Northern Fortress Defense (2)
"Swen. Just as you asked, I've put together a simple platform for you to stand on—something you can climb up onto, at least…"
"Perfect."
Hearing Airen's report, I checked the altar she had stacked near the wall. Small steps rose on either side; once I stood in the center, I would be unmistakable from outside the fortress.
Still, better to be sure.
"Ah—Airen."
"What is it?"
She stepped closer. Too close. Her body brushed lightly against mine. She wasn't wearing her heavy breastplate—she'd left it off to haul bricks more easily—and that absurdly full chest pressed softly against my arm.
The distance between us felt… different from usual. Not that I minded, if it meant she trusted me.
"That hill over there, for example. When soldiers come down from it… will they be able to see me clearly?"
"It's a gentle slope. I think they will."
"Is that so? Then this will do."
"…I'm curious why you asked, though."
Right. I should tell her something. Not everything—I couldn't be fully honest—but the important part was that she recognized what I was doing.
"Airen. Can you promise me you won't panic, no matter what I say?"
She answered without a flicker of hesitation.
"I promise. Swen, nothing you say will surprise me."
"…"
I closed my eyes slowly.
This was the starting line. From this point on, I had to act. And before I could deceive anyone else, I first had to deceive myself.
I was about to call down one of nature's disasters—lightning—and make a miracle of it. But it could not look like magic. Claim magic, and people would start demanding proof that I was a mage. I had no real power to summon natural disasters, so proof was impossible.
Magic did exist in this world. Mages simply didn't appear until very late in the game. With not a single mage yet risen to prominence, being branded the continent's first was nothing but trouble. My current lord, Lin Brans, had no love for talent that wouldn't fit inside her own vessel. If I became a mage, she might well turn on me.
So this had to be something I had read from the world by other means—not magic.
I arranged my face into the look of a man who had just received a revelation. Then, voice trembling just enough, I spoke as if a god had whispered in my ear.
"Last night, I looked at the sky. Seven stars shone with unusual brilliance."
"Seven stars…?"
"Yes. And three of them… flared before my eyes, then vanished without warning."
"…?"
Airen tilted her head. Of course she did. She had no idea what I was talking about. Neither did I, honestly. I was stringing together plausible-sounding nonsense. How was anyone supposed to understand words even I didn't understand?
But that was fine. Once the miracle happened, every scrap of this gibberish would be re-evaluated.
"The heavens are unsettled. If I can read this current to our advantage… I believe a miracle may be possible."
"A miracle…? What kind of miracle, exactly?"
"One that can wipe out Serpina's army in a single stroke."
"!!!"
Airen started, then pressed me.
"Can you… tell me more?"
I would have loved to bluff grandly—I'll make lightning strike—but the sky was still clear. I only had a vague sense that a natural disaster was coming; I didn't know which one. Flipping my cards this early was unwise.
"In a few more days… I should be able to read the flow of the heavens with certainty. That's why I had to ask you to build the altar. I need to commune with the sky."
"I… see?"
Airen tilted her head the other way, still thoroughly lost. The little animal-like gesture was oddly endearing. Then she closed her eyes, nodded slowly, and said:
"…Very well, Swen. I don't understand a word of what you're saying… but I don't believe you'd talk nonsense."
Her trust was welcome—and left me feeling a little guilty for the deception. Still, results would speak for themselves.
"Thank you for believing me. For the next few days, I intend to remain here and commune with the sky. If it isn't too much trouble… could you bring me simple meals while I do?"
"An easy request."
Good. All I had to do now was sit here for several days and look like I was doing something profound.
Time to commune with the heavens, then.
I looked up at the sky and stared blankly, the way one stares into a fire. Strangely enough, the hours were deeply healing. Now and then I wondered what on earth I was doing—but no matter how many times I ran the probabilities and the rules of this game-world, this was the correct answer.
It'll be fine. It'll go the way I think. There was only ever that one possibility.
And so, atop the altar, I struck the occasional dramatic pose, or quietly murmured lyrics from pop songs I'd known in my old world. The sight burned itself into the eyes of every soldier in the fortress—Airen included, each time she brought me food.
While Airen was tending to affairs inside the fortress, a soldier came running.
"Airen. May I ask you something?"
"Speak."
"Well… Lord Swen has asked us to prepare two drums…"
"Drums?"
"Drums you can beat to make sound."
"I know what a drum is… He asked for them to be brought?"
"Yes. He said they don't have to be finished goods—anything similar will do. We're just not sure where to source them…"
Airen thought for a moment. Carve some wood, stretch cowhide from the cattle we're slaughtering for food over it… that should make something close enough.
"Ah—Airen."
"Hm? What is it?"
