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Chapter 30 Rising arc
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 09:47:20 +0000 UTCPdf and epub versions below. Marcus didn’t look up as the tent flap was pushed aside, the sounds of their war camp filtering in. Whoever had
Pdf and epub versions below.
Marcus didn’t look up as the tent flap was pushed aside, the sounds of their war camp filtering in. Whoever had entered stepped inside fully, the cloth falling back down and reactivating the minor runic seals painted on them.
Near absolute silence returned for almost two whole seconds, the rushling of cloth telling him the person was disturbing his peace and quiet, so Marcus finally looked up from his book. “Do you mind?”
“You wanting peace and quiet?” Elly replied, letting the cloth go again. “No. You isolating the tent against most, if not all, noise? Yes, I do. Now we can’t hear people coming, would have to be alerted to trouble and are overall cut off from the rest of the camp.”
Marcus blinked, waving his hand and draining the runes of power. Sound returned. Loud, annoying sound. “Right, sorry.”
“You’re still learning,” Elly shrugged, glancing at his book. “What are you reading?”
He sighed. “The Tactics and Strategies of the Seven Way War. It was a comparatively minor civil war, despite nearly killing us all, and was fought in the Empire before even my father was born. The modern Imperial legions are directly descended from that time. It's one of the few good books on warfare I have.”
“You can’t learn instinct from a book, and instinct is what matters in battle. Plans and strategy are good and needed, don’t get me wrong, but sooner or later it will devolve into a brawl. Thousands of men and women trying to kill each other until one side breaks, anything grander than basic tactics forgotten. We’ve fought war games, you’re familiar with how the army fights, the rest will have to be learned from experience.”
“You’re right,” he replied, putting the book aside. “Of course you’re right. I just feel a little useless, you know? There’s not a lot I can do to meaningfully strengthen the army. Make enchanted gear, which I can’t make nearly enough of in the time we have, and healing. Again, I can't do enough of that to matter.”
Elly hummed. “Being seen is already good. That thing you did yesterday, handing out enchanted bracers to some of the troops? It measurably boosted morale. Save your strength for the real fight.”
“Yeah,” he said, glaring at his books. “I can’t believe that paper has failed me. And those bracers are kind of horrible, honestly. Just a minor shielding enchantment that can be used once for three seconds before breaking, and become useless even if not used in two months. Not worth the time.”
She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “Well, at least you’re not the one having to carry all those books. And only you would call that useless, Marcus.”
He grunted, lightly kicking the chest next to his pile of reading material. “I’m not that big of an asshole, thank you very much. Spatial and gravity seals. Seven times the space for none of the additional weight. A little annoying to maintain, but mages need their books.”
Elly paused, frowning, and moved to the chest. Put a few books inside, shuddering as her arm went down deeper than it should, and lifted it up. Her eyes grew wide, looking at him with an expression between disbelief and annoyance.
Great, he missed something again. That was getting old really quickly.
His wife took a deep breath. “You told me the weight equalizers drained too much power. Something about friction between the seals.”
“I fixed that,” he replied, tilting his head. “And I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I can enchant some of the wagons, but it wouldn't actually make us faster. It just saves a few hundred men time loading and unloading different wagons, which again isn’t a particularly good use of my time. Not compared to creating other enchantments, which already isn’t great.”
Another deep breath, though glee was starting to overcome annoyance. Good. Marcus knew he wasn’t particularly adept at war, something he readily admitted, so he wouldn't stand to be scolded for overlooking something.
“War relies on logistics,” she quoted. “Without logistics there is no food, no supplies, no arrows or replacement equipment. Without that there is no army, without an army there is no war. Logistics is everything in warfare. From defending it to stealing from your enemy.”
“Still not seeing how a few wagons with a lot of space are better than many with less space. It only makes them more easy to destroy, in my eyes, nevermind the upkeep required. Upkeep that only I can do.”
Elly shook her head. “Security is a concern, yes, but one that can be marginalized. Much more importantly is the fact that wagons break down. Their wheels get stuck, axles break, workhorses get injured. Every injury slows us down, some mechanical failures take hours to fix. A few wagons with enlarged internal space could add an additional hour of marching on average, which would speed us up significantly.”
“The wagons are our slowest pieces?” he asked, surprised. “I thought it was, well, the people on foot. Those having to actually walk everywhere.”
She shrugged. “Nope. It's always the supply train that determines an army's speed. Some have them trail behind, but that’s just asking for sabotage. Against the Empire? I’m disinclined to judge their skill at war until I’ve seen them operate myself.”
“Oh.” Marcus stood, stretching his arms. “Well, I could probably add a simple wind ‘trap’ after the spatial and gravity seals. That should take pressure off the wheels, though I don’t expect regular horses will be too pleased. We might need summons for that, I’ll talk to Barry.”
