block of soldiers moving left, the next right, struck me as particularly strange. It produced notable gaps between each group of soldiers, risking the enemy sallying out to envelop individual groups…”

Evie listened intently as Graf began replaying the battle minute by minute, his recollection of the events even sharper than her own. As had always been his way, he did not overtly criticize any decision. He simply stated what had occurred, then asked her for an explanation. It was up to her, she knew, to identify any flaws in the strategies on display.

He was not training her on how to correct the specific mistakes she had made, but rather giving her lessons on how to analyze her own actions. Graf had no interest, he had always said, of creating a master of mere memorized strategies. Mercenaries were not soldiers who could rely upon facing the same tired old foes. A company like the Night’s Eye fought across desert dunes, snowy forests, and the winding warrens of city streets. Graf wanted officers who were masters of improvisation, able to adjust their tactics to any situation fate saw fit to drop in their lap.

Knowing this, Evie did her best to explain herself. Much of the battle’s progress had been out of her hands, but Master Graf did not budge an inch. He couldn’t care less about improving General Borek’s strategic skills. He cared only for her. If she tried to say that she had no choice in a particular decision, he would ignore her as if she’d never spoken. In this hypothetical retelling of the battle, Evie was its sole architect.

So she played along.

And it was wonderful.

When she had been secretly training with the Night’s Eye, Graf had only tutored her in the command of small Irregular squads. She’d had no interest at the time in becoming a general, and he’d respected that. Now that she was in command of far more troops, he easily pivoted his lessons, using the same rhetorical strategies he always had. It filled her with a strange, fuzzy warmness, an emotion that it took her some time to pin down and name.

Nostalgia.

She couldn’t recall another time when she had been caught by the sensation. Before Sara had put a collar around her neck, Evie’s past had been something… best left ignored. What few joys she’d known were always tainted by the dangling sword of her mother. Everything she’d enjoyed as a child, from her lessons with Graf to the few tutors she genuinely respected, had been another tool in the woman’s arsenal. If she misbehaved by the smallest of margins, she lost every privilege necessary to lead an enjoyable life. Until recently, that was all she had known.

But now? Now she could slouch forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table as she watched Graf trace lines on the parchment. She could interrupt him, ignore him, and scoff whenever she wanted. Graf never punished her for that, of course. He’d never punished her for anything. Only taught her what not to do.

And so she reveled in her recollection of the battle. She told Graf of the way they demolished the fortification’s gates first, then targeted the stretches of palisade which were on the flattest and easiest to traverse sections of terrain, trapping the enemy garrison within. She told him of the confidence they’d felt in their musket’s ability to break an enemy charge, and of the way they’d carefully husbanded each formation’s position, ensuring they were close enough to fire their weapons in volleys, but well beyond the reasonable range of bow shot. She lamented the inexperienced Imperial officers and their cowardice in the face of Irregular longbows, then praised the Powdered Lead sharpshooters and their ability to nullify the enemy’s lone effective weaponry. Evie shared her suspicion that, based on the enemy infantry’s failure to react to considerable injuries, the enemy garrison had been bolstered by a powerful healing mage who was casting a ritual spell capable of dulling the pain the troops had felt. She assured Graf that squads of the Powered Lead were even now combing the captured camp in search of the theoretical healer, each joined by a low-ranked Imperial mage in order to identify their target.

And as the conversation stretched on, well after Mui and the healer had departed, Evie began to grow suspicious of something. That Master Graf was not, in fact, treating this meeting as one between pupil and master. His questions grew less well-defined as they delved further into the particulars, his silences stretching longer. He listened attentively, and often spent a few moments gathering his thoughts before replying, choosing his words very carefully.

It was as if… as if Master Graf was treating her as an equal. Like he was feigning the notion that she had any valuable input she could provide him, as if she weren’t a meaningless figurehead, but a fellow general, and even more than that, a general which commanded his respect.

It discomforted her. She could only assume it was a ploy of some sort, a rhetorical strategy she was unfamiliar with… but still. She did not enjoy the idea that she had actually been in charge of the battlefield. She had barely fought, her only offensive action being the firing of a single shot from one of her guard’s Hot Rifles in order to take out an enemy mage. The idea that the battle had rested on her shoulders, that the ambitions of her wife had in any way depended on her expertise? It nauseated her.

