The Grand Vermilion River widened into a vast, placid lake as the armada cleared the Red-Gate Canal Locks.
Four hundred war-galleys and transport barges glided through the calm waters in five disciplined lines. Along the riverbanks, golden willow leaves drifted across the misty shallows, while three hundred and twenty-five thousand allied soldiers prepared their campfires for the evening meal.
Up on the quarterdeck of the ironclad flagship, Sera Thorne leaned over a wooden table covered with regional maps.
Beside her, Elder Sterling traced the northern river bend with his rough thumb, his broadsword resting against the table leg.
“Scouts report that the capital’s outer prefectures are heavily fortified,” Sterling said, his scarred brow furrowing. “Three great ducal estates guard the river approaches, each anchored to one of the Emperor’s Dragon-Vein Lock Pillars. If we sail past them without securing the flanks, their ballistas can cross-fire into our transport barges.”
“We will deal with the dukes when we reach their water gates,” Sera replied, checking her pocket watch. “Right now, logistics come first. Deacon Vane just finished the quarterly audit.”
She pulled open her small leather ledger, tapping a freshly penned column.
“Seventeen thousand high-grade stones from the river-admiral brings our liquid war chest to exactly two hundred thousand high-grade spirit stones,” Sera noted. “At current expenditure rates, that gives our coalition twelve months of continuous campaign rations without touching our emergency reserves.”
