"Greybridge Fort. It sits on the stone bridge — the only crossing that takes heavy wagons and cavalry in strength. While Baldwin holds it, his reinforcements flow north whenever he likes, and mine can't move south at all.
"Redfield Depot. Food, weapons, medicine — the stockpile feeding his whole northern advance. Every day it stands, his push gets cheaper and mine gets hungrier.
"Highwatch Bastion." His finger rested on the third. "Magical artillery. Being assembled and consecrated as we speak. My scouts say days from readiness — and when it's ready, it ranges on my outer districts. On the refugee camps, if his gunners are feeling lawful."
He straightened.
"Three positions, mutually supporting. I move a real force against any one, the other two reinforce it — or strike this city while my strength is committed. I leave them alone, the fist closes at his pace while the monsters eat my frontier from behind. That's the problem on my table."
