“Okay, this is the way I see it.” Calvin took a deep breath to weigh all the possible ways this could go. That vast majority of them ended up with at least a significant portion of his company dead.

“The best solution to this situation is…”

Is..?

Calvin forced the words out.

“Is to abandon the fort, take an escape tunnel and head back to Uleis with the Cobalts in tow…and play the long game like Kala and Nadia suggested. When they don’t get any resistance from me, they won’t have any excuse to hold Kala, and they’ll let them go.”

I don’t see why that has to be the case. Kala is tougher than she looks, being a royal, and the rest of them…Eh. I think you could cause enough damage by yourself to cause the entire army to retreat at least, especially if they can’t find you.

“You probably knew this, but I don’t really have a standard metric for how how good I’m doing as a commander, so I kind of guess based on battles won weighed against how many of my men are alive and happy. This seems like it would blow that ratio out the bottom.”

Maybe, but do you really need men? You’ve got Calvinian Summoning.

Calvin stopped and blinked at Elliot’s shortsightedness.

“It seems fairly obvious, but I need to sleep sometime, and despite my ability to cause extreme amounts of damage, I can’t be in two places at once. Somebody’s got to administer my kingdom for me. No sense wasting good soldiers with friendly fire.”

But look at all that Warp. Can you afford not to take your sixth Break when it’s sitting there for the taking?

Calvin glanced out at the distant fires of the enemy camp, nearly on top of one of his emergency exits that lead northeast.

“Depends on what it’ll cost me.”

Think. They took my company and Kala because they know it was me. That means they’re expecting a response from me. The guard on Kala and my men will be heavy. Even if I infiltrate the camp, the chances of getting to them will be slim. If I unleash my plan of attack, my company will be right in the thick of the slaughter.

Wish I could be in two places at once….dupdomancy doesn’t last long enough, and the copies can’t use Bent based skills.

Calvin stopped. He didn’t have to be in two places at once, he just needed to lure a big enough portion of the army away from his own and slaughter them.

Calvin held the lantern over the map of the fort and its surrounding lands, complete with Calvin’s traps and tunnels.

From a far enough distance, a fleeing army looked like a big plume of dust on the horizon. Calvin mentally overlaid the approaching army on the map, a big, angry brown blob.

They were approaching from the northeast, so…. Calvin followed his escape tunnel that led west Northwest. Far enough away, I’ll bet.

“How about this?” Calvin asked aloud. “Around dawn, I summon a thousand or so palm sized knick-knacks whose only job is to head northwest and toss sand into the air while they do so. See if I can lure them into a trap.”

“Are you talking to me, or yourself?” Grant asked. “Cuz I notice you seem to be in the habit of doing that.”

“Talking to you.”

Grant scowled as he inspected the map, before looking out at the dizzying array of tiny cookfires made of desert Guar patties.

“You’re only gonna get one shot at a surprise attack. Either double down on the destruction or run. Don’t try to half ass it. There’s bound to be at least a handful of Legends in the enemy army with enhanced senses, and they’ll be on to your tunnels as soon as you use one of them to attack. The best bet for maximum damage is to retreat to the tunnels, wait until tomorrow night to strike, about an hour before dawn. That’s when the sentries are at their weakest.”

“As with every other organized military, Uleisan Sorcerers are famously haughty, and they don’t like to let their lessers tell them what to do. That means they generally won’t stand watch. If you hit hard and fast while all the men and women capable of countering your spells are asleep, you can take a huge chunk out of them.”

“Why wait until they’re right on top of us?” Calvin asked.

Grant tapped the fort on the map.

“There’s not a chance in the Abyss that fifty thousand men can bunk in this castle. That means, they’re going to be camping around here.” Grant circled the area around the fort that was littered with discrete vents for Calvin to pump suffocating air onto the battlefield.

“Additionally, once they’re bedded down, you will be able to get some idea where your company is going to be. If we’re lucky, they’ll keep them under guard in the fort proper, which will give us a free pass to attack everyone outside the gates with impunity.”

In the dozen or so hours since the mercenaries had fled and voided their contract, Calvin had been able to assign the Knick-knacks to making the fort walls airtight, for multiple reasons. They’d spent a whole half an hour using the bright blue flames jetting front the little nozzles on the end of their strange arms to weld the glass mess hall tables to the front gate, reinforcing it and making sure air would get trapped inside the fort. Or in this case, outside the fort.

“And if anything goes wrong, you can still haul ass out of here as long as you don’t give away the tunnels too early.”

Calvin rapped his fingers on the stone slab underneath the map.

“Sounds like fun. Let’s do it.”

***Orson***

They ran, Orson thought with a snort, eyeing the empty walls from the front of the combined forces of the Seeking Hand. For the first time in his life, he thought he might be feeling something akin to loyalty towards Kurawe.

