[Targa]
Because Centena fortress sat inside the Fertio marquisate, the marquis would sometimes visit with his knights in tow. I knew him by sight, then—but I had never seen him fight. Shelvia and Fertio had been at peace for years; I had allowed that distance to make me underestimate the marquis without even realizing it.
Standing there and watching him issue orders—organizing the garrison’s defenses and at the same time preparing to go on the offensive—I felt, as a commander, an unmistakable respect. He barked command after command and the captains under him acted instantly. Reports came in and he responded without pause; every decision was sharp and unhesitating.
Stradale, the Fertio knight-captain, impressed me as well. He looked the part of a noble-born knight, but there was no doubt he’d been tempered in many battles.
In a conventional defense you would station archers on the parapets, archers and magi on the roofs, and heavy infantry to hold the line. Before the fight began, however, the marquis tossed out a set of tactics that departed from the usual, and Stradale executed them as if he’d used that doctrine his whole life.
“No standing where you’ll be hit by cannon fire! Hide in the shadow of the buildings! Mage corps—if the wall falls, repair it at once! Infantry, fill the breach with sandbags! Archers—watch for cannon fire, but allow no enemy to close!” Stradale thundered. To an untrained ear it would have sounded timid. After we learned of the cannons and the black spheres, his orders made absolute sense.
“Centena Knight Order—put cavalry behind the gate. Magic cavalry stay ready! Archers, work with the Fertio knights to shoot down any who close! Heavy infantry, with me!” Stradale’s voice climbed the stairwell as he raced upward, ignoring the tremors and thuds that shook the ceiling. Dust and grit rained down, but there was no time to be distracted.
On the roof a chant rippled through the air. A black cloak snapped, and a gold-stitched emblem of a bull and a short sword caught the light. The mage’s forearm flared with fire—an intense, concentrated heat that painted the world red. The flame rolled out like a living thing, a ribbon of fire that surged up and chased the wyverns around the sky. Even the wyverns altered course, beaten back by that heat.
Sustaining that kind of fire takes vast stores of magic, but what surprised me most was how the marquis manipulated it—wielding it as if it were a tool, moving it with uncanny precision. If you asked who could pull off something like that, every man in the room would point to the same man.
Fertio himself—no wonder he’s called the guardian of Scuderia by neighboring lords—strode and cast the beasts away with an imperious calm. Wyvern scales are as hard as iron; trying to repel them with bows or javelins alone would cost dozens of men. Having a mage do it was the sensible choice.
Even so, few mages could have performed so brilliantly.
“Your Excellency! Be careful—though the wyverns were driven off, the cannons remain a threat!” someone shouted.
“I know. We withdraw for now!” Fertio replied as he advanced, and the air itself seemed to burn in his wake. He had released a tremendous sheet of flame—the sky went crimson—and walking with that infernal wall behind him, he looked like a demon. It was fortunate he stood with us, not against us.
“Magnificent work, Your Excellency. The magical output—astounding.” I called down as I moved with him, voice rough from the stairs.
He snorted. “Nonsense—mere delay. Do you not see? The enemy moves while firing cannons and drops black spheres from the air using wyverns. A fortress defense may not even hold long. Depending on the enemy’s force, we could be scattered in hours.”
He sounded furious, and I bowed my head and answered plainly. “Yes. What we can do is strike the cannons and the wyverns before they finish their setup—but Shelvia will have traps prepared in their territory.”
We were cornered. I dared not say it aloud—yet Fertio understood. He clicked his tongue and turned on me, something like contempt and worry mixed in his voice.
“Imbeciles! A fort or a city should always be shaped to work in our favor. What is this? If this continues, it will be another Scudetto!” He spat the words and they tasted like bile.
Outside the ground continued to thrum and thunder. Men shouted orders and the distant detonations did not stop. If you asked who was to blame for this muddle, it would come down on me.
“…I am sorry. I will accept responsibility later. For now, we must drive out the Yellenetta–Shelvia coalition.” I said.
“What arrogance.” He ground his teeth. “Still—what you say is not wrong. Quickly, devise a counterattack!”
“Aye!” I answered.
Fertio swept down the stairwell, shoulders burning with impatience. I followed, my mind racing. If Centena fell, Scuderia would be at a dire disadvantage. We had to hold this ground at all costs.
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