What Captain Flisk had in mind now would be worse. He meant to send sixteen teams of four to the medium guns. But he had only fourteen intact cannon. Only eleven if the barriers of rubble could not be cleared. Well, he would commit eleven teams to the working guns. The other cannoneers would have to tackle the debris. If they could free even one cannon with its stores of shot and gunpowder, that would help. If they could do more—

Under any circumstances, he had to assume that they would all be killed. Any enemy sorcerers who did not go down with the ships would have easy targets.

The prospect made Heren Flisk feel like a butcher. He arranged the rest of his plans to give those men at least a measure of cover.

Magister Brighten and her comrades would find the ships within reach of their Decimates. They might not have enough time to counter the enemy’s lightning-wielders effectively, but they could at least try to distract those sorcerers by aiming for the men on the decks of the vessels.

For the riflemen, Captain Flisk had a different task in mind.

Around him, the winds shifted. He heard the crash of seas, the submerged crack of rocks broken by earthquakes. Then the clamor receded, leaving the more familiar whine and cry of air past the cliff’s edges.

As the riflemen Flisk had summoned arrived, he gathered their informal leaders. “Tell your men,” he instructed, trying not to let his voice shake, “to find cover along the cliff. I want them to watch the enemy without showing themselves. They may be able to spot men on those ships. If they do—and if you have marksmen who can hit a target at that distance—let them fire at will. Otherwise, do not shoot.

“I will take teams to the medium cannon. They will attempt a barrage, as heavy as they can manage. But they will be exposed, easy to kill. Unable to shield themselves.”

He was explaining too much. The men around him probably had more experience than he did. They would know what to do. But he could not stop. If he did give these orders, he would not have the courage to condemn the cannoneers.

“When the barrage begins, I want every rifle firing. Tell your men to strike at the ships as fast as they can. I want a hailstorm of bullets.” A threat to discourage the enemy’s sorcerers. “It may do more to protect the gunners than our Magisters can.”

The salute the soldiers gave him before hurrying to obey made him want to weep.

I will take teams— Could he do what Commander Forguile had done earlier? Forguile had been able to save himself. Flisk might not get that chance.

He had to take the risk. Better to fall with men he had sent to die than to stay where he was and watch their deaths.