A Perverted Path to Victory

Sara

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Lit by a single crystal set haphazardly on the table and the skies of an overcast night, the interior of the tent was dark and musty. Pipe smoke swirled above Sara’s head, fouling her nose with its not-quite-tobacco scent, and she pretended not to care about the noxious smell. There was only one person of five smoking a pipe, but they’d all been in the small tent for hours, not even opening the flap to let fresh air in.

Perched upon her lap, Evie was doing a far better job of not caring about the pipe. She was too engrossed in her work, leaning far enough forward that Sara had to keep a hand on her stomach to keep her from falling. She was moving markers on a map with a sly grin, occasionally summoning her rapier to poke pieces on the farthest portions of the table. Evie hadn’t noticed that the others present, watching her summon her rapier in a reverse grip, choked up on the blade, or so the very tip of its blade was pinched between her fingertips, were both intrigued and intimidated by her mastery of its summoning. She was too engrossed in her work to care.

The other three people in the room were of varying degrees of familiarity to Sara. Most well-known was the man directly across from her: Lieutenant Siongh, who remained one of the only middle-ranking Imperial officers to regularly and openly disagree with Sara’s suggestions. The second was Rotha Seng, the kineticist mage that was fascinated by gunpowder artillery, despite the fact that it had made her life’s work obsolete overnight. The third was least familiar to Sara, at least as far as her direct contact with the woman was concerned. She’d met Seya at the recent party, where she’d introduced herself as one of Lieutenant Siongh’s lifelong friends. She was only a sergeant, but she was an up-and-coming prospect, expected to see promotion before long.

None of them were looking at her, however. All eyes in the room were on a table large enough that there was barely enough room for the chairs that were placed around it. A topographical map of fictionalized terrain had been draped across it, carved wooden rectangles dotting its imaginary landscape. With his chin resting atop his folded hands, Lieutenant Siongh studied the table, a dark expression on his face. His two companions occasionally whispered in his ear, speaking quietly enough that even Evie couldn’t hear them.

It was a wargame, naturally. Ever since Sara had told Evie about them, back before the first invasion of Tulian, her wife had been obsessed with them. Once her dad got to the world, Evie’s interest in the entire concept of boardgaming had been turbo-charged. Sara’s dad had been more than happy to indulge her.

Much to Sara’s regret.

Thanks to her dad’s knowledge corrupting Evie, they were now playing a modified version of the Prussian Army’s Kriegspiel, which apparently was, according to her dad, the literal first ever wargame. Rather than having a bunch of complicated rules for different scenarios, it had a few very simple ones, relying heavily on an impartial umpire to declare how certain actions would resolve themselves. Right now, Evie was that umpire, with Sara and Lieutenant Siongh squaring off.

It wasn’t anywhere close to a fair fight. There were a lot of reasons why, but the first was simple: Sara was the Champion of Amarat, and she could see her opponent’s face right in front of her. He was fucked. There was no way he could ever surprise her, and she spent most turns waiting impatiently for him to finish agonizing over the decisions she already knew he’d make. The other reason it wasn’t fair was more direct, however:

Evie was a biased motherfucker.

She clearly didn’t see any point in giving Sara an easy time of things. Siongh had started with an army three times the size of Sara’s, in a better position, with better provisions and less exhausted troops. It also had seemed like, as the game went on, Evie was mentally using a ruleset that heavily favored the power of Warriors over muskets and rifle fire. That meant the Imperial Blackpowder Army under Sara’s command was constantly getting chewed up by squadrons of Warriors that represented their worst-case projections for how muskets would fare against enchanted soldiers in the open field. Siongh had every advantage, and if it wasn’t for Sara’s Blessings letting her all but read her opponent’s mind, she would have lost in the first few turns.

As it was, they were roughly equal. Sara was just barely clinging on, and that fact was frustrating Siongh to no end. He was beginning to make mistakes out of impatience, and his pseudo-advisors were recognizing that, cautioning him to slow down and let his numbers whittle Sara’s army away. He wasn’t heeding their advice. After her artillery had kept shredding his heavy units every turn, he was getting tunnel vision, throwing more and more troops against her best-defended positions in an effort to reach the big guns.