Master Graf seemed to pick up on this. He retreated from discussing the more granular details of the battle, instead focusing on larger abstractions, asking after the burgeoning philosophy of gunpowder warfare. His own tests with the Night’s Eye were progressing well, he told her, but were always colored by the biases of soldiers who had spent decades in combat without the aid of blackpowder. He was fascinated by the perspective afforded to Evie by exposure to Sara’s upbringing, and, after she had briefly touched on her father-in-law’s Earthly historical interests, became almost obsessed with the idea of meeting David in person.

Evie was so engrossed in their conversation, in fact, that she did not notice the slow shift in the camp around her. Her eyes and ears were locked on Graf, his interest equally returned. She only became aware of it when the camp had gone almost silent, when she abruptly realized the dull roar of thousands of intermixing soldiers had vanished.

Evie glanced up.

Imperial soldiers lined the rim of the mining pit, muskets unslung from their back. They were arranged exactly as Evie and Sara had trained them: the first rank kneeling, the second rank standing, the third rank patiently waiting for the second rank to fire their weapons and duck out of the way. They were not aiming their weapons down at them, not yet, but they rested at their shoulders in the ‘ready’ position, prepared to hop into firing position at a single word from their officers.

“I was wondering when you would notice,” Graf said.

“How long have they been standing there?”

“No more than a minute or two. It seems they formed ranks out of sight, then advanced rapidly into position. It wasn’t the best-executed maneuver, fairly desynchronized, but competent enough, considering their low level of training. I think you’ve done good work with them.”

“Sara must be throwing a fit somewhere up there.”

“I’m sure she knows I’m with you. There’s nothing for her to worry about.”

“You seem to assume she would have a rational reaction to an army pointing its guns at me.”

“If she actually feared for your safety, I imagine we would be hearing gunshots, not timid silence.”

“True enough.”

Evie slipped out of her chair, standing with deliberate slowness. She didn’t want to spook any overeager soldier into firing a premature shot. She assumed a position of parade rest, feet shoulder width apart, her hands folded at the small of her back. Her tail flicked back and forth slowly, its tip drawing a wide oval in the air behind her.

Graf grunted as he stood as well, taking a more casual posture, one hand resting near, but not quite on, the hilt of his sword, the thumb of his other hand hooked through a belt loop.

High above them, at the northernmost section of the half-finished mine, the wall of soldiers parted. General Borek emerged from the crowd. His blacksteel glaive was held in both hands, the runes across his enchanted armor flared to life like she had never seen before, and his open-faced helm had been augmented by a steel mask carved in the image of what she thought was a younger version of his countenance. It was difficult to tell, because every mage in the army was standing behind him with their hands raised, maintaining layer upon layer of half-transparent shields. The officers and Warriors of the army stood in front of the mages and behind General Borek, their weapons drawn and their stances firm. Almost all of them had augmented their armor in some way or another, slapping on as much additional protection as they could fit without ruining their equipment’s flexibility.

“Graf Urs!” General Borek called. His thick-tongued command of the Continental language echoed unnaturally over the muddy pit, carried by sorcerous power. “What is your purpose here?”

“I came to bear witness to my pupil’s first battle!” Graf replied in flawless, unaccented Kemari, prompting a rumble of surprise from the army. His tone had the rasp of age, but his words were firm, and they carried easily across the distance even without spellcraft. “I have trained her since she was a girl, and wished to see the fruits of my labor with my own eyes.”

There was a pause as Master Graf’s words were absorbed by General Borek and his staff, some of them whispering to one another.

“Have you any proof of your peaceful intentions?” The general asked. “After what has occurred, I find it unlikely your arrival is mere coincidence.”

It was Graf’s turn to look away, glancing at Evie with an expression of mild confusion. She shook her head, unaware.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, General,” Graf called. “What event are you referring to?”

There was another flurry of discussion by General Borek’s advisors, many of whom Evie now knew by name. Her ears flattened as she watched their animated discussion’s progress.

She recognized just by the wild gesticulations of the advisors that they were offended by what they were already thinking of as Graf’s blatant lie. She could hear many of their voices in her mind clear as day, each of them haughtily scoffing at the very thought that Graf Urs being ‘unaware’ of something.

“They don’t believe you,” Evie informed Graf. She took care to speak in a way that moved her mouth as little as possible, certain that someone was reading her lips through a looking glass.

Graf only sighed. “Wonderful.”

The furious debate up on the ridge came to a sudden close as General Borek finally whirled on his advisors, pointing angrily at several of them in turn. There was a brief lull, and then the General said something that sent everyone in earshot into a frenzy. His Warriors, officers, advisors, and even a few lowborn attendants began to shout, throwing their arms up in the air or making pleading gestures to the General. He ignored them all by turning his back to them, sweeping his glaive in a wide, purposefully dramatic arc that ended with it settled across his back. He began walking down the mine’s switchback path, pausing only to turn his head and shout something that sent the Warriors who had begun to follow him scurrying back.

