\hypertarget{chapter-39-countdown}{%
\chapter{Countdown}\label{chapter-39-countdown}}



\epigraph{``Maybe I won't go to Heaven but you've never owned a pit full of
man-eating tapirs so who's the real loser here?''}{Dread Empress Atrocious, best known for comprehensive tax reform and
having been eaten by man-eating tapirs. They were later executed by her
successor for treason after a lengthy trial.}



Liesse was almost too pretty to be a real city.

The walls circling the city were forty feet high, a concession to the
invasions that had plagued Callow since its inception, but they were
also white or pale tan stone, with ornate crenellation sculpted to look
like mated pairs of swans. That was the city's unofficial name, among
Callowans: Liesse, City of Swans. The jewel of the south, never marred
by war. That was a myth, of course. When the Dukes of Liesse had still
been kings they'd been brought forcefully into the fold by the fledgling
Alban dynasty based in Laure and then then slapped down twice when they
rebelled for independence. Under the later Fairfax dynasty they'd
settled down, but the south had always looked to Liesse for instructions
first. That was the whole reason Duke Gaston had been able to serve as a
figurehead for the rebellion in the first place. They'd never had to
throw back a Praesi army, though, and that showed in how the city had
been built. A third of the city stood outside the gates, mostly trades
like tanners and dyers that would have stained the pretty inside with
their stink and mess. Poorer folk had shacks too, though, those who
couldn't afford the stone houses of the city proper.

It was not enough to spoil the sight. The city was all wide main avenues
covered in flowers and trees, garlands hanging everywhere and sparrows
flying from one church to another. While Liesse, unlike Laure, did not
have a proper cathedral it had no less than seven smaller basilicas. The
House of Light had a strong presence in the south, where it had grown in
strength unchecked while its northern chapters were struggling to strike
a balance with royal authority. Southern Callow was full of monasteries
and rural chapels, all of which had fallen on hard times after the
Conquest. My teacher had not outlawed worship of the Heavens -- he'd
been well aware he'd be dealing with constant rebellions of he did.
Instead he'd repealed all the exemptions the House of Light had been
granted under the Kingdom and made them just as subject as property
taxes as everybody else. The brothers and sisters didn't work for coin
or keep it, though, it was a religious obligation for them. So they had
to rely on donations from Callowans, who grew to resent having to pay
for the upkeep of grand cathedrals and sprawling churches from their own
pockets.

Here in the south the monasteries had been the worse off, with their
cloistered communities suddenly forced to sell the wine and crops they'd
once offered people for free. The priests couldn't even do that
themselves, they'd had to ask lay brothers and sisters to do it for
them. Inevitably some unscrupulous bastards had managed to get some of
the jobs and the ensuing scandals had further diminished the credibility
of people who spent their whole lives interceding for others with the
Heavens and offering free healing to all those that needed it. I'd never
been a great admirer of the House of Light -- they asked too many
questions and their horses were a little too high for my tastes -- but I
did not approve what the Empire was doing to it. Priests saved lives all
over my homeland every day and forcing them to focus on worldly matters
was of no help to anyone but the Imperial coffers. I understood the
political necessity of damaging their credibility with Callowans, since
they'd be a hotbed for rebellion otherwise, but pushing them towards
uselessness was not the answer.

I'd rather they be legally mandated to provide healing away from their
own churches for a set amount of months a year, where they might make a
positive impact but not become entrenched in the community. The Heavens
weren't going anywhere, I'd have to make my accommodations with them.

``Pondering an assault?'' Pickler probed, coming to stand besides me.

I'd called for my Senior Sapper earlier. We were less than half a day
away from Liesse proper, and now that we were in sight of the ramparts I
wanted her take on how the siege should proceed. Juniper and I had our
own notions, but a fresh set of eyes was never a bad thing.

``We'll bombard them first,'' I replied. ``We've got more hours to spare
than men. I want them as softened up as possible before we go in.''

With Black keeping the Countess Marchford busy we had free reign in the
are. I'd expected to have to watch out for raids the moment we got
within a fortnight of Liesse but all we'd seen so far was outriders. The
lack of resistance bothered me. The Lone Swordsman had holed up everyone
he could behind the walls, and that was a \emph{lot} of mouths to feed.
Even with full granaries that meant he had only a couple of months
before starvation set it. Maybe he understood I couldn't afford to let
the siege go on this long. \emph{Or maybe he's still got cards up his
sleeve.} That was the problem with William: he was an idealistic idiot,
up until he started carving sinister messages in people's foreheads. The
combination of high-minded rhetoric and brutal terror tactics had proved
a surprisingly potent mix.

