\hypertarget{chapter-19-flame}{%
\chapter{Flame}\label{chapter-19-flame}}



\epigraph{``Maybe I'll lose one day. But not today, and not to the likes of
you.''}{Dread Empress Maleficent the First}



I pushed myself up to my feet, wincing as my knee almost gave under my
own weight.

My forearm wasn't as bad, though both wounds would require the attention
of a healer before the day was done. At least I wasn't in any danger of
bleeding out even if I wasn't going to be winning races anytime soon. My
armour was a mess of mud and blood, but I was still alive. My first duel
to the death with another Named and it couldn't be called anything but a
victory. There was a sweet taste to that truth. \emph{Another milestone
passed}. I bent over to pick up my shield, strapping it back on with a
grunt and way too much fumbling for comfort. Around me the battle still
raged but the Fifteenth was now carrying the day. Juniper's cohort was
driving back the Spears into the opening through the stakes Page had
burned, one step at a time. There was a flash of light in the distance
and Hakram roared triumphantly. I grinned at the sound and hobbled
towards it.

The shield wall my legionaries had formed was advancing steadily, a
rampart of steel the furious men-at-arms threw themselves against in
vain. There was no formation to the footmen of the Spears. There
wouldn't be, I supposed. That wasn't what they were meant for: they were
just a battering ram used to hold down the enemy while the cataphracts
rode them down. Without the silvery horsemen backing them, they'd ended
up alone in an uphill melee against the finest infantry on Calernia --
and they were bleeding badly for it. The cohort's frontline split and
Adjutant limped back to safety behind it, the opening closing as fluidly
as it had come into existence. Hakram looked like he'd been rolling
around in a bed full of charcoal and his armour's metal was warped, but
aside from that he seemed unwounded. He sketched out the distant cousin
of a salute when I got to him, the two of us ending up leaning against
each other more to stay up than out of affection.

``Got the Page?'' he gravelled.

``Stabbed her in the throat,'' I agreed.

``Cold,'' he rasped out approvingly.

``The priest?'' I asked.

``Bastard was a terrible fighter, but he did some thing that made him
burn to the touch,'' Adjutant replied.

He brought up his skeletal hand for me to see, the bones of it now
blackened and burnt.

``Turns out those don't feel pain,'' he gravelled. ``Choked the man
out.''

I snorted.

``You know,'' I mused, ``I don't always feel like a villain, but today I
might have gotten a little into it.''

``Snappy sentence when you stabbed her?'' he asked curiously.

``Helmet reference,'' I explained.

He barked out a laugh. ``That's gonna stay a classic, you know,'' he
told me. ``I'll bet my good hand there's going to be a song before the
month is done.''

Gods, there probably would be. Legionaries made songs about bloody
everything, it was one of the Legions' oldest traditions. We stood there
for a long moment, watching the men-at-arms losing ground. I frowned at
the sight eventually.

``We can't drive them away too far,'' I said. ``We need them in position
for the second phase.''

``They'll follow when we draw back,'' Adjutant grunted. ``It's the other
flank I'm worried about. No cohort to hold the line there.''

``The godsdamned Hellhound's on it,'' I smiled. ``I'm sure she'll figure
something out.''

Carefully, we started making our way back to the Fifteenth's unofficial
headquarters. Of my senior officers only Aisha and Pickler were still
there, and the Senior Sapper was conversing in low tones with several
messengers, keeping an eye on the three fronts of the battlefield.

``Lady Squire,'' my legate grunted. ``I see you managed not to get
yourself killed.''

``I'm touched by your overwhelming faith in my abilities,'' I replied.
``Are you sure you're comfortable gushing this much in public? People
will talk.''

The grim-faced orc rolled her eyes.

``I sent Apprentice to the right flank,'' she informed me. ``It was
beginning to buckle.''

A cursory glance was enough to tell me this was no longer the case. The
Silver Spears infantry had managed to push through the stakes, though
going by the amount of corpses decorating the hill it hadn't been easy.
They'd been stopped flat anyway: an entire stretch of the slope had been
turned into a hellish wasteland of jagged ice they were failing to pass.
Masego was no longer even casting, his panting silhouette standing a
little way behind the warped battlefield, but the Spears were fucked
regardless. The men-at-arms were slipping all over the already-melting
ice, some of them even getting a spike through the guts for the effort.
My mage lines were breaking up any large groups of soldiers with
fireball volleys while the crossbowmen picked off easy targets one at a
time, taking their time to aim.

``That's shooting ourselves in the foot,'' I frowned. ``We need them
beyond the ice.''

``Lord Masego says he can melt it at will,'' Aisha informed me. ``We're
waiting for more forces to trickle to the sides before pulling the
trigger.''