“Ah, he is coming to speak in person,” Master Graf said, sounding pleased. “It’s always easier to clean horseshit off my boots when I have a rag to wipe with.”

“I don’t know what you expected, when you came into their territory without permission. King Sporatos would nearly have considered it an act of war, if an Imperial archmage had appeared unknowingly within his borders.”

“Bah. Archmages do not serve as mercenaries. Having a Sporaton archmage in their territory would rightly concern them, but I am different. Not only that, Aydrion gave me a Writ of Travel himself, which they are surely aware of.”

“Aydrion…” Evie’s tail stilled. “Emperor Aydrion?”

“Yes.”

Before Evie could investigate why Graf had been given the right to travel across the Empire by the emperor himself, General Borek was drawing down upon them. He walked with determination, his gait measured, showing nothing of the terror Evie had seen in the few others who had confronted Graf Urs.

“Two hours ago,” General Borek began, even as he was still walking closer, “A beast broke through Distant Sea’s first outer lock.”

Graf stiffened beside Evie.

“Two hours ago,” General Borek continued, his voice turned tinny by his steel mask, “a Leviathan beached itself on the rocks of the Carrion capital.”

Graf shifted his feet. His right food slid the barest touch back, his left foot twisting to face forward. The thumb in his belt loop stopped tapping out a bored rhythm. General Borek came to a stop some twenty feet before Graf, his beady pupils nearly invisible beneath the eyeslits of his mask.

“Two hours ago,” he said, his jaw clenched so tightly his head was shaking, “every tide of every shore began to rise. In the lands of the nearest night, mages report that a star has disappeared, replaced by two more. Within our own libraries, letters and words have rearranged themselves on scrolls more ancient than the Empire, and even those who watched the text swim before their eyes cannot recall what they once said.”

“The world is changing. Any fool can see that.”

Borek took a deep, bitter breath, “Two hours ago, the Keakou Valleys were filled with fire. We have received no word from our watchtowers. They were destroyed. Every tower, gone.”

Graf’s hand twitched off his belt, fingertips brushed the hilt of his sword.

“If you are lying to me,” he growled, low words rolling like gravel in his throat, “the consequences will be dire.”

“I speak what I have been told. Disaster after disaster has begun to shake the world, and now? At the onset of this rising cataclysm, here you stand. Tell me, Aberration. Why should I not eject you from our forests this very instant? What calamity do you intend to draw down upon us?”

“You…” Graf took a deep, calming breath. “...should learn how to choose your words more carefully, General.”

General Borek tilted his nose up. “I speak the words given to me by Emperor Aydrion himself. You would not dare assault his Voice.”

A thunderclap detonated beside Evie’s head. Dirt and mud were thrown into the air like a meteor had struck the planet, a crater suddenly yawning open beneath her. She fell a half dozen feet before impacting the new floor, nearly breaking an ankle as she stumbled forward, face striking a dirt wall.

She waited several pounding heartbeats, trying to control her shaking limbs, then lifted her head. A mud-filled cough exploded out of her mouth, doubling her back over. When she could finally control herself, she opened her teary eyes.

Master Graf was standing over Borek’s armored form some fifty feet away, a steel mask crumpled in his palm. Enchanted runes sparked and popped as Graf’s fist tightened, filling the air with shimmering smoke. General Borek had been driven onto his back, blacksteel glaive drawn, its haft braced against the ground as if to repel a brigade of charging cavalry.

“You may tell Emeror Aydrion,” Graf said, staring down at General Borek, “that if he wishes to threaten me, he should not use gnats as his messengers. Especially those fool enough to think I can be cowed by their distant master.”

Graf dropped the mask. The magical artifact broke against the dirt, peeling apart as if it had been no sturdier than gold leafing.

Evie could not see the expression on Borek’s face, not from so poor an angle, but she could see his body’s response. It was… impressive. General Borek was not trembling, nor trying to crawl away. He held his glaive firmly before himself, ready to thrust with as much strength as he could muster from the awkward position he had fallen into. Evie wondered if he had been fast enough to retreat from Graf, or if he’d simply been driven that far back.

“You dare?” Borek spoke in so low a whisper that even Evie’s ears struggled to understand him. “The Emperor has called you to heel, and you dare defy him? Have you any idea what wrath you will incur?”