Elly seemed to actually start vibrating with glee. “Yes, that would be good. Please note the sarcasm in that statement, by the way. Because good is somewhat of an understatement. And after you have done that we’re going over every single aspect of our camp and see what else magic can improve. Oh, this is going to be great.”
“Calm your enthusiasm,” Marcus muttered, giving her a glare as she bounded closer and all but dragged him along. He resisted properly when she moved to get him outside, flickering her ear. Elly looked back, a look of disbelief on her face. “Calm. You can’t be seen dragging me around camp as much as I can’t be seen being dragged. We will modify the wagons, but I need you to understand I only have so many hours in the day. Without proper maintenance more complex workings can fail, especially under stress, and usually do so rather violently.”
She paused, glancing at where she was still gripping his forearm and apparently deciding not letting go was the right move. “I know. But your mages can surely maintain some of it, right? The witch, for example? You told me she is a spatial mage just like you.”
“She is,” he allowed, gently removing her hand from his arm. It wasn't unpleasant, necessarily, but he wasn’t big on touch. A stranger might have lost the appendage. “But Gretched, again, is only one person. I’m more than happy to take a look, see what we can improve, but my Academy is young. My mages are too, most of them. I am not an example of average skill.”
Elly snorted. “Such a humble man you are.”
“Almost as humble as you, Mrs. unkillable warrior. Now let’s go take a look, but don’t expect too much, alright?”
“I’ll curb my enthusiasm, mister prodigal mage.”
He nodded once, offering a smile, and she shook her head again. Her hair whipped everywhere, which was impressive for its relatively short length. Most fighters kept their hair short for a good reason, though he’d never gone for hers in a fight.
Not out of a sense of chivalry, either. She was far too good of a fighter for that to be anything but bait.
She opened the tent flap, the Royal Guards outside stiffening to a salute at her exit, and Marcus nodded to them. Neither one nodded back, silently moving to accompany him.
The Royal Guard.
If he’d been annoyed at their presence before, now they never left his line of sight. Which was fair, it being a war and their captain being the dutifull officer that he was, but even with his upbringing it was somewhat strange to be shadowed by faceless soldiers every moment of every day.
Not that they were needed in Redwater anymore. Their duty was to defend the Royal Family, and with his father’s death it was just Elly and him.
Kind of weird to have four hundred soldiers for that, actually. Even before it had only been his father and himself, but in a castle their numbers seemed less enormous. Well, not like he was going to complain now.
Marcus cleared his throat. “The wagons first? I’ll warn you, watching someone lay spatial and gravity runes isn’t particularly exciting.”
Another six Royal Guards had joined the first pair by the time they got a hundred feet from the tent, Marcus knowing there were another eight around it even now. More at Elly’s, more still eating and training and resting.
It was disconcerting, however slightly, but that only came from being at the center of their attention. He used to be the Crown Prince, someone who certainly warranted their protection, but he wasn’t well liked by them. A sentiment that had been changing ever since that shapeshifter Gretched’s advanced class had managed to lose.
He shook his head, watching a company of soldiers running by in formation. Their captain was bellowing some sort of marching song, every step they took in line with the rhythm, and he watched another group listening as one of Elly’s people showed how to maintain a crossbow.
It was a miniature city, in some sense. Companies baked their own bread over semi-enclosed fires, tending to pots of soup and setting up tents. Smiths hammered away in the distance on mobile forges. Men and women carried large jugs of water, fed and groomed the horses, ate and rested. Messengers ran by, non-combat mages walked through the camp in their distinctive robes, engineers guided entire companies into setting up rudimentary—and temporary—defenses.
A whole city, soldiers acting from specialists to laborers to bakers. But every one of them, bar a few exceptions, were fighters. Soldiers killing time, performing one of a hundred duties keeping the army functional.
They got to the supply train after perhaps half an hour. Half an hour of saluting soldiers and bowing mages, monotone Royal Guards clearing the way in the few instances people didn’t do it themselves quickly enough.
Nine wagons stretched over the road, the benefits of an invasion being that the defenders knew the territory quite well and could thus make use of its infrastructure, and a full company was crowded around them. Unpacking, organizing, inspecting and more, a dozen soldiers per wagon.
“The last three,” Marcus said, pointing. Royal Guards moved forward to clear it, the soldiers rapidly giving ground. Elly shook her head, making him shrug. “What? I just meant they need to be unloaded. Objects inside expanding space tend to not enjoy the experience.”
Elly actually rolled her eyes that time, moving to speak with the captain of the company. The wagons were cleared out in record time, Marcus not seeing a thing of it. He only came back from his mental calculations when someone poked him, Marcus sending Elly an annoyed glare.
Vess grinned back at him, green eyes dancing with humor. “Expecting someone else?”
“Considering you’ve been avoiding me, yes,” he replied, straightening. The underside of the wagons had enough room for the elemental runes, which was good. “You never did tell me what you’ve been up to since we’ve been invaded.”
