The archaeological study of the wastelands is confused at best. Cartographers have it little better. Even if I say that the harbor the final battle took at is called Ley Port, every kingdom in Lumisgard thinks Ley Port sits somewhere else. Of course, it doesn’t help the matter that the only discernible landmark was destroyed.

Even still, it can be found to this day and I would recommend looking for it to the adventurous spirit. The beaches are of the softest sand and the fish are so docile you can pluck them out of tide pools with your bare hands. No nasty parasites to worry about either. If I were to tell the exact location, it would be ruined by excess people. The common man will have to make do with his imagination.

Ley Port welcomed Lucius with all its glory, granting him a splendid view from atop the protective cliffs, almost as buried as Mandible Bay but a hundred times more majestic. Once there had been a city of two million upon these shores. They built their city by stone and by plaster. They gilded it in gold and coated every wall in mosaics. All these beauties were lost to the centuries, not by the cruel passage of time but to pilferers and looters.

After the grand fire, the city was no longer seen as habitable and the sand encroached. Primarus only found his way to it through the whispers of ancient memory. He trekked his army across riverbeds and forgotten. They followed millenia old mercantile routes that still kept a memory in their firmament bones.

Their feet stirred up the past as much as they stirred up the sand. It revitalized the land in a way no one could perceive but perhaps the former angel. In truth, these kinds of ancient things often determine the tide of battle, the choices of leaders and the morale of troops. Such effects go unnoticed however, and can only be speculated about in hindsight.

In some regards, it matters little.

To bother less with the artistic, Ley Port has been ransacked and flattened. Once great mansions and temples are now little more than manmade caves. Sand-shredded tent fluttered in the sea breeze, giving bursts of shade to the wandering thralls. Only those with keen minds and fine fingers had been put to work when Primarus arrived at Ley Port, but busy they had been.

Lucius understood what was happening the moment he saw the spread of diffuse wastelanders surrounding an armored fort of piled stone. There was no hiding their approach, no means of stealthy approach. The tricks he had used in the Misty Isles could merely taunt him with memory as Lucius examined the rubble strewn field.

“They’re building more cannons,” Lucius said as his army marshaled into formation behind him.

Abdul grunted. “You should not have brought your strange weapons to this land.”

“We have to attack swiftly, before they produce another. They can’t have been here more than a day. While they might have forcibly fashioned another cannon, I don’t care how skilled they are at crafting you can’t use a ley rod the day you shape it. We’ll make a three part encirclement. Two layers of soldiers. In the front, shield bearers in formation, spears. Behind them, equip all of our artillery men with something to defend themselves with. As we march, they’ll have to sweep the buildings.”

Abdul grunted and blew air through his mustache. “That will have to be a slow march.”

“It’s that, or risk rabble encircling us. At least we know there’s only one stigmata user. Unless you have a better idea, spread the word.”

The Giordanan shook his head then pulled himself back upon his camel. With a snap of his reins he took off to gather his men.

Sacerdote remained placidly behind Lucius, until he received his order to gather the nameless soldiers into the western block. They would sweep the flank.

“An auspicious fort location, is it not?” the former priest said, gesturing to the harbor colossus that still bestrode the sea. A giant made of brass, missing only the lantern hand overhead, it stood in the gleam of day or the gloom of night.

Lucius glowered at it. “It’s hollow, isn’t it?”

“Almost certainly.”

“They could retreat into it.”

“I doubt they have any supplies for a siege.”

“Except each other.”

Neither man laughed. Sacerdote asked, “If he proves craven, how would you approach it?”

“Fire.”

“With what wood?”

“Sap it.”

“And destroy the relic?”

Lucius shook his head and mounted his own camel. “Whose relic? Is it of your people? I wasn’t aware anyone other than Anubi kept records.”

“It is older than us.”

“Then what do you care? We’ll do what we must.”

As the fighters were assembled into their new formation, a stir went through Ley Port, but without a proper chain of command the scattered thralls did little to coalesce. By the time the city was surrounded, Primarus had been alerted of course, but there was little he could do to force his troops back into line. He of course knew this, and Lucius knew that he knew this. The wastelander had allowed himself to be pinned against a shore with no shi to take him away.