I hummed, casting my eyes to the centre. With the Spear Saints wiped
out, Nauk and Hune had gained back the lost ground. The ogre lines had
been pulled back, made to rest so they'd be fresh for the last push, but
the Fifteenth's heavies were making an object lesson as to why Praesi
heavy infantry had torn through every force set against it since the
Reforms. Commander Hune herself had taken the field with her men,
swinging around a hammer with a handle large enough to qualify as a tree
trunk. Of Nauk I saw no trace, though I'd be surprised if he was in the
melee. He knew better than to risk going into the Red Rage when the
fight was this close. With the centre line holding so well, the back of
the mass of men-at-arms was starting to shift to the flanks. It wasn't
well-organized enough to be a command decision, from the looks of it.
Soldiers were just looking for somewhere they could fight instead of
waiting for the two dozen ranks in front of them to be done going
through the grinder.

``How'd you know they would move to the sides?'' I asked Juniper,
watching from the corner of my eye as Hakram sent for a healer.

``Armies, like water, take the path of least resistance,'' she quoted.

I raised an eyebrow.

``Terribilis?''

``One-Eye, actually,'' the legate said. ``You should borrow a manuscript
of his essays on tactics -- they're a mandatory reading at the
College.''

I was probably due subjecting myself to that torture, yes. It wasn't
that I doubted Marshal Grem would have valuable lessons to teach: Black
had outright stated he considered the orc a superior tactician to
himself. But orcs writing in Lower Miezan were always a pain to read.
Kharsum as a language added suffixes at the end of words to specify
gender and numbers, which didn't translate all that well in the common
tongue of the Empire. As a result, their sentences were all over the
place and occasionally physically painful to read. Before I could duck
my way out of the subject, the Hellhound spat on the ground.

``Whoever's in charge on the other side finally got their shit
together,'' she assessed.

I followed her gaze and saw what had prompted the observation: entire
companies of men-at-arms were peeling off the back of their centre and
wading through the mud towards our flanks. I let out a whistle.

``That's more than we thought,'' I noted. ``With the people they've
already got there it should be, what -- about five hundred a flank?
They're thinning their centre badly.''

``It's not a bad call,'' Juniper grunted. ``If Nauk and Hune push
downhill they'll be the ones tripping all over corpses and falling in
mud. They just need to hold long enough to roll up our flanks and close
the jaws on our heavies.''

``Arguably this is the best possible outcome, for us,'' Aisha smiled
thinly. ``When the shock sets they won't have a hero to keep them in the
fight.''

Hakram waved over a dark-skinned boy towards me and the mage saluted,
stuttering out a greeting before he got to work on my knee. I supressed
a smile. Well, I supposed I'd been somewhat impressive today. For once
I'd actually earned the intimidation factor on my own.

``They'll flee,'' Juniper growled. ``That's the problem. They'll salvage
a larger force out of this than I wanted. The cataphracts we were never
going to wipe out, but if they cut and run with a thousand infantry and
keep what's left of their horsemen they're still a threat when we come
for Marchford.''

``We can't afford a protracted fight,'' Aisha reminded her. ``We don't
have the numbers for it, and if they tire our men out too badly we risk
an actual defeat.''

``I wish we'd been assigned siege,'' the Hellhound grunted. ``A few
scorpions aimed at their centre would be racking up massive casualties
right now.''

``I already got that from Pickler, thank you,'' I sighed. ``Until we're
a fully-manned legion, we won't be given any. Not that we particularly
need the engines: Marchford doesn't even have walls, they pulled them
down after the Conquest.''

``I could make some, if you give me the manpower to cut the trees,''
Pickler contributed from where she stood.

I blinked.

``We have the nails and rope for that?'' I asked.

``Ratface is a man of many talents,'' the goblin equivocated.

``None of that is in the fucking lists he gave me,'' Juniper cursed.

I smothered a grin. At this point my quartermaster didn't have an actual
reason to not own up to the trades he'd made -- he was just pulling the
orc's pigtails because he could.

``We can finish that conversation after the battle,'' I broke in before
the situation could further degenerate.

I felt the flesh on my arm close and thanked the healer, who blushed and
scuttled off to take care of Hakram.

``My sappers are ready, by the way,'' Pickler told us. ``You just need
to give the word.''

The Hellhound grunted and sent a messenger for Masego: he'd be needed
for this part. The lot of us were watching the men-at-arms mass out of
range of our mages and crossbowmen when the Soninke arrived, slightly
out of breath. How he'd managed to lose none of his thickness around the
waist while on military rations was beyond me, but campaigning had yet
to get him in actual shape.

``This whole battle thing is rather bracing,'' he told us. ``I think I
could learn to enjoy it -- it's more about shifting the grounds than
actually taking lives. Much more interesting of an approach.''

Considering he'd likely killed twice as many soldiers as I had today,
hearing him say that was a little jarring. Still, I let it go. He'd been
raised by a Calamity, that his take on this would be\ldots{} unusual
should be expected.

``You can get the ice from here?'' Juniper asked.

``Distance doesn't really matter,'' he noted. ``I just have to stop
feeding the constructs -- which I'll need to do soon, for the record, if
I'm to have enough left in me for the fire trick.''

I cast a look at my legate and she nodded.

``Do it,'' I ordered.

``So assertive,'' he spoke drily. ``If you keep that up I might swoon.''

``My skills at seduction are second to none,'' I agreed, ignoring the
sound of Hakram failing to smother a laugh.