There had been no veiled threats or demands for concessions, simply immediate and overwhelming assistance. Enough to render any of this idiot Gadveran teen’s plans moot. There was a path worn into the mountainside where a thousand men had fled south on foot.

Little good it’ll do them, Orson thought. Separate detachments had long since surrounded the south of the mountain range, which was why it took so long for the primary army to come into view of the fort.

Don’t want to spook the prey before it’s time.

Orson was just a little disappointed that he wasn’t able to see the look on The Wasp’s face when his not-so-clever machinations came tumbling down in the face of pure overwhelming force.

As they came closer to the abandoned fort, they saw that its gate had been crudely welded shut. When Orson sent someone up the wall, they reported back that the gate and it’s components had been welded into the wall itself by what appeared to be an Uleisan Wizard.

That doesn’t make any sense. All the mercenary wizards and powerful glassworkers who weren’t from old money families were well-tracked. None of them were involved here.

Strange. Orson wasn’t willing to dismiss the idea that Captain Gadsint had been here, despite there being no word of a Malkenrovian lurking the sands, or even anyone with a Gadveran accent.

He had attempted to bribe Ussein, which was a mistake. Orson had a stronger grip on the Legend than mere money.

Unless he turned.

The timing had been rather suspicious. If Calvin had convinced the man to lie about the exact nature of the bribe, he could be complicit in setting up this series of events.

Orson would have to apply some pressure to the Legend, see if he ever wanted to see his family again. A finger off a random waif might do the trick.

The grandfather hadn’t given Orson the location of the heirloom, even as he lay dying. The spiteful bastard had spit in the mogul’s face with his last breath, but hopefully his daughter was more amenable to giving it up.

Of course Orson didn’t think Ussein’s children knew anything, so they were allowed to live undamaged, in one of Orson’s feeder orphanages.

Something to worry about later. After I destroy Gadvera’s credibility in the eyes of Uleis.

Orson felt a rare smile bloom on his face as he considered the future. The purpose of bringing the Gadveran soldiers was twofold: to serve as a buffer between themselves and whatever ploy the Gadveran captain might have, a kind of ten-foot pole to disarm traps, and to serve as a scapegoat for the attack on the fort.

All they had to do was bring home the Gadveran corpses, then blame them for the attack while they were unable to defend themselves.

Dead men make excellent scapegoats.

With public perception shifted more in favor of Iletha, some of the other six would be forced to change their stance, and Orson’s investments in the war effort would begin to pay dividends.

Orson eyed the trail worn into the mountain’s scraggly brush.

If Captain Gadsint thought he could save his men by retreating, then he was even more of an idiot than Orson had expected.

Orson turned to one of his hired Wizards, a middle-aged man from one of Asabei’s supporting families.

“Make us an entrance.”

The wizard gave Orson a chilly glance before Black Bent poured down the veins of his arm, evaporating into an invisible force upon leaving his fingertips. To Orson, Bent was only able to be sensed based on the subtle fluctuations in light, and the sensation of movement in the hairs on the back of his neck.

The Wizard made a casual lifting gesture, and the rocky sand in front of them turned white hot and shot forward in a gentle arc, attaching to the wall of the fort. Dozens more spikes of raw glass wove together to form a massive bridge leading all the way from the ground to the wall.

“It’ll be easy to remove once you’re done with it.” the man said by way of explanation. “That gate requires a master glassworker to repair.”

“Get the Gadverans into that fort, At sword-point if necessary. If there are any surprises waiting for us in there, I want them to catch them full in the face. Once we’re sure it’s safe, let’s wait for the hunters to return with the catch of the day.”

Orson’s general nodded, then relayed his instructions to his lieutenants, who broke off and took command of smaller units. Cries to move forward spread through the air as the army began moving to Orson’s will.

I could get used to leading an army this big, Orson thought, sitting with his back straight in his ornate armor.

The Gadverans were prompted to enter the castle, followed by some two thousand soldiers, who scoured every inch of the place.

An hour later, and there was no sign of any traps.

No Cobalts, either.

“Damn,” Orson muttered, clenching his fist as he surveyed the ruined courtyard form the top of the wall. The interior of the fort had been thrown into complete disarray, broken glass and ruined metal cages lined the walls, plates of food tossed carelessly here and there to dessicate in the sun. There was no sign of the original occupants, the arm of the Storm-Stretch group that manned the fort.

“Get the princess.” He said to his general, who nodded. Without saying a word, the man’s messenger hustled off the bridge toward the mass of uleisans milling around the skirts of the fortress.

“If it’s all the same to you, boss,” His general said. “I’m going to get started setting up defences,” the General said, glancing around the mountains looming over the fort, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Orson gave a dismissive wave and the man sauntered back down the bridge to toss off order to his lieutenants, pointing at the hills surrounding their position.

The man was cautious to a fault. No standing army could march all the way through the desert and assault them in great enough numbers to pose a threat.