This left Lucius uneasy and before he gave the order to march, he circled round to the back of the army where an honor guard kept the bishop, and her temporary handmaiden, safe. “Do you do wartime blessings?”

The living angel gave a wan smile and shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I never did have the knack for wide scale effects.”

Golden scoffed, seated above the little retinue on an exposed rock. “Only the gods were ever able to do that.”

“I can do something for you, though I don’t know if it will be a blessing or a curse. There are five ships sailing toward us, with the flag of Vassermark flying on all of them. They’ll be here in a few hours.”

Lucius shaded his eyes and stared where she pointed but saw nothing more than mist upon the sea. “You have better eyesight than me.”

“Better than most, Gambling Lion.”

“Oh, now you’re calling me that too?”

She laughed. “It’s endearing, isn’t it?”

“So long as I’m winning. Stay safe,” he said, and left their rearguard position. He descended the slopes and rallied his men. With swift orders, he divvied them up into the new formation, even designating exactly which men would be responsible for flowing around obstacles and then rejoining the line. The blanks formed up swiftly, soon creating a wall of flesh and shield.

“Slow march,” Lucius ordered, standing center of the formation like any other soldier. His force was not so large that he couldn’t command it from the front. Only in future wars would he need a system of couriers and criers and bugellers.

Indeed, at this time, he was an angry man most accustomed to the art of killing. He had enemies in front of him, and a time limit to slaughter them. Even in that moment as he mechanically advanced upon confused and scared warriors he had in his mind the hazy complexities of the world about him. He had been ordered to the southern continent for another’s gain. My own machinations had tied up loose ends he had left behind. And almost all of it was for naught due to elements outside even Lumisgard itself.

Through the blood work of the battle he marched. He stabbed. He battered men back and cut them down. He had the body of a man and knew he had to consciously step beyond the anguish stricken boy he had been on the day Sir Patrocles was hung in front of him so many years ago.

This was all according to my plan of course. What a waste of potential he had let himself become after one insignificant victory in the Misty Isles. Complacency is the death of ambition but for him it was even worse. He wanted to live with his head in the sand and refuse to accept his future all because he put a child in the woman he was infatuated with. Alas, my efforts to stir him up were not without cost.

He certainly strode out of the adolescent shadow, but I had not expected Nikolai to die in such a useless battle. It seems he let himself get swept up in the grand plan just like Lucius had been, and that death was like a wound on my pupil. It festered anger, he certainly intended to smash Primarus’ skull upon the stones and scatter his blood to the sea.

It also put a seed of doubt into the boy.

He knew I had asked Nikolai to keep an eye on Jean for me, to assist her as necessary and to make her an ally. That task was not done, could not be done until her self-afflicted curse was lifted. That meant Nikolai’s role was not over and yet he had died, pierced by a dozen steel blades.

Part of my plan had failed, which meant that I was not infallible. Perhaps I had made other mistakes. Perhaps he should not always trust my judgment.

I do not know how well formed these doubts were at the time. I was upon one of the five ships sent to ferry the army back to the north. In body at least. My awareness soared above Ley Port in the body of an osprey. I flitted above the heads of soldiers seeking out my accomplices and finding only Lucius.

When my bird landed upon a wall beside him, he was draining a stolen wineskin into his gullet, covered in blood. After an hour of pushing into the city and countless surprise skirmishes, he had pulled his formation tighter, had rotated the troops for fatigue and injury, and done nothing short of excellence at commanding.

He glared at me without saying a word.

At the time, I thought it was nothing more than battle rage, surmising that Nikolai had been killed. More likely than in battle, I thought the Skaldheimer had been poisoned or otherwise cut down in camp for being a foreigner during hard times. Then, I was given a wholly new proposal for what had been the demise of my mercenary friend.

The colossus of Ley Port creaked and groaned. Ancient seams of brass split, shedding a millennia of dirt and corrosion as it seemingly came to life. With footsteps that shook the entire city, the metal titan descended from its stone plinth and turned upon the army.