The bespectacled mage stared at his handiwork, waving a hand and
muttering under his breath.

``And one, two, \emph{three},'' he said.

In a single heartbeat, the entire field of ice collapsed into a flood of
water. It toppled a few enemy soldiers, though actual casualties had
been too much to hope for.

``Huh,'' I said. ``I expected it to shatter, to be honest.''

``I used ambient water for building blocs,'' Apprentice explained. ``The
power was for the initial shaping, then to keep it cold.''

``Right. Can't make something out of nothing,'' I remembered. ``It's one
of the original laws.''

``Sleeping with a practitioner has done wonders for your education,''
the mage praised.

I flipped him the finger. He was going to pay for that comment at some
point in the future, but for now there were other priorities. Juniper
waved at one of her ensigns, the Taghreb putting her lips to a horn and
blowing two sharp notes. \emph{Sappers advance.} The sergeants on the
other side managed to put a semblance of order into their lines before
the entire right flank charged up the sodden grounds. To the left our
reserve cohort was withdrawing uphill in good order, the flood of
men-at-arms filling up the space behind them. In some ways that flank
was in the most precarious situation: if the enemy soldiers spilled
around them, they might get stuck in the crossfire.

``Standard,'' the Hellhound called out without turning. ``Sharpers, full
volley.''

The orc's voice was calm, her eyes sharp. I'd seen the way my legate
could get awkward around people the few times she'd joined my minions
for drinks, but on the field was utterly in element. A smile tugged at
her lips, showing a hint of fang, and I realized she was enjoying
herself. Not the killing itself, I thought, but the battle. Pitting her
mind against the enemy's, luring them into the trap she'd set for them.
I'd always known that Juniper was a dangerous woman, on an intellectual
level, but it had never quite sunk in. She didn't really care \emph{who}
she fought, she just cared about the fight. I'd always thought Nauk was
the most\ldots{} orcish of my greenskin officers, but looking at my
legate now I knew I'd been wrong. Just because she wasn't using her own
sword didn't mean she wasn't in love with war.

Four hundred small balls of clay flew through the air and the detonation
that followed was deafening. It was the first time I'd seen real
sharpers deployed in that amount. \emph{So that's why they won the
Conquest. How could even knights have stood up to this?} On both sides,
the front of the enemy's line disappeared in chunks of metal and gore. I
saw the shudder go through the Silver Spears at the sight of all those
men just\ldots{} ceasing to exist, the enemy host recoiling like it was
a living thing. On the left flank our cohort broke formation to get away
faster, setting up their shield wall again two thirds of the way uphill.
There was no equivalent on the right, just sappers and crossbowmen
scuttling away before they could get forced into an engagement. A howl
of rage and anger erupted from the mercenaries at the sight of them
fleeing after such a brutal hit: the mass of men-at-arms charged in
their direction, eager for blood.

``They're coming too quickly,'' I said.

``Fucking amateurs,'' Juniper spat. ``Their left is still hesitating.
They're not even coordinating the assaults.''

The right was too far ahead. I closed my eyes. Could we pull off half
the reserve cohort to serve as a stopgap? No, one hundred men wouldn't
be enough. Not with what the enemy was sending up, not even if they made
it in time. Thinning our centre was just trading one danger for another.
If they punched through Nauk and Hune we were done for.

``Fuck,'' I spoke in a low voice. ``Juniper?''

``Out of options, Foundling,'' she admitted. ``And we can't afford to
let them connect. If they manage to scatter our right, the battle is
over.''

``We'll get some on the left,'' Aisha murmured. ``Just not as many as
we'd hoped.''

``Do it, Apprentice,'' the Hellhound commanded after hesitating for a
moment.

``I don't take orders from you, legate,'' the Soninke replied flatly.

``Do it, Masego,'' I ordered.

He sighed. ``You could have said please, at least,'' he complained.

The bespectacled mage squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and
closed his eyes.

``Though I hunger I am never sated,'' he chanted in Mthethwa. ``Through
grass and ground I crawl, devouring all I behold. My blood knows the
call, my flesh the craving. Nameless eidolons, thieves of Heaven's
grace, \emph{grant me flame}.''

He snapped his fingers, and so his prayer was granted. Two small threads
of flame grew out of the sound, growing in length and thickness as they
coiled up his arm. The twin heads of snakes rose behind his back,
flickering tongues of heat and smoke.

``I \emph{command} you,'' he hissed with a visible effort.

He raised his hand and the spellfire spread, the snakes growing in size
until their heads were the size of a horse -- and then shot forward
through the sky in both directions. I watched in awe as they devoured
what must have been half a mile each, arcing up until they reached their
apex. And then dropped, hitting the ground in the spots we'd showed
Apprentice. There was a heartbeat of utter silence across the
battlefield and then the chain of goblinfire caches we'd buried in the
hills exploded, drowning the flanks in green. Under my troubled eyes,
six hundred men went up in flames before I could so much as let out a
breath. The screaming began and I had, unless I was mistaken, just won
my first battle

Gods forgive me.