She shrugged. “You, not us. I’m just the poor, bound advisor forced into a contract she didn’t want. The poor, helpless succubus, so desperate for an honest new master—or mistress—to give her purpose.”
“Your loyalty is appreciated, as always.” Marcus held out his hand, one of the mages he faintly remembered sending out for paper handing over said object. He put it against the side of the wagon as he sketched a runic outline. “Does that ever work on anyone?”
“You’d be surprised. People believe what they want to believe, see what they want to see. Tricking horny, greedy or stupid mages gets boring, though. But no, I was doing as you were. Marshalling the troops.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Vague and suspicious, I like it.”
“It’s not a done deal yet,” she hedged. “I have sisters, you know? Other succubi I’ve befriended and trust. Finding them is half the issue, the other half is convincing them not to screw us over for fun.”
“I could draw up a contract? They won’t have much of a choice if I really put some time into it.”
Vess’ tone was rather dry as she spoke. “Yeah, if it was that simple I would have been back days ago. But no, they won’t agree to a contract unless it’s at least marginally fair. They used to be more fun.”
“Hmmmn,” he replied, holding the paper up to the light. Eight overlapping runes came into focus as the light illuminated the other side of the sketch, the diagram clicking into place. “That should work.”
She looked at it, blinking as if something had landed in her eye. “You’re doing multi spatial rune conjecture? That’s rather advanced, even for you.”
“Is it? Seemed obvious, especially the interaction between spatial and gravitational forces. One influences the other, and if you do your calculations right the balance lowers friction by eighty four percent. Not that words matter all that much. I’ve seen rune conjecture expressed in five different ways, at least.”
Vess hummed, watching him draw a knife and climb into the back of the wagon. With his sketch completed the actual carving wasn’t so complicated, though he’d have to test it before turning it on properly.
Elly joined them, Marcus not catching the look exchanged between them yet knowing it was there, and he spoke up to take the initiative. “So what is the Lowlands Campaign, anyway?”
“What?” Elly asked, briefly confused. “That’s what the soldiers called the plan to distract the zombie horde advancing on my kingdom. We gathered a large host of soldiers and lured them into the lowlands, getting them stuck in swamps and bogs and the like, before killing isolated groups. People like naming things.”
“I see. And what do you think of the plan to combine our Royal Guards, with captain Yonas remaining in overall command and the commander of your Fearless Fourteen becoming his second? It seems kind of pointless to keep them separate.”
Elly blinked again. “That seems… fine? I’ve been thinking roughly the same thing. What’s going on, exactly?”
“He’s asking questions to avoid being asked questions,” Vess answered, the rustle of clothing indicating she’d shook her head. “Our steadfast King is afraid of what we might concoct together.”
“I am bending the laws of the universe to my will and thus cannot be afforded pointed questions, but yes. Essentially. Please step outside?”
They did, Marcus finishing up the last line. Again, not complicated. Not even that time consuming, apparently. It clicked in his mind, and the knife had moved smoothly in response.
He joined them outside, letting the cloth cover fall back down. A symbol more than necessity, but it was good the wagons were covered. Wooden sides, too, and fairly big as far as wagons went. Not that he held too much experience with them.
Power rose as he pressed his will against the link between him and the runes, magic bleeding into the web as he fed the structure. Containment first, to avoid space collapsing outwards, then the safeties. Whole functions to bleed it of strength, to fail rather than collapse, to collapse rather than implode.
Finally space itself folded outwards, the wagon shaking lightly as the runes came alive. Marcus waved his hand, his mages somewhat clumsily starting to feed the magical storage function, and space kept growing for nearly a minute.
Marcus pulled the cloth aside when it was done, stepping aside to give Elly and Vess a proper view. “Ta da.”
Vess didn’t seem overly impressed, but Elly’s eyes widened. The wagons, twelve by seven feet and another seven in height, just kept going. Ten times the increase, roughly. A small warehouse.
Elly turned back to him. “Is it stable?”
“For at least the next forty eight hours. I’ll have to do thrice weekly checks to make sure nothing is out of alignment. That takes a while, much longer than actually powering the thing, so I’d say three is the limit. Any more than that and it starts eating away at my other duties.”
“Three is fine.” The Queen looked inside again. “You just conjured thirty wagons out of thin air.”
“Twenty seven. You already had these three.”
Vess flicked his arm. “Not the point she was trying to make.”
“Don’t flick me,” Marcus responded, ignoring Elly's accusing look. “I’ll go do the other two wagons now. Apprentices, with me.”
His mages scrambled closer, listening with rapt attention as he handed over his sketch and started explaining some of the simpler aspects, and before long he was pitting his will against the universe again. The second wagon took five minutes, the third three.
It seemed, for whatever reason, that war was agreeing with him.
