Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 1068: A Torch Run

The morning after the Sports Meeting, Roland took his seat in the parlor and watched his officials rise as he entered. “Please sit,” he said, and waited for the room to settle before continuing.

“You’ve all been informed of the purpose of this meeting.” He let the next word carry its full weight. “As of this moment, the war has officially begun.”

“This isn’t a matter for the armies alone. Every governmental body, every department director in the Administrative Office — I require you to understand the nature of this war, and the political and military direction it will take. I require you to fight this prolonged battle alongside the First Army.” His voice was steady, without theater, which made it sharper. “Neverwinter has accomplished extraordinary things. But none of it will survive if we lose the Battle of Divine Will. If we fail to take the Taquila ruins, the Red Mist spreads across the continent and nothing can stop the demons. We must win. There is no fallback position.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the room answered.

“Good.” Roland turned to Edith. “The General Staff will now present the detailed strategy.”

Edith rose. She pressed a hand to her chest — the courtly gesture so practiced it was nearly involuntary — and walked to the large map of the Western Region that covered the wall behind the table. Numerous additions and amendments had expanded it over the months, so that Neverwinter now appeared as a small mark near one edge rather than the center of the known world. Anyone who studied the map long enough would feel the appropriate smallness. That effect was deliberate.

“First,” Edith said, “you need to understand that this battle will be unlike anything we have fought before. It will be a prolonged war.”

The vision-blocking tactic that had worked at the North Slope was finished as a strategy. The Taquila ruins were far deeper into the Fertile Plains than the destroyed outpost — building railways there would take months, and the demons would notice long before the work was done. Surprise was not available.

Roland had decided to compensate with direct military strength.

This was going to be an attacker-versus-defender engagement, open and sustained, and no one in the room was surprised to hear it. They had known the broad shape of the plan beforehand.

Only Barov raised a question. “How long do you estimate it will last?”

“It depends on how hard the counterattacks are,” Edith said. “The General Staff has run maneuvers with the Taquila witches. If the demons attack at the same frequency as during the North Slope battle — roughly once a week — we can bring the Longsong Cannons to bear within three months.”

“But they aren’t stupid. They won’t repeat exactly the same mistake.”

“Correct. I expect them to identify what the railways are for and possibly detect the rear construction in Misty Forest before long. We’re taking precautions, but a battle has many variables. I want the Administrative Office to plan based on the worst case.”

“Which is?” Barov asked.

“Spring through winter. Fighting through the Months of Demons.”

A silence.

“That would mean failure,” Barov said, brow drawn. “It wouldn’t meet His Majesty’s requirements.”

“A deadlock is not a defeat. As long as we don’t retreat, the battle continues — we simply resume after the snow melts.” Edith glanced around at the apprehensive faces. “This is the worst scenario. It’s unlikely. We produce ammunition far faster than the demons replace their losses. But I want the office prepared.”

Barov sat with it for a moment. “Then I’ll begin sourcing food reserves from every region. The Golden Twos planted across the kingdom will produce a surplus this year — enough to sustain the First Army for a year if needed.”

“No difficulty,” said Sirius Daly, the Minister of Agriculture. “I’ll notify the local city halls.”

“The chemical production plan will need adjustment as well,” Barov continued. “We’ll require more gunpowder and explosives.”

Kyle Sichi, the Minister of Chemical Industry, responded without sentiment: “We have the same number of workers. Increasing gunpowder output means reducing perfumes and soap.”

He paused, then looked at Roland. “We might borrow alchemical apprentices. The Kingdom of Dawn has numerous workshops — none in the City of Glow itself, but if Your Majesty requests, the King of Dawn would support us for as long as necessary. There are also alchemists available from the Kingdom of Wolfheart and the Kingdom of Everwinter — the First Army already has soldiers stationed near Cage Mountain in both regions.”

“Put together a proposal,” Roland said.

He was genuinely pleased. When he had unified the kingdom, he’d estimated it would take two or three years before the old habits of ministerial insularity really broke down — lords who had spent decades deferring to other lords within their own domains, who had never expected to coordinate with anyone outside their spheres. But the magic of authority, once legitimately redistributed, worked faster than he had anticipated.

Barov was already thinking in terms of the Kingdom of Dawn and Wolfheart. That was not the man Roland had first met.

When the department reports were finished, Edith continued. “Destroying the demons’ encampment is not sufficient. We need to exterminate them — cut off every route of retreat before the main offensive, air force and ground force both. Only the witches can do that.”

“Some reasons?” Barov sounded uncertain. “Keeping the witches at the enemy’s rear puts them in extreme danger.”

“Because of the curse.” Roland cut in. “There is a Senior Demon among the enemy who can apply magical curses at range. The mechanism is unclear, but the effect may be similar to Blackveil — the Church witch. If it escapes the encirclement, the First Army would be compromised. Even a victory under those conditions would be devastating.”

The room went quiet.

Blackveil was a name the senior officers still spoke with care. She had killed more than seven hundred First Army soldiers through eye contact alone — the single greatest loss in the Army’s history. The possibility of a demon with equivalent capability was not something any of them needed explained further.

Roland glanced down the table to where Lightning sat, head bowed, silent.

He understood exactly what she was carrying.

She knew that every witch in Neverwinter would be taking on additional risk because of what the curse had done to her father. There was nothing to say to that. There was only the fact that they were going anyway, and that she would have to learn to live in the space between gratitude and guilt.

He got to his feet.

“The purpose of this expedition is to eliminate the threat posed by the Obelisk before the Battle of Divine Will, while simultaneously weakening the demons’ strength. The operation code is Torch.” He looked around the table. “Torch — for our intention to burn out our enemies. And for the light it will bring to the Fertile Plains. I expect everything you have from every one of you. We expand the territory of Graycastle and the survival of humanity together.”

The room stood.

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

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