"Is this… right? I mean… how do I put this…"
The soldier chose his words with extreme care, as if merely raising the subject were an act of great presumption.
"I simply cannot understand why Lord Swen is ordering these things. Serpina's forces will assault this fortress any day now. We barely have time to inspect the defenses and fletch more arrows—and yet he's up on that strange altar, singing in some bizarre tongue and dancing… A lowly man like me can't begin to grasp what Lord Swen is trying to do."
He had been very, very careful with his language. The conclusion was still the same: he could not understand Swen's behavior. He was a common soldier and Swen was an officer, so he would obey for now—but he was appealing to Airen, who outranked Swen, to ask whether this was truly all right.
Airen understood at once what the man really wanted. The actions made no sense, so he was asking her for an explanation.
"I understand your concern. I myself have not fully grasped what he intends."
"Then—"
"However."
Airen closed her eyes slowly, nodded, then opened them and met the soldier's gaze straight on.
"I will vouch for him. Swen is not a man who wastes effort. Consider this an order from me—Airen Juliette. Will that do?"
"An order from you, Airen…"
Yes. The man named Swen was still a mystery. But if General Airen was the one taking responsibility, a soldier could follow. Who was she, after all? Among every commander in the Brans Army, she was the one who cared most for common soldiers like him.
"…Understood."
"Good. While you're at it, I have a request of my own."
"Anything, General Airen."
"Prepare wood and cowhide."
"Yes, ma'am!"
The soldiers had eyes. They had all watched Swen's strange behavior. Not only the man who had just spoken—quite a few others came to Airen with the same doubts. She managed, somehow, to quiet every complaint herself.
Had Airen—trusted by the rank and file—not stepped in to mediate, a new officer with no reputation among the troops like Swen would never even have gotten his altar built. He would have accomplished nothing.
Swen. I believe in you. I won't hesitate any longer.
In this way, she firmly protected the man she had newly chosen to guard.
Sure enough—after a few days, as if on cue, the sky began to thicken and churn. Fortunately, it didn't yet foul the immediate field of view.
Just as I expected!
After landslides, lightning was the next most probable natural disaster—and it looked ready to hammer Serpina's army. I had already spun Airen the story about the heavens with lightning in mind, so the confirmation was a quiet relief.
And so, on another day of muttering meaninglessly, of picking two soldiers and letting them pound the drums however they liked, of laying paper with half-invented patterns on the altar floor and weighting them with stones so the wind wouldn't take them—actions that looked profound and were, in fact, nothing at all—
"You've worked hard again today, Swen."
"Airen."
She had brought my daily rations once more. Nothing luxurious, but more than enough to keep hunger at bay.
"Thank you. Truly—every time."
"Don't mention it. You're the one working hard. So—how goes the communion with the sky?"
"Smoothly. Before Serpina's army arrives… I think I may even be able to twist the flow a little."
"I see."
Through every bit of this nonsense, Airen never once challenged me. She simply brought my meals, and while I was occupied, she tended the fortress in my place—drilling the soldiers, persuading the doubtful, handling discipline by the book. She was even caring for the wounded on top of it all. In truth, she had been far busier than I, who was busy doing nothing of substance.
"I'd have liked to brew you tea… but sadly, this fortress has no tea leaves."
"Brew it for me when we get home."
Airen smiled faintly again. Lately, she had been smiling far more often.
"I will. We'll make it back together. I'm sure of it."
Seeing that smile, I found myself wanting—genuinely wanting—to work a miracle. I was going to work one anyway… but still. Having a place to return to filled a person up in a way nothing else did.
It'll work. It will.
I muttered the words to myself again and again, like a spell of self-hypnosis.
The enemy appeared at the very moment the sky looked ready to empty itself of rain.
"The enemy approaches!"
"Serpina's forces are in sight!"
Even without the soldiers' shouts, the truth was easy enough to see.
"Swen! I heard the men calling—surely not…!"
Airen came running at the news and stood beside me, staring toward the approaching host.
"…They're here."
Serpina's army was rolling in. Even at a glance the numbers were vast, and the siege engines were absurdly many. Who brought that much artillery for a single fortress? Under ordinary circumstances the walls would have fallen in less than a day. A fortress wall was nowhere near as stout as a castle's.
The moment their infantry closed on the ramparts and the catapults reached stone-throwing range would be this fortress's last.
Which meant—if my prediction was right, if my reading was correct—
Now.
Now was the moment. At this distance, lightning would fall on Serpina's army. And from that instant on, everything would matter more than anything else.
I rose slowly from the altar.
"Swen…?"
I spoke to her quietly.
"Airen. I will bring you victory. Without fail."
Then I turned toward the oncoming enemy.
Come.
I spread both arms wide.
The performance of a lifetime—everything I had staked on this single show—was about to begin.