``We won't be able to collapse the walls entirely without taking out the
houses,'' Pickler said. ``But we wouldn't need to -- we just collapse
the upper half, which'll much easier, and then we build ramps up to that
using the shacks. How costly going up those ramps will be depends on the
amount of siege weapons they'll have.''

They wouldn't have much, I knew. Callow had never been a great user of
those. The Kingdom had only rarely waged offensive wars and the few
cities that did use siege weapons had fielded them to counter Praesi
ones. Summerholm had plenty ballistas and small trebuchets, rote models
imported from the Kingdom Under. Dormer and the Red Flower Vales, as the
other Callowan marches, had been similarly garnished. Liesse, though,
Liesse had not had to deal with an enemy army in several hundred years.
Unless the rebels had bought siege weapons through Mercantis they'd have
next to none.

``It's not the siege weapons that worry me, it's the army,'' I said.

The only professional soldiers inside the city would be the Stygian
phalanx and the Baroness Dormer's retinue, but that wouldn't matter. Not
with a hero leading them, a hero I couldn't even face directly: my
pattern of three with the Lone Swordsman was coming to a close, and that
one was supposed to be his victory. Funny thing, though, the word
`victory'. Covered a whole range of meanings, some of which left me
standing with all my limbs intact at the end of them. And when the
pattern was done, well\ldots{} William and I no longer had Fate pulling
our asses out of the fire. It was anybody's game then, and while he
might flatly outclass me with a sword there was more to my arsenal than
that.

``Heroes can accomplish strange and terrible feats,'' Pickler finally
said, shaking me out of my thoughts. ``They'll survive nearly anything.
What they \emph{can't} do is save their armies from being pounded into
mulch by artillery.''

There was a fervent light in the goblin's eyes, her usually placid face
split with a hungry smile.

``Before the sappers were made into a corps, we were just
knight-fodder,'' Pickler said. ``But oh, the things we've learned since
then. A man can only swing a sword as hard as man can. A goblin behind a
machine can pulverize a fortress.''

She turned to look at the walls of Liesse and for once I thought she
looked as full of malice as Robber.

``They fight with their arms, Lady Squire,'' she said. ``We fight with
our minds. Clever beats strong every time.''

I understood why she needed to believe that, and so did not contradict
her. But in my experience, there was a threshold of strength that pure
cleverness could not triumph over. I'd learned that in the Pit, taking
one hit for every ten I landed and still ending up the one unconscious
in the mud. Sometimes you were too small, too weak, too light for your
traps to matter much. It was not a pleasant thought and I tried not to
linger too long on it. I'd been in a foul mood all day, ever since I'd
learned\ldots{} well, that was another unpleasant thought I was trying
not to linger on. The betrayal still felt too fresh, even if it had
apparently been an old one.

``At the moment we don't believe Heiress will betray us in the early
stages of the siege,'' I told my Senior Sapper. ``One of the things I
wanted to talk you about was contingencies for-''

There waves. Not just ripples but \emph{waves}, coming from the south.
My eyes turned to the city, still looking peaceful, but it had to be a
lie. This was major, an even stronger presence than when Heiress had let
the demon out. I could feel my Name howling in anger, fighting back a
presence anathema to it.

``Fucking Hells,'' Pickler gasped. ``What is that?''

I eyed her in dismay. If I'd felt that because I was Named it was one
thing, but the goblin was as mundane as it got. If even she could feel
what was going on in Liesse, what were dealing with?

``I don't know,'' I said. ``But we've got people who might.''

--

I kept the meeting as small as it could possibly be.

