“Stop,” I ordered as we neared the tent.

  I strode in first, glancing at the dead monsters placed on wooden tables. I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to return to my research, but it seemed that Coen hadn’t been idle, bringing me more material in my absence. I could see that the temporary enchantments I had placed on the tables to delay decay were gone, but they had done their job well enough.

  With a quick motion of my fingers and a muttered incantation, the insides of the tent transformed.

  Instead of monsters, there were now people, while my surgical instruments were replaced by much cruder tools, ones with a very obvious purpose.

  A good illusion, especially as it was largely real without much effort on my part. The stench of blood and death was very much real, and though they were not human, corpses were present as well. Perhaps a tad too mean-spirited to use illusions against this particular prisoner, but I couldn’t care less.

  “Bring her in,” I raised my voice to be heard outside.

  Aevinne came in first, pausing briefly, her surprise evident only by a very slight widening of her eyes.

  The spy began sobbing even more.

  “Place her on the table there,” I pointed to an empty one, while I commanded one of the more queasy-looking royal guards to bring a rope and the dimeritium shackles from my tent.

  Soon, the woman was secured safely. Despite her vocal distress, she had yet to say a word of sense.

  “Aevinne, if you would remove the dagger and ensure our guest does not bleed out?” I asked the elf, whose eyes lit up.

  I raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic display of emotion, but by that time, Aevinne was already enthusiastically at work, much to the displeasure of our prisoner.

  I joined her, searching for any items with a trace of magic on her person or weapons. In the end, I only found another dagger, and a ring meant to ward off mosquitoes.

  “Now, miss,” I turned to the spy once Aevinne was done, “I apologise for the rough treatment. You know how our sort can be, no?”

  I stared at her expectantly.

  The woman sniffled, staring at her broken hands.

  I smiled gently, causing her to flinch, “Haela,” I incanted, easing some of the pain.

  “That’s better,” I said, “If you cooperate, I can promise you that you will be treated as a prisoner of your standing deserves, as we are kin of a sort after all, yes?”

  She nodded shakily as I contemplated my life choices. Another day, another prisoner to interrogate. What was I, a knockoff KGB agent?

  It made sense for me to do it, of course. Not only could I read minds, I was also the best choice for keeping a mage contained, yet that didn’t change anything about the fact that this was about as far away from a cushy life as it got.

  Better than the front lines, I supposed. At least this one probably wouldn’t need any additional incentives, unlike my last victim.

  “Well, let’s begin,” I sighed, “What was your mission, and who are you working for?”

  The spy grimaced, and I stopped myself from rolling my eyes, “You should know enough about magic to know that there is little point in prolonging this.”

  She shivered, “I was sent to scout, sabotage the soldiers camping here and, ah, kill you if possible.”

  I hummed, motioning with my hand for her to continue.

  “I gave up on the latter quickly!” She assured me, “I work for, err, the Black Company, or I guess Nazair now?” She babbled, “The leaders accepted a contract, you see, so that’s why we are here, and why I got sent here.”

  Black Company, ironic. If a spy like this wasn’t overworked and exploited, then I didn’t know who was.

  “You were sent here because you are disposable,” I interjected, making the saboteur fall silent. She was too weak a mage to have undergone any procedures to change her appearance, a hedge witch with a few useful tricks.

  Useless in battle, valuable for work like this.

  I doubted her employers truly considered her disposable. Well, as far as assassins went, anyway.

  While she failed to create a rift between the elves and humans here, she still managed to kill Sorin, one of my commanders. It was her bad luck that my reasonable degree of caution and modest experience in such matters was leagues above the average mage.

  There just wasn’t much magic-less people could do to deal with magic without being properly aware of the threat. The basic premise of anti-mage tactics was to strike hard and fast, before the target could cast, preferably in overwhelming numbers. Obviously impossible when you didn’t know such a threat was present.

  “Did you think your superiors didn’t know your fate when they sent you into a camp with a trained sorceress?” I continued.