“Have you?” Graf reached into a pouch and pulled out a small square of stiff paper, covered in elaborate, glittering script, its edges tinged yellow by age. He flicked it at Borek’s chest, making the General flinch. “Is Aydrion’s word so unreliable these days? I wonder what his court would think, to see an Imperial Writ revoked after thirty measly years.”

“Don’t lie to yourself. Precedent has no place in what has happened. Mountain fall, stars vanish, and the hand of Graf Urs nears his sword. I have not just been ordered to see to your removal. I am duty-bound to ensure a calamity does not befall my home. I have every right to demand an explanation for your presence. No brutish threat will see me abandon this cause.”

“If that’s all you want,” a voice called, echoing unnaturally across the mine, “I can help you out.”

Evie turned to see Sara pushing her way through the wall of muskets, black hair cascading with unnatural grace over her elegant armor. After the battle, the gunfire, and a long march through deep mud, she should have been an exhausted, dirty woman. As was her nature, her beauty remained flawless. No one tried to stop her as she shuffled through the Imperial army.

Unlike Borek, who had slowly made his way down the trail, Sara simply hopped off each ledge, treating each switchback as one massive step. She had none of the decorum of the General; she looked like a bored child taking the stairs two at a time. Evie hurried to join Sara just as she stomped up to Borek, who was cautiously standing up once more. Sara stood before General Borek, arms folded over her chest, one hip cocked to the side. Her voice lost its unnatural volume as she spoke.

“Do you want to know why Graf’s here, Borek?”

“This matter does not concern you, Chosen-”

“He’s here to see his daughter.”

Evie, Graf, and Borek froze.

“She just fought her first battle, after all,” Sara said, ignoring them. “And she did a good job. Would you be surprised when a mother comes to her daughter’s coronation? Of course not. He’s spent years getting her ready for this, and now the moment’s finally here.”

General Borek was the first to recover his wits. “His child? The Eliah household’s lineage is well documented-”

“And his grandson, of course,” Sara interrupted, as if he’d never spoken. “Graf hasn’t met Tahn yet. Not to mention the fact that he’s barely spoken to his daughter’s other wife, the mother of his grandchild.” Sara’s voice suddenly leapt in volume to boom through the sky, easily heard by all. “He’s a busy man, yet he made time to do what was right by his family. And here you are, keeping him from that duty. I thought your people placed pride in honoring their kin, General Borek.”

General Borek’s face was at war with itself, religious devotion railing against furious indignation.

“By his own admission,” Borek said, biting each word off, “he has come to see a student. A former pupil.”

Sara snorted out a condescending laugh, letting the impossible roar fade from her lungs. “Yeah. Sure. A student. The girl he’s known from the day she was born, who he happily took under his wing against the personal orders of his Kingdom’s most powerful Duchess. The girl he choked out his own King to protect, and who he traveled almost a thousand miles to come see. Just a student, of course.”

“That does not change the fact that she is not his daughter-”

“Do you know how old the current rendition of the Imperial Code of Inheritance is? Because I do,” Sara sneered. “It was signed into law seven thousand six hundred and forty four years ago. And for those seven and a half thousand years, your Empire’s law has ruled that adopted children should, if the adopting parents order it, be considered identical to a blood relation in all matters of law.”

If he hadn’t had fur to hide his skin, Evie imagined General Borek’s face would be scarlet with fury.

“Imperial inheritance has nothing to do with this! The world has been thrown into crisis, and the Aberration stands within our borders. That is all that matters.”

Sara’s lips split in a twisted, predatory grin. Evie took a reflexive step forward, shooting her wife a meaningful look. She tried to shove her thoughts into Sara’s head, willing her not to compromise their position. Graf was not in danger. Evie was not in danger. Evie did not understand the undercurrent of the two aged generals’ discussion, but she knew that it was so far beyond her and Sara that it was nigh incomprehensible. There was nothing here worth compromising Tulian’s alliance with the Empire. With silent, pleading eyes, she begged Sara to reign in her anger.

If Sara noticed her begging, she did not show it.

“Here’s the thing, General Borek. I know when people are lying. Always. And Graf Urs? He’s telling the truth. He’s here to see Evie. There is nothing else to concern yourself with.”

“Have you any evidence of that?” General Borek glanced between Sara and Graf, swallowing. Evie did not envy him his position; trapped between the edict of an ancient Emperor, a Champion’s divine will, and Graf Urs. “I cannot allow his continued presence without proof. Too much has happened in too short a time, too many disasters unfolding to blame coincidence. If he acts against our Empire, neither the Emperor nor the gods would ever forgive me. I could not forgive myself.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “Really? Graf’s that big of a deal that my word isn't enough for you?”

