Adarin studied the map he had surveyed the night before. At its center lay the circle of Portguard, the Great Lake spread to the east, and the Great River cut inland from the west. The city sat eighty kilometers upriver on the southern bank of a channel three kilometers wide.

  He traced the delta and the oxbow swamps where side channels had long silted shut—the fertile downriver province. Beside him, Rüdiger marked the map with a lance of red light from his finger.

  “This region will once again become a rich agricultural zone, but for now we are interested in its soil and clay. There are some towns there that seem to have survived. Reconnaissance is needed, but Count Marquardt assures me that at least one of them was never conquered by the orcs—only paid tribute. Apparently they are sitting on one of the largest clay deposits in the region. They are a priority for us. But to produce tools we will need four things.”

  He pointed as he listed them. “Charcoal. Iron ore. Clay—which is needed for kilns so we can smelt the iron ore. And, of course, wood. A nice little complete industrial base.”

  He pointed towards the coast, the region of the Portguard province referred to in the population report as Portguard’s Coast. “The Red Swamps. Apparently the Great Lake is rather shallow, and the coast of the Holy Land has never been fully tamed. The swamps are huge, but from the air you can already see their crimson color. All of that is iron oxide. There are rich deposits there and it used to be an industrial center—a city.”

  He pointed to a large lake in the middle of the swamps. “It sank beneath the waves when dams like this collapsed. Likely beavers, not orcs. Anyway…”

  Rüdiger paced up and down, his audience listening with a mixture of rapt and at least respectful attention.

  “The city was Ironford, and we will restore it to its former glory. And I shall execute the privileges of leadership and send someone else into the malaria-ridden swamp to sort that business out.”

  Count Marquardt chuckled along with Francesco.

  Rüdiger spun and pointed. “Francesco, I wouldn’t be laughing in your place.”

  The young man took a step back and swallowed as Rüdiger turned back to the map without further comment, pointing inland to the hills region and the upriver province. He made an expanding gesture with his fingers, and the map zoomed in.

  “Ooh, fancy,” Adarin murmured, earning a glare.

  “The town of Threerivers. It was burned by the orcs because—well, it was a lumber town and constructed from wood, and if you get angry orc warriors, fire, and wood together, the result is rather predictable. Anyway—three major rivers leave the hills here and join into the Dray River before they flow down to the Grand River. Large amounts of lumber were brought down in rafts, and Threerivers was a production center. We shall reclaim it.”

  He began circling the projection, his hands folded behind his back. “Preliminary scrying has shown two major towns”—he pointed to one directly on the Great River and one in the plains region that seemed to have worked fields—“and a dozen smaller villages on the river.”

  He produced a piece of black charcoal in his hand. “Coal.” Then a beam of timber nearly a meter long, muscles flexing as he held it. “And lumber. This is what we will start building our empire with.”

  He spun around and pointed. “Sir Adarin, you will take command. Lead the expedition upriver, subjugate the towns, and fortify the ruins of Threerivers.”

  Both Francesco and Count Marquardt took in a long breath, but Rüdiger made a cutting gesture that almost whistled in the air. Adarin coldly noted the facial expression of his fellow officials.

  “My command decision is final. Yet, because I don’t like my subordinates to have it too easy—two consuls, but not two from the same milieu, are to accompany him.”

  He gave the crowd, now exchanging glances, a vicious smile. “I’m sure it will be a peaceful and harmonious affair to figure out who is competing with whom for this lovely little trip.”

  Adarin’s mind was already running ahead, considering the mission parameters. What resources will I be given?

  Rüdiger stroked his goatee. “Let’s say…” He drew out each word, building tension, until Adarin nearly screamed. “Five warships, each equipped with fifteen cannons per broadside. And… maybe… ten trade ships carrying settlers, soldiers, and whatever else you need. I shall even have a fancy writ ready for you that allows you to requisition whatever you need—well, whatever I deem you need if there’s conflict about it. But I’m sure you know how this works.”

  “Yes,” Adarin ground out.

  “Quartermaster Maxwell has settled in at the port. He will have the rations, armaments, and all the resources, tools, and the like. Oh, oh—don’t forget nails. Building a wooden fort without nails is going to prove difficult.”

  “Indeed it would be,” Adarin said through clenched teeth.

  Rüdiger seemed about to make another comment when he suddenly spun to the door. Three seconds passed in silence as even the whispers died. A careful knock came, and even Devin and Gavin stopped playing catch to pay attention.

  The Margrave von Erlenwald admitted a messenger in one of the smart yet functional military uniforms. He bowed. Adarin caught a sneer of disgust on Duchess Viola’s face. What’s she upset about?

  Rüdiger fixed the messenger with an encouraging smile. “What is it, soldier?”

  The young man’s eyes shot over the assembled leadership council of the Republic. But after only a second he straightened and spoke up. “Scouts report a fleet of greenskins coming down the river on boats. They have landed at the old bastion island southwest of the city.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Rüdiger clapped his hands and smiled in broad joy. “Just in time, just in time! This was my second announcement. Ja, there are greenskins coming towards the city. Adarin—this is another one of your responsibilities.”

  Adarin balled his hands into fists in the privacy of his mindspace. Sure. Dropping more than one mission on a man. What ever could go wrong?

  “You are to take—” he snapped his fingers three times and pointed at Duchess Viola and Count Marquardt—“yes, those two on this other little expedition. Requisition three warships in the harbor. Or commandeer them if you feel like it. Make contact with the greenskins. You are to try to talk first—then shoot. But if you start shooting, shoot so thoroughly—”

  “That’s usually how I shoot,” Adarin replied dryly.

  “Good, good. Just wanted to double-tap—I mean double-check, of course.”

