can probably field another ten thousand in the next two months. Training will take another four.”
“That’s six months,” Sara said. “We don’t have—”
“ I can’t pull soldiers out of the air! ” Myron roared, standing up so fast that his chair toppled behind him. “I’m talking about men, wizardess, not spirits! Men take time. I have to move them, equip them, train—”
“Myron.”
The general stopped. Alber Whitefall was sitting at his desk as before, calm as ever, but his eyes were narrow and his mouth was a thin, clamped line.
“Myron,” he said again in a soft, measured voice. “Do your best. Don’t worry about Sara. Just get me as many soldiers as you can. Understood?”
“Yes, Merchant Prince,” Myron grumbled.
“Excellent.” Alber gave him a smile. “You’d better go get started. Time is wasting.”
Myron Whitefall did not look pleased by the dismissal, but he gathered his papers and stomped into the hall without comment.
“Why is he in charge of our army again?” Sara said the moment the page closed the door.
“Because his mother was very insistent,” Alber answered, standing up with a sigh. “And because he’s not a bad general. He did secure the northlands, if you’ll recall. You’re seeing him at his worst. He was never one for politics, but he’s quite good with the soldiers.”
Sara glanced at the door and gave a dismissive snort. “ I could have told you the Empress would go for Osera.”
“Yes, well, you have the benefit of experience, don’t you?” the Merchant Prince said, pouring himself a finger of brandy from the bottle on the table behind him. “And the day you feel like marshaling our army, I will be more than happy to let you. Until then, Myron will have to do.” He paused. “It would also help if you didn’t treat him like some idiot child.”
“I treat him as he shows me he deserves to be treated,” Sara said, pulling her pipe out of her coat pocket. She lit it with a spark from a tiny ruby, one of nearly a dozen she kept on a chain in her pocket, and took a deep drag, pointedly ignoring Alber’s glare.
“He’s right, though,” she said softly.
Alber sipped his drink. “About what?”
“I don’t have a trick to beat the Immortal Empress.”
Alber lowered his glass. “Then why am I paying for your little playground downstairs?”
Sara grew very still. “The Relay was the idea that started my career, Alber. If I could have flashes of genius on call, I wouldn’t be working for you. But brilliant as the Relay was, we were fighting the Empress’s army, not the Empress herself.”
“Come now,” Alber said. “You don’t actually believe all that malarkey about the Empress being an unkillable, magical queen, do you? Everything we know came from captured soldiers who knew they were going to die. Of course they’d tell us the Empress is our doom incarnate.”
“There’s something going on with her,” Sara said. “Maybe she’s just a powerful wizard who’s good at selling herself, but one thing’s certain, Alber. I have a dozen different projects going right now, all with good potential, but I don’t have a miracle. Not this time, and not like we’re going to need.”
“Sara,” Alber said, swirling his drink. “I am an old man who has been up for nearly thirty hours. If you have a point, get to it.”
Sara took an angry puff from her pipe. “My point is that no matter how many poor farmers Myron shoves into Council uniforms, it’s not going to be enough. The Empress’s army isn’t just men. In the last war, the Empress’s forces used spirits on a scale I’ve never seen before. She had amalgam spirits, blends of fire and metal better than even Shaper work, specifically created for war and directed by trained teams of wizards.”
“How could I forget?” Alber said dryly. “And I suppose you’re going to say we can’t field something similar?”
Sara nearly choked on her smoke. “Powers, no. Even