“And you can rest again,” he added, “while the guns fire. It will compel the enemy’s attention. If you sense sorcery aimed at the guns, try to deflect or dismiss it. If not, rest and wait. And be ready. The gunners will need your protection again when they are done.”

“Yes,” repeated Magister Brighten. Now her anger resembled eagerness. Like Lambent, she gave herself the right to issue orders. Keeping Glowing with her, she paired the other four Magisters of lightning quickly and commanded them to find their places. “Be sure of your targets. Watch for the Captain’s signal. Now go.”

After only a moment’s hesitation, she was obeyed. The burly man in particular looked sheepish or crestfallen, unaccustomed to being told what to do; but he did not hang back.

While the Magisters of lightning spread out along the cliff to find their hiding places, Trench spoke for the Magisters of wind. “There is little we can do, Captain. The stability of those ships is unnatural. But perhaps we can unsettle them somewhat, if we combine our Decimates. An unexpected tilt may disturb those sorcerers.”

That was more than Flisk had known to request. Not for the first time, he was grateful for Magister Trench’s presence. But he had no words for what he felt. Instead, he gave the sturdy theurgist a salute.

With a grim grin, Trench led the other sorcerers of wind away toward the head of the road, where they would have a clear view of the whole bay.

Breathing against the clench in his stomach and the pain in his shoulder, Heren Flisk braced himself to take charge of the gunners.

They came from the encampment in a group as unruly as a mob. As Flisk had instructed, they left the boys behind. At least half of them had worked the long guns earlier. They knew the danger too well. The rest of the cannoneers were at the mercy of their imaginations. Grumbling and cursing, arguing with each other, muttering insults, they jostled and floundered along the beaten path. But they came.

Sixty-four men who had no reason to think that they would live through the next hour.

Grimacing until the muscles of his face ached, Captain Flisk prepared to say what he required of himself.

It will be bad, he imagined telling them. I cannot pretend otherwise. But you will sink ships. Our Magisters and riflemen will do what they can to cover you. And I will be there with you. You will not face a death that I do not face myself.

He meant to speak; but before he could begin, he heard a shriek.