Now there were forty emplacements, eight on each of the bay’s five terraces, four on each side. The two highest levels held the long guns, the only cannon that could almost reach the inner wall of the reef. The next two terraces were armed with medium cannon. Eight heavy siege-guns defended the lowest. Each emplacement had its mortised housing clad in oilcloth to protect its supply of gunpowder. It also had its stone-walled trough filled with shot and chain. The guns in their trucks had been roped into the emplacements. And the cruel work of smoothing the terraces so that men could run along them was done.

That was the best that Belleger and Amika together could do. If those fortifications did not suffice to hold back the enemy, the invasion would begin in earnest.

General Klamath nodded his approval. Behind his mask of authority, he was in awe of what had been accomplished here. But he was also dismayed by the dangers of opposing an army of sorcerers with mere cannon. The gunners would be exposed to any Decimate that the enemy chose to throw at them.

“You have accomplished wonders,” he told Flisk and Forguile, “and paid a high price. If I could, I would relieve you. But no one else knows your cannon and your cannoneers as well as you do. Now tell me. What are your immediate concerns? What do you need while we wait for the enemy?”

“The guns, General,” replied the Commander promptly. “We have done what we can for them. They are wrapped tight in oilcloth. But that is not enough.”

“The winds, sir,” put in Captain Flisk. “They reach everywhere. And they carry rain. Or salt spray. Or snow when it comes. If the guns are not kept dry, they will fail.”

“To be safe,” added Forguile, “they should be cleaned every day. But our volunteers are too few. And too weak. Even your riflemen are near their limits.”

“You need more men.” Klamath spoke as if he did not expect to need every soldier he had. “And when the enemy comes? Do you have enough to work the guns?”

Hesitating, Flisk looked at his comrade. Forguile answered with assurance. “To fire and reload quickly, General, each cannon requires four. One to load and tamp down the gunpowder and wadding. One to carry the ball or chain. One to light the fuse. One to ready the next gunpowder and wadding so that the others can heave the gun back into position after it recoils.” He shrugged. “We can make do with three. Four will be more effective.”

The General made a mental calculation. Privately, he sighed. “I cannot spare as many as you need. I will send as many as I can. Keep any who volunteer as gunners. And enlist the servants if you must. Teach them tasks that do not require skill.”

Carrying cannonballs was a question of strength, not of training.