  Adarin groaned aloud this time, studying the two nobles he was now assigned to babysit on a potentially dangerous mission. They were busy glaring at each other instead of contemplating the situation.

  Maybe I can get away with using them as shock troops…

  Rüdiger’s voice came over the circuit link. 'Oh, and I cannot give these instructions out loud, but they are both to return alive and unharmed.'

  'How much mental harm is permissible?' Adarin replied instantly.

  Rüdiger chuckled. 'As much as you can get away with.'

  With another grand gesture, Rüdiger bowed and suddenly disappeared from Adarin’s awareness.

  The consuls all stared at each other. Only Devin and Gavin instantly reverted to playing tag. Then noise erupted—everyone speaking at once—until Adarin set the volume of his speakers to what he considered the maximum non-weaponized level.

  “I am in charge of this mission here. Everyone not involved—which means everyone except the Duchess of Werfurt, the Count of—” he waved vaguely, “—Hohenfels, Devin, Gavin, and Liora—please give us the room.”

  Matilda gave him a tight smile and an exaggerated, formal bow. The remainder of the people filed out.

  As soon as the door shut, the Duchess, the Count, and the Margrave all spoke over one another.

  “I have good warriors—”

  “Let me talk—”

  “We can flank them—”

  Adarin hissed at both of them. “First of all, you will address me as Commander Adarin, given that I am the military commander of this mission. Yes? Good. Second—much as I would like to throw both of you at the island and just see what happens—I am prohibited from doing so.”

  Countess Viola gasped behind an upraised hand, whereas Count Marquardt merely chuckled. “Fair enough. My initial plan would have been the same, had our roles been reversed.”

  Adarin studied the rebel count. Quick on his feet.

  “You’ve already mostly recognized your roles. We have three military ships, Count Marquardt. I’ll need seventy-five of your best men—light fighters who can swim and handle themselves without heavy armor. Naval experience if you have it.”

  The Count gave a tight grin. “I do not believe I have any men fitting that entire list of requirements.”

  Adarin nodded, allowing himself a tight smile in the privacy of his mind. I already suspected. But a man can have wishes—especially a soldier.

  Marquardt chuckled. “But the enemy gets a vote in whether or not they come true.”

  “Yes, indeed they do. Duchess Viola, do you have any inkling who this might be?”

  The Duchess pressed her lips together and studied the ceiling. “Well… given how many people the Order—” She cut herself off, glancing around with widening eyes. “How many people were killed during the conquest… it is hard to say. I am not a woman of military experience. However…” She walked over to the projection, which had been zoomed in. “And the symbols… five ships. Those vessels seem rather small. It can’t be more than two hundred greenskins, right?”

  The Count nodded. “It is true, Duchess—it’s a small force, yet they have landed in a strategically vital location we should already have occupied. An oversight understandable given the recency of our conquest, yet not one we should repeat.” He pointed to the other side of the river. “There’s another river fortress here.”

  Adarin nodded. “Solid thinking. Have orders passed along that garrisons are to be assembled for both of them?”

  The consul of the Ministry of War nodded.

  It’s so nice to work with military men, Adarin thought. I just have to say what I need, and they’ll figure out how to do it. He’s an experienced rebel—he doesn’t ask stupid questions about the nature of the garrison. Whatever will do the job, that’s what he’ll send.

  Adarin chuckled darkly. At least, I hope he will. We shall see.

  Liora walked up to the map, studying the scene. “They’ve landed the ships on the beach. That means they’ve immobilized themselves. Is that correct, Count?”

  Marquardt made an agreeable noise and nodded.

  “And the small number…” Liora continued. “Adarin, I believe this might actually be a negotiation party and just a sufficient show of force, right?”

  “True. If I wanted to negotiate for a hostile party while not entirely risking putting my life at their mercy, this wouldn’t be the worst strategy. And if everything goes to shit for them, they’re positioned at a fortress—extricating an enemy from a river fortress is not a pleasant operation.”

  He turned to Devin and Gavin, who were finally paying attention now that the talk had turned to weapons. “What’s the range on our cannon—on Gisela specifically?”

  The two goblins stuck their heads together and began murmuring.

  “What’s so hard about a question relating to the range of a weapon system?” Adarin inquired, already dreading the answer.

  “Well, it depends on how much we empower the runes…” began Gavin, but he trailed off.

  “Five hundred thirty steps,” muttered Devin.

  Gavin hissed at him. “Those are your steps, you idiot—just convert the number.”

  “Five hundred thirty steps means… two hundred seventy human steps. You get my point, right?” He glanced at Adarin.

  Adarin lifted a manipulator. “And if the cannon is placed on a ship, we can get that distance?”

  The gremlins hissed in eerie unison, offended by the doubt.

  “Very well then. Set it up, and bring a bunch of interesting ammunition—at least three of whatever we have. I expect a report on the loadout before we leave port.”

  “Good, good,” they replied in unison, scurrying out of the chamber.

  Count Marquardt’s eyebrow twitched, and Adarin smiled. “Yes, military discipline is a bit loose with them. But they are sappers. Well—let’s set out.”

  While leaving, Adarin turned around. “Liora, I believe you ought to bring your personal abomination as well, in case we need to assault enemy positions.”

  Duchess Viola inclined her head. “I will take the lead in negotiations. Are you ready to accept this?”

  “As long as you’re accompanied by our most capable healer. You are to survive this, after all.” Liora smiled at the compliment.

  The Duchess sniffed. “I am willing to go into any danger. You can trust me on this.”

  Count Marquardt murmured into his beard—definitely loud enough to be overheard. “If there’s danger and a cock between its legs, she’ll even do it gladly.”

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