A glimmer of motion caught Orson’s attention, and he squinted to make out some nine hundred men being led back over the crest of the mountain in chains.

Huh. Didn’t I tell them to kill everyone but the Malkenrovian upstart?

There could only be one reason: They hadn’t caught him and intended to interrogate these men for information. Orson would be sorely disappointed if Captain Gadsint wasn’t here, because it meant he was somewhere else, potentially scheming revenge for the kidnapping of his men and his princess.

Not that he can do much about it. Still, it was annoying.

Might as well get comfortable, Orson thought, following the train of furniture and carpets toward his new temporary office. This might take a while.

Orson was just getting settled in when the princess was brought to his door, shrugging off the hand clamped around her arm as she stepped in.

This, Orson had to handle with care. Royalty was a touchy subject, as there were not only political consequences to mistreating them, there were more immediate problems, what with their highly engineered Abilites.

Which is why Ussein was in charge of watching her. If she tried anything, he was the most capable of shutting her down.

“Good evening, you parasitic worm.” Kala said with a slight drawl, making a sloppy bow.

“Is…Is she high?”

“Better than being high-maintenance,” Ussein said with a shrug.

“Did you drug her? Where did you get the drugs?” Had Ussein been taking payments from people other than him? Or did he perhaps have a habit that Orson needed to be aware of?

“Her drugs.” Ussein said, pointing at the dusky-skinned princess.

Orson’s brows rose, but he shrugged it off. The oddities people tended to acquire when their mental attributes were forcibly raised was nothing new to him. Drug use actually ranked fairly low on the spectrum of strange. And if the princess had a crutch, that meant he could kick it out from under her.

“I assume you confiscated them.”

“Sir.” Ussein took a rather large purse off his shoulder and handed it over.

Orson’s jaw dropped when he felt the heft. “When the… Nevermind.” He shook his head and reoriented on the princess.

“Princess Kala, are you with us?”

“I suppose so, but not for looong.” She said, then barely suppressed a giggle. “Not going with you there. You’re bringing an army with you to duat, like the kings of old.”

“Oookay.” Orson pulled out a stack of blank sheets of paper and pushed them toward her, along with an inkwell. Maybe this won’t be so hard.

“Could you sign these?” Orson said.

“You want…me to sign them?” she asked, peering at him.

“Indeed. This is the supplementary signature practice your father requested, remember?”

Kala shrugged.

“Okay. I guess you can’t take these with you.” She sat down and started putting her signature on the papers.

Well, that went a lot better than I thought.

All he had to do now was fill in whatever letter or legal document he wanted, and the wizards of Uleis would be able to attest that the princess had signed them herself. She was in the palm of his hand, now.

Ussein gave him a curious look, and Orson shrugged.

“Master Huul,” a voice at the door sounded. “The leader of the pirates.” It was followed by an angry growl.

Orson glanced at the princess seemingly absorbed in signing her own name, her face slowly getting closer and closer to the papers as she unconsciously slumped forward.

“Send him in.”

The leader of the pirates was a large man with a missing eye, wearing a dirty cloth gag.

“Let’s hear what you have to say.”

Ussen tore the gag out of the man’s mouth.

“Not a pirate. Mercenary. I’ll tell you everything I know. I hope you rake the son of a bitch over hot coals.”

“The son of a bitch who hired you?”

“The same. Big guy named Grant. Made floating swords.”

“And what about the Malkenrovian?” Orson asked, leaning forward in his seat.

The big man frowned. “There wasn’t a Malkenrovian, just an Uleisan wizard. Said he was a transmuter, lining the walls with Devil powder so he could blow up the entire castle. Said it was a bargaining chip.

Orson’s blood ran cold.

“What?”

“The wizard. He was digging under the castle and stuffing it with devil powder. Said he was getting it ready to blow. You know, like a cannon.” The man made an explosion noise and gestured with his chained hands.

“But I guess he must have been lying, seeing as we’re all standing here.”

Orson stood, his heart hammering painfully in his chest.

Sending in The Wasp’s company might very well be the only reason we’re still alive.

“This uleisan wizard, what was his name?”

“Well, Grant called him Caitlyn, but I overheard the Cobalts calling him Elliot. Odd thing, to have two names.”

Kala started giggling in the corner, her signatures had slowly changed from words to erratic scribbles of men lying dead en masse.

“Ussein, I want you to move our men out of the castle,” Orson said, keeping his voice even. “After I leave, of course. Make sure the princess and Gadsint’s men stay here.”

“What about me?” the mercenary captain demanded. “Don’t leave me in this powder keg.”

Orson eyed the mercenary. “Whether you survive the night might depend entirely on how much Captain Gadsint values his troops.”

Then, without further time-wasting speech, Orson slipped around him and headed for the main yard, intent on being the first out of this death trap. As long as he got out before the insane man hiding somewhere in the castle lit the fuse, Orson was comfortable with that.