  A saboteur trained in the Gift, even if somewhat rudimentary, would be painful to lose and annoying to replace, but only a fool would send someone behind enemy lines without considering the mission worth their life.

  She averted her eyes as I spoke, “You ending up on this table was inevitable from the moment you decided to follow their orders. The only question was how much damage you’d manage to do beforehand.”

  “Now, tell me more about this Black Company and their contract with Nazair.”

  “Yes!” she squeaked, “The company was formed as an amalgamation of those who served in Ebbing and Metinna, but found themselves in Nilfgaard’s disfavour for a variety of reasons. We, uh, have been contracted to help Nazair with their war against Cintra.”

  My eye twitched, ‘What fucking war?’

  I didn’t let any of my internal feelings show on my face, “And how many men does this company command?”

  “Between one and two thousand, but I don’t know the exact number,” I frowned at her, “I really don’t!” She defended herself.

  “Lady Degurechaff,” Edwyn broke in, the royal guard peeking into the tent from the outside, “Commander Isengrim has returned.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I turned my eyes from the prisoner, “Send him in.”

  The elf stepped inside without so much as a flicker of surprise at the illusion veiling the tent’s interior. He gave Aevinne a curt nod before striding toward me, “You’ve called for me, daerienn?”

  I nodded, walking out of earshot of the prisoner, then motioning for Isengrim to follow.

  “Any word from Cyril?”

  Isengrim inclined his head, “Two of the guards were sent on an errand by Sorin, the third was found dead near a lavatory, while the fourth went searching when the third had not returned.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed out. There would have to be a lot of remedial training.

  I shook my head slightly, opening my eyes, “While the situation with the saboteur has been resolved, we’ve not managed without additional casualties. If you are not opposed, I would have you take on Commander Sorin’s duties, may he rest in peace.”

  The scarred elf blinked at that, “Is now the best time for that?”

  “They can keep their prejudice, or their lives,” I responded coldly, “My previous words stand. To harm one of our own is tantamount to treason and will be punished as such. However, I do not wish to see any undue favouritism from your side as well, Faoiltiarna.”

  I doubted such measures would be necessary for now - even the most speciesist of my troops hopefully understood that every warm body between them and the enemy was a good thing. Later, though? I expected to fill a few trees.

  “As we have received reinforcements, the army will be further restructured - Battalions one through three will become regiments, with the levies forming the second battalion in each of them. I am telling you this in advance, as I would like you to pick out a human to be in charge of the Second Archer Battalion, the one composed of our new recruits. Will that be an issue?”

  Isengrim stayed silent for a moment, thinking, before shaking his head.

  “Good, anything interesting on your patrol?” I asked, though I was already turning back towards the prisoner, not expecting an affirmative answer.

  “Outriders,” Isengrim spoke, making me freeze, “We caught and interrogated a couple. An army is massing on the shores of Lake Muredach, a few weeks beyond the pass. All travel is being interdicted. They march under the Blue Rose of Nazair.”

  I stared at the elf, unblinking, “I see. Dismissed.”

  It would be a lie to say the news did not shake me, but I did my best to control myself.

  As Isengrim left, I returned to my work.

  “Elaborate about this ‘war with Cintra’ you spoke of,” I asked the captured spy.

  I stared blankly at the distressed prisoner. Lysandra, no last name.

  She had yielded little useful information. Estimates of the enemy numbers. Confirmation that they possessed sorcerers, but no actionable information regarding them. Neither numbers, nor abilities, not even names or appearances. Even though Lysandra herself admitted that she had gotten her orders from a mage. It was beyond suspicious, but the spy herself seemed completely clueless about the matter, and my mind magic agreed.

  Her actions here had been explained, at least. She had identified Sorin as the most lax amongst my commanders when it came to security, and sought to act on that when Ithilven barged in. Lysandra understood the opportunity, and changed her plan. My arrival disrupted that, so she adapted once more - a second hit, that would dispel all doubts. With my presence, the danger was higher, but she didn’t want to leave empty handed. Whether pride or fear of her employers, it ended up being her undoing.