While that was going on, however, the five of them were still holding a conversation. Despite the frustration bubbling out of the miniature war on the tabletop, a few drained beers and some mild conversational wrangling from Sara had kept the evening’s tone relatively light.

“Are you certain your mercenaries could travel such vast distances? Moving ten Li a day is beyond anything an army has achieved in the course of this war.”

Sara wanted to roll her eyes at Rotha’s question. Not because it was an unfair one, but because she continued to insist on using a form of distance measurement that was considered antiquated even in the Empire. Thankfully Sara had been the one to start with the claim that the Powdered Lead could cover fifty miles a day on their bikes, so she didn’t have to embarrass herself by asking Evie to do the conversion math.

“On roads like these, in a group of only four hundred and fifty or so? Yeah, I’m sure.” Sara half-watched Evie resolve the turn, plucking away or adjusting the pieces as she deemed appropriate. “Bikes are great. We can only carry so many supplies with us, but with a few people hauling those little wagons we had the army’s carpenters make, it’ll be more than enough to cover us for a week or more.”

“And what of the return trip? As you almost certainly will have wounded, how will you carry them?”

“By any means necessary.” Sara leaned forward, still holding onto Evie, and began to push her pieces around. She was on the defensive, so she only really had to worry about pulling weakened units off the front to be replaced with her almost-depleted reserves. “We’ll throw ‘em over our backs, make carts for them, or fuck off into the jungle to let them recover if we have to. But I don’t anticipate we’ll need to do all that. Not if General Borek sends some proper healers with us.”

“You don’t have a guarantee of that yet,” Seya reminded her. “This is a risky venture, and healers are a high-priority target for the enemy. Your practice of taking them directly into battle will be a hard sell for General Borek.”

I’m the Champion of Amarat, dumbass. I could sell water to a fish.

Sara didn’t voice that thought, which she liked to imagine would make Evie proud once she learned of the display of self-control. And Sara was definitely going to brag about her later, because holding back her snark 24/7 these last few weeks was about the hardest thing Sara had ever done. She needed whatever positive reinforcement she could get her hands on.

“I think he’ll approve,” she said instead. “So long as we can prove the plan’s viability, at least. Which I think shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Probably not,” Lieutenant Siongh muttered under his breath, most of his attention on the game board. “Mercenaries aren’t common in Imperial armies for a reason. A thoroughly lacking reputation for bravery is one of them.”

It was an insult against Sara, and it had been intended as one. Lieutenant Siongh still didn’t think highly of her. Discovering that the Chosen of the Gods was a crass, perverted, and bitter son of a bitch had been deeply harmful to his worldview, and he was still in the midst of taking it out on her. Despite that, he had enough sense left to him that he didn’t just ignore or outright avoid her. Sara was trying her best to give the bastard slack, all things considered. She probably wouldn’t have been all that happy to bump elbows with a living, breathing, walking and talking insult to her ideology either. He was going through some shit.

“The plan is simple and effective,” Evie said as Sara finished her turn. She kept an eye on Siongh while he kept moving his pieces, making sure he didn’t break any rules. It was a lot of work for one person to do, since turns occurred simultaneously, but she was more than up to the task, as proven by the fact she could still keep an active role in the conversation. “Imperial scouts have been unable to penetrate the rebel screen in order to ascertain the cause for their army’s pause. As the only force in the world with the ability to travel in excess of fifty miles per day, the enemy will be unprepared for the Powdered Lead’s five hundred troops to shatter their paltry defenses, perform reconnaissance in force, and subsequently disappear. General Borek would be a fool to think otherwise.”

“It’s still an incredible risk, isn’t it?” Rotha asked. She was a veteran combat mage, but she still possessed an earnestness to her that could almost be mistaken for naivete. Sara respected that about her, and wished the mage wasn’t such a staunch opponent of the ongoing anti-nobility reforms. “The Powdered Lead are this army’s artillery experts and primary trainers. While the intelligence you might gather is valuable, your loss would be devastating.”

“Don’t intend to die, y’know,” Sara said. Evie had placed a board across the middle of the game field, simulating a general’s inability to see everything their enemy was doing. Sara did her best not to cheat with her Blessings. “General Borek will trust us to have proposed a plan we think we can pull off.”

