Lo’Paih kicked one of the corpses. She was not amused. The first half of her force, sent north to be a diplomatic screen, was all dead. Not a single drop of blood on their blades.
“With respect,” came a voice behind her.
She whirled, her battlefist ready to strike, and her face enraged. Her four constructs shifted, frightened of her mood. “What?” she asked, angrily.
The man who faced her, Jak, was pale, but calm. Behind him the other eight men were trembling. Not that they would run, they had already seen her arbalester shoot down a fleeing man. “You are not a tactician,” Jak said. “I warned you against splitting out force. You are a skilled infuser, a clever craftswoman, and no doubt dangerous with a sword, but you do not know tactics. I do. You are our leader, but you wish me to be your executive officer. Let me make the tactical decisions from now on, and you will succeed.”
Lo’Paih frowned, but nodded. The man then sighed, relieved, and began to outline his plan.
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