Chapter 500: Body of Steel (Part I)
Something stirred in Roland’s chest as he stood on the Roland’s command balcony and watched the fleet string out behind him.
The flagship was alone in its category. Behind it came the concrete boats—slow, thick, low in the water—but there were more than ten of them, and arrayed together on the river they still held a kind of power. White smoke trailed from every chimney stack. The hulls pushed dividing lines through the current. There was nothing tentative about any of it.
The gunboat was the fleet’s center of gravity. The bridge dominated the skyline of the convoy—tall, squared-off, entirely unlike the rounded profiles of the cargo boats or the narrow silhouettes of old sailing ships. Its 152mm main cannon sat forward on its rotating mount. Two Mark I machine guns flanked the bridge on either side. Below deck, a custom high-pressure steam engine drove a propeller system that pushed twelve kilometers per hour against the current, roughly twice what any inland river vessel could sustain under sail.
Watching it move—watching the fleet move—Roland could admit the pride to himself. He’d spent the Months of Demons producing boats, and this was the result.
“You’re in a good mood,” Nightingale said beside him, wrestling a strand of hair out of the wind. “Is it because you’re going home?”
“Home means the Western Region. Not the palace—I’m never going back there.” He shook his head. “I’m happy because this is almost over.”
A pause.
“Half of that is a lie.”
He remembered too late who he was standing next to. “Fine. I’m also proud of what we managed to produce during the Months of Demons.”
“That’s true.” She tilted her head. “But it sounds a little self-satisfied.”
“That’s why I didn’t say it in the first place.”
“Understandable.” She almost smiled, and moved to stand beside him at the rail instead of slightly behind. “I won’t hold it against you. Minor lies are fine with me—as long as they have nothing to do with me.”
Then don’t call out the ones that do, he thought, but kept that to himself.
After a moment, Nightingale said quietly—more to the river than to him—“I never thanked you.”
“For what?”
“For bringing an end to this conflict. For what comes after—peace for everyone in Graycastle. For common people and witches both, living without that weight.” She paused. “I always knew you’d reach this point. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”
“It isn’t so soon—not really,” he said. “Even after Timothy is dethroned, the noble houses will resist. Unifying the whole of Graycastle could take years.”
“Still. It’s more than I dared to hope for.” She was quiet for a moment. “Before this, I thought I might never live to see it.”
“Don’t talk like that.” He looked at her sidelong. “Do you think I intend to put you in danger?”
“Combat witches are always in danger. That’s the nature of the role—it doesn’t change because someone cares about the outcome.” She met his eyes, direct and steady. “I made peace with that the moment I swore loyalty to you.”
“Then I’ve let you down, because the sacrifices in this campaign will be coming from the other side.” He looked away across the water. “Even so—I should thank you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because without witches, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to do any of this.” He meant it simply and completely. Without Anna, he would never have committed to protecting the witches. Without magic in the world, he would still be managing a failing Border Town with nothing but modest cleverness and borrowed time. The witches hadn’t just helped him—they’d made him possible. “You gave me the foundation.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
“You’re telling the truth,” she said.
“Of course I am.”
A gold streak dropped from the sky and landed at the rail beside them—Lightning, hair wild, cheeks flushed from altitude.
“Your Highness—four sloops with side paddles are approaching from twenty kilometers east. They match the description of the hawk-headed ships in Theo’s report, but I didn’t see any hawk-head figureheads.”
“The hawk head is the ram below the waterline.” Roland put a hand briefly on her hair. “Good work. Keep watching.”
Lightning’s eyes slid sideways toward Nightingale, then back to Roland. She gathered herself and said, in a smaller voice: “Does this mean I could do fewer practice problems? As punishment?”
He couldn’t keep the laugh in. “If you promise to stay in position going forward—one set, not three.”
“Yes, sir!” She was airborne before the words finished landing, a flash of gold banking east.
“You’re too lenient with her,” Nightingale said.
“She responds better to rewards than consequences. I’ve observed that carefully.” He waved off any further objection and headed for the stairs. “Come on. We have work to do.”
The command room was square and plain—a wooden table, four benches, nothing else. Iron Axe, Brian of the Gun Battalion, Van’er of the Artillery Battalion, and Captain Cacusim of the Victory stood around the table where a river chart was unrolled and weighted at the corners.
“According to Theo’s reports, the four warships are inland galleys,” Roland said, placing a finger on the chart. “Speed comparable to our concrete boats, but significantly more maneuverable. Their standard approach is to close distance and hook onto the target vessel so their soldiers can board. They can also be packed with combustibles and rammed into an enemy ship—but since their current orders are to block and seize, they won’t sacrifice the vessels. We preserve ours for the same reason.” He looked around the table. “First engagement on water. I want ideas.”
“Moving cannon against moving targets is difficult,” Van’er said immediately. “I’d rather wait until we’re within fifty meters. At that range I’ll guarantee a hit that sinks them.”
Brian shook his head. “Every shell Anna makes is irreplaceable right now, and you waste most of a shell’s energy passing through the hull at close quarters. Wait for them to board, let the machine guns do the work. Let them come to us.”
Both turned to Cacusim. Roland had brought the old captain precisely because he was the only man in Neverwinter who’d actually fought on water—years running merchant routes, encounters with pirates, getting boarded and surviving. Experience like that didn’t come from a manual.
Cacusim looked uncomfortable with the attention. He worked his jaw for a moment.
“In my opinion… we should just charge straight at them.”
Silence from the other two.
“The Roland is large,” he continued, gaining steadiness. “It’s fast, and it’s steel. A wooden hull isn’t going to stay intact if we make contact at speed. Even a grazing blow would open a leak they can’t manage mid-river. They don’t need to sink—just stop being functional.” He glanced around the table. “That’s only my opinion, Your Highness.”
Something in the image completed itself in Roland’s mind—a flag at the masthead, a bow pointed into open water, the ship’s weight and momentum doing the argument for it.
“It’s a good opinion.” He looked at the chart a moment longer, then straightened. “We follow this plan. The Roland raises the City of Neverwinter flag—tower, gun, four stars—sounds the horn, and proceeds at full speed.”
He looked at each of them.
“Let’s go.”