“Why do it, though?” Seya countered. “What’s in it for you? You going to demand bonus pay or something?”

Seya was, if not quite as overtly hostile as Siongh, still marching to the same beat. She didn’t like Sara and the Powdered Lead at all. She just recognized that they were useful.

“No bonus pay,” Sara said. “Just first-place looting rights for the next big battle. I want as many of my soldiers equipped in enchanted armor as possible, and that’s not easy when there’s only five hundred of us in an army of thirty thousand.”

“Hm. Not sure if he’ll buy that.”

Do you think I have some fuckin’ ulterior motive for wanting to go fight the enemy on your behalf, lady? Sara let an inkling of her irritation show on her face, waited until Seya noticed it, then wiped it away. I want to know what those bastards are doing, too. That’s enough. Not everything is a damn conspiracy theory.

Of course, Seya was probably right to be suspicious. This entire meeting, from the close confines to the fact that it had run hours past when she and Evie had originally said it would end, was entirely a political fabrication. Sara was doing as she’d promised her dad: putting her back into manipulating the upper level of Imperial politics. Rotha was already a player, and Siongh would probably end up an important figure in the army over the next few years. Evie had instructed Sara to get them both in the palm of her hand, and to make sure that they didn’t even know it had happened. So yeah, Seya was right to be suspicious. Just not smart enough to figure out where the rat she smelled was hiding.

The game continued on for another hour, eventually concluding, predictably, in Siongh’s victory. He didn’t walk away happy, however. Sara had inflicted more than twice her numbers in casualties, leaving his forces in a state of ruin. She’d lost, but if he’d been a general conducting that battle for real, he probably would have been stripped of his command. There was no excuse for nearly losing an open-plains assault against an enemy army less than a third your size.

Except for facing a Chosen, I guess. He probably would have been smart enough to leverage that to keep his career.

Sara finished the night’s occasion with a few more compliments, a couple of jabs, and getting just handsy enough with Evie that it made everyone else uncomfortable. A good day’s work, all in all. The three people she’d met with thought they’d manage to scrape up a bit of Sara’s precious time and leverage it into useful intel about what she was planning, and Sara got to stick her fingernails just a couple inches deeper into their brain matter. It wouldn’t be long before she was more in control of their political careers than they were, and they’d never notice the change.

“How late is it?” Sara asked Evie as they emerged from the tent.

“Perhaps an hour after midnight, I believe.”

Sara groaned as they began walking back to their own part of the camp. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Oh, man. If Hurlish is up, she’s gonna be so pissed.”

“It was a productive evening, however.”

“Like she cares,” Sara snorted. “I told her I’d be spending more nights at home, remember. Not like she’s forgotten that.”

Evie made a noncommittal noise as if unconcerned, but she did hurry her steps. Sara followed along with her, eager to get back to their tent, silently hoping that Hurlish had already gone to bed. She had to force down a few yawns as she went, blinking the weariness from her eyes, but she did think they’d gotten some good work done. Hopefully Hurlish would agree.

Judging by the crossed arms of the seven foot tall shadow darkening the exterior of their tent, they had no such luck.

“Hey, babe-” Sara started.

“Get inside,” Hurlish rumbled.

“Okay,” Sara said, because she wasn’t stupid.

She and Evie half jogged their way into the tent, though they were careful not to make too much noise as they passed Keo’s tent. Through her Blessings tuning into Evie’s ears, Sara could hear the little kid snoring away in there, exhausted as could be. Adorable.

Sara started to turn around as she entered the tent, stretching.

“I’m sorry for showing up late. We had a-”

Iron clicked into place around her neck, collar flashing as it sealed itself against her skin. She felt the tingling connection of her mind linking itself to Hurlish, the band on her wife’s wrist helping form the bond.

“Oh. Uh, are we-”

“Get on the bed and give me a cock,” Hurlish said, shoving Sara forward.

Her wife’s surprisingly stern expression was reflected in the collar’s flash. Then Sara was forced to turn away, compelled into spine-tingling obedience by the collar.

Don’t think she liked me staying up late, did she?

Behind her, Hurlish grunted another order.

“Bigger.”

Oh, no.

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