“Yes.”

Sara shook her head. Evie wanted to say something, wanted to advise her wife, but she couldn’t think of anything. The tension was overwhelming.

“Graf.”

“Yes?”

“Look me in the eye.”

He met her gaze.

Sara flinched, wincing at something only she could see in Graf’s eyes, but didn’t look away. She took a breath, steeling herself, then met his gaze more evenly.

“What is your purpose in visiting Imperial territory?”

“To bear witness to Evie’s first battle, and to discuss certain matters of personal relevance with her and her wives.”

“Are these personal matters a threat to this army or anyone in it?”

“No.”

Sara turned to Borek. “He is telling the truth. I swear this by all the power the Goddess Amarat has given me, and ask that she strike me dead where I stand if I am wrong.”

Evie and General Borek both let out a small gasp. Sara had not said that she should be struck down if she was lying; only if she was wrong. If she had read Graf’s intentions incorrectly, if he had successfully duped her, she would have offered herself up for annihilation.

Nothing happened. No bolt of lightning ripped out of the clear sky, no pit to the hells opened beneath her feet, and she was not perfunctorily erased from the world without warning.

“That good enough for you, Borek?”

The vanara man ground his teeth. He looked up at his advisors, then back to Sara.

“It is enough to… to delay. There are factions and powers at work here that you do not understand-”

“I doubt that.”

“-and I am constrained by many, many things.” General Borek looked at Graf. “You will act peacefully during your time in our lands?”

“I have no plans of doing otherwise at the moment.”

“I need more than that.”

“You will not get it.”

“Shit,” General Borek spat, reaching up to scratch his furry cheeks with both hands. Evie’s eyebrows rose. She had not heard the man swear outside of battle before, much less so obviously lose his composure. “There is too much happening too quickly. I need to speak to my family, to my allies, and the Visyas need to form a council as rapidly as possible. The Emperor has summoned the Adjutant- both Adjutants- to the capital, and so we are without leadership.”

“Fascinating,” Graf drawled. “Am I free to go?”

General Borek scowled at him. “Yes. Go do whatever it is that you were here for. I’ve put on my performance, and they will have to be satisfied with that. It’s not as if I ever thought this army could kill you. If any of my enemies within the camp attack you, I ask that you kill them quietly, and that you send a messenger to inform me as soon as possible.”

“Is anyone stupid enough to do that?” Sara asked.

“They shouldn’t be, but I have yet to see the height of mortal idiocy. I ask that you stay close to Graf these next few hours, Sara. My guards will be too busy attempting to keep this blaze from becoming a wildfire to protect you.”

“She has me,” Evie said.

“And you are one woman. Regardless…” Borek searched his belt for something, then swore. “I must leave. Sara, your Powdered Lead will best be-”

“They’re not in the camp.”

“What?”

“We have confiscated the fort’s logging equipment in order to begin the construction of a cordon several miles down the road, to better imprison the civilians until a ransom can be negotiated.”

She is building them a makeshift fort to protect them from Imperial retribution, Evie’s mind translated. So that was what Sara had been doing with the distraction provided by Graf’s appearance. She’d snuck thousands of civilians out from under the noses of an entire army.

“We will discuss that later, I assure you,” Borek snapped. “Goodbye.”

Borek tore off without another word, heading back up the paths. His advisors began to spill down into the mine, hurrying to meet him halfway.

“Hm,” Evie hummed, watching Borek go. “The Imperials are not as united as they prefer to present, it would seem.”

“They did a good job hiding it, though,” Sara said. “Based on what I’ve heard the last couple hours, the Adjutant allowed Borek to stuff this army full of people that are personally loyal to him, then told them to shut the hell up about any internal rivalries. Didn’t want to give us a bad impression, I guess.”

“Surely they knew you would easily discover the ruse.”

Sara shrugged. “Worked for a few weeks. I can give ‘em credit for that, even if it was half because I wasn’t bothering to dig until today.” She turned to Graf. “So. How have things been in Sporatos?”

“Tiring as always. So far, this trip has been a pleasant diversion.”

“Didn’t seem like it.”

“I do not enjoy politics, but I find them much less stressful when I am not honor-bound to avoid violence against the politicians involved.”

“Fair enough.” Sara took a deep, satisfied breath, putting her hands on her hips. “So. Want to go meet the chick that invented guns in this world?”

“Hurlish of Tulian, you mean?”

“Yeah. She’s got Tahn with her, too.”

Graf smiled. “I would love to.”

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