  “Take her to the other high-value prisoners, but keep her separate. If she tries to remove the shackles, kill her,” I told Edwyn and Habata, two of the royal guards present.

  “Aevinne, you have conducted yourself admirably, even in the face of injustice. I thank you for your trust,” I bowed my head slightly to the surprised elf, “Now leave me,” I shooed out the other guards.

  Soon after, I found myself alone.

  “Voe'rle Gaeth,” I incanted, the tent turning silent as the sounds of the outside were cut off.

  I breathed out softly, the illusion disappearing at the same time.

  Then I slammed my fist into the dead cockatrice lying on the table next to me, strong enough that the giant carcass shook.

  And again. And again.

  “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” I shouted as the flesh of the overgrown chicken squelched underneath my assault.

  “How could this happen? How could any rational human support such a wasteful and pointless endeavour as this war? Didn’t they have enough?! These morons have an expansionist empire on their border, and they are coming HERE! Is humanity acting rationally for ONCE TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR?!”

  My fist went through the decaying skin of the monster, embedding itself in its flesh.

  Slowly, I took it out, staring at the dripping blood and chunks of tissue in silence.

  I breathed out, calming myself.

  “Is this the best you can do, Being X?” I looked towards the ceiling, speaking with false serenity, though the creature masquerading as god did not reply.

  “War? It’s getting a bit stale now, isn’t it?” I chuckled.

  “Well, if I can’t have my safe rear position, then we might as well both be unhappy.”

  “We, soldiers, will take God’s place,” I mumbled, reminiscing, “And all shall know why he is undeserving of worship. Why he has no place in this, or any other, world. The end, shūmatsu, schluss, deireádh.”

  I snapped my fingers. Perhaps it was time to step up my own work, even if my preparations weren’t yet perfect.

  There was the slight issue of securing willing participants, as the Brotherhood’s Law regarding biological changes in humanoids was fairly strict.

  Hereditary, gametic mutations were forbidden, a rule I was not breaking simply because the amount of mutations that my spellcraft inflicted upon whatever creature I used it on sterilised it quite effectively, a very useful side-effect I took care to cultivate. Intelligent beings could not be modified without their consent, though my actions were a bit of a loophole, as the ban had been absolute until a few particularly influential sorceresses banded together to make an exception for consensual changes - making it legal to change one's appearance, age, et cetera. It was used almost exclusively by my colleagues to beautify themselves - by both genders, even if the men often pretended to be above vanity.

  That the wording technically included other modifications was likely an oversight, the Chapter of the time possibly concluding that no one would consent to anything too drastic. Naive, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  I hummed. Most of the prisoners from the previous force had been put to work, or integrated into my own forces in the case of the mercenaries, but many of the high-value prisoners were left to rot. I was approached clandestinely by a bare few noble families to ransom their ‘runaway’ and ‘adventurous’ offspring, something I was largely happy to do. Most, including the commander of the force, were still stuck here, with little hope for ransom.

  I was not dying again. If I had to break a few eggs, well, that was life.

  A myriad of plans and strategies flashed through my head as I considered my approach to the coming enemy. They would have to be extraordinarily foolish to approach without even larger numbers than before, as well as sorcerers. Moreover, the Nazairi lands to the south were nowhere near the wildness of Erlenwald. Any force I sent to harass the approaching enemy would be in unfamiliar terrain and heavily outnumbered. The weight of losses was unequal, too. Both because of the numerical disparity, but also because of Dreadhold. Conventional wisdom dictated that a single defender was worth multiple attackers. The fortress was not going to be in a great enough shape for the ratio to be too favourable, but the math was there.

  In other words, guerilla warfare was out. I considered portalling monsters in their path, but the presence of sorcerers would guarantee their swift demise without a magical defense, or large enough numbers. It might delay the Nazairi some, but probably not long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

  No, I this would be a conventional battle.