More alarming, to Marcus’ military mind, was the last line. He plans to take Antova? Antova was the great fortress of the Velt Valley, constructed where a tributary of the Velt reached within fifty miles of the primary passes leading over the mountains from Vordan. No army could debouch from the passes and leave the fortress and its garrison active in their rear. The great seven-sided star of its outer trace was familiar to every graduate of the War College; it was the master work of the great Hamveltai engineer Dreiroede, and its plans were included in military textbooks as the epitome of modern fortifications. Such was its reputation that it had never been besieged, let alone captured.

And this is what Janus casually says he’ll take by the end of the season? Marcus shook his head. A proper assault, with approaching parallels, breaching batteries, and all the rest, would take months, stretching through the winter with the army strung out at the end of a slow and vulnerable line of supply. He can’t be serious, can he?

But there was never any arguing with Janus, least of all from the other end of a flik-flik line. Marcus sighed and went to put the message in his pocket, only to be halted by Lieutenant White clearing his throat.

“Sorry, sir,” White said. “The coding instructions were clear. The message isn’t to leave this room, and we’re to destroy all copies once you’ve seen it.”

“Ah. Of course.” Marcus handed the paper back to White, who put it with a small stack of others and took it to a small metal bin, already half-full of ashes. A splash of lamp oil and a match later, and the messages were blazing merrily.

“Thank you, sir,” White said. “It’s good to finally meet you. If you’re interested in the details of our operation here, I can put together a basic overview—”

“That’s all right,” Marcus said hurriedly. White seemed the type who would go into excruciating detail at the drop of a hat. “Thank you for answering my questions.” He turned to Giforte. “The message said something about Downstairs?”

“Ah,” Giforte said, looking uncomfortable. “That’s what we call . . . well, Downstairs. I’ll show you. Follow me.”

“Where did White and the others come from?” Marcus said as they descended the tower stairs.

“Volunteers, mostly,” Giforte said. “I only know their end of it, but apparently the general had some men sorting through the new recruits for candidates. We never have enough boys who can write and figure. He took some from the old navy, too, signalmen and the like.”