Juniper, of course, Hakram as my second and Apprentice as someone who
could give answers. Heiress did not grant me the same courtesy: she
brought her entire entourage. Fadila Mbafeno, a Soninke mage I'd already
met in the Tower and that Masego had told me since was one of the most
promising casters of their generation. Barika Unonti, whose finger I'd
broken during the same meeting and was now eyeing me with poorly-veiled
hatred. She was a mage too, and heiress to a lordship sworn to Wolof.
The only Taghreb among her minions I also knew already, though Aisha had
been the one to tell me his name: Ghassan Enazah, a lord in his own
right sworn to Kahtan. Which put him in an awkward position, since he
was openly a member of the Truebloods while his liege lady was an ally
of the Empress'. The Taghreb were a fractious people, though, Aisha had
told me. The High Lady of Foramen might have been one of the Truebloods
but half her vassals were aligned with Malicia, the same holding true
for the High Lady of Kahtan's loyalist allegiances compared to her
dependents'. The last two were the important ones, though. Not powerful
in their own right but because of who they'd become in a few years:
Fasili Mirembe, heir to the High Lordship of Aksum and Hawulti Sahel,
heiress to the High Ladyship of Nok. Two major imperial cities,
fully-fledged kingdoms before the Miezans came from across the Tyrian
sea.

Not a single one of them was ugly. None as good-looking as Heiress
herself, but it showed that Praesi aristocrats bred for looks as well as
magic and lineage. I was used to feeling plain, though, so I put the
envy aside easily. Their looks had come at too high a price anyway.
Akua's little minions stood behind her as she claimed the seat across
from me, somehow draping herself across a folding chair like it was a
godsdamned throne. If her dress wasn't exquisite red silk from the Yan
Tei lands I'd eat my own fingers: she was wearing a bloody fortune on
her body, and said fortune was displaying her prominent cleavage. I'd
long made my peace with the fact that I'd never grow into anything like
those, but would it have killed her to wear a godsdamned collar for
once? The heiress to Wolof smirked at me. One day, maybe even soon, she
would die on a fire. Those tits wouldn't show on a fucking skeleton,
would they?

``This is an emergency meeting, so spare me the smarm,'' I said.

``I will, of course, give you exactly the respect you are due,'' Heiress
said.

Her acolytes smirked as a group like they'd practice it.

``See, that's exactly what I'm talking about,'' I smiled. ``You mouth
off like that again, and I'll execute one of your little hanger-ons at
random.''

That certainly got rid of the smirks, though they condensed on Juniper's
face instead. I checked on Hakram from the corner of my eye: he was
immersed in a staring contest with the Ghassan lordling. He'd been the
commander of Heiress' host when she'd still had a host, I remembered.
He'd been in charge when her Proceran mercenaries had been whipped
bloody by the Stygians, though he'd apparently got off without a single
wound to show for that defeat. If he wanted to start a rivalry with my
Adjutant he was in for an even rougher ride.

``That would be a grievous abuse of your authority,'' Heiress said
sharply.

``So complain to the guy I answer to,'' I shrugged. ``Oh wait, that's
Black. And he'd pat me on the back and call it a good day's work. Allow
me to be perfectly clear, Akua. \emph{I am in no mood to be fucked
with}.''

The last part came out as a bark and to my satisfaction several of her
minions flinched at the sound.

``You've been summoned here because, though you might be constant pain
in my ass, you might have something to contribute.''

I paused.

``Actually, now that I think of it, this is my godsdamned meeting and
you're the only who could be useful. All of you Wasteland brats, get out
of my tent.''

Several of them opened their mouths but I raised a finger.

``At random,'' I reminded them.

``Make them draw lots,'' Juniper suggested.

``Hear that, we've even got a method now,'' I smiled savagely.

``Don't kill Mbefano, she'll be useful during the siege,'' Apprentice
spoke up lazily.

``Hear that, Fadila?'' I said. ``You get an exemption. Feel free to
speak up, someone else will get the axe.''

Fadila did not, in fact, take me up on my offer. She did look like she'd
been force-fed a barrel of lemons, but given that she'd been the one
allegedly in contact with several of the mage spies in the Fifteenth she
was lucky I wasn't having her drawn and quartered on principle. I was
only allowing that stay of execution for so long, though. If she didn't
hightail back to Praes the moment we took Liesse, it was the quick stop
and the sudden drop for Lady Mbefano. She was on my list, now. After
checking in with Heiress, who gave them a curt nod, the lordlings filed
out of the tent in a huff and puff of offended noble privilege. Hakram
was showing the barest edge of his teeth in what was either a display of
amusement or hunger. The line between those two was might thing with
orcs.

``Have you finished throwing your tantrum?'' Heiress asked flatly.

``I don't know,'' I said. ``Have you finished bringing in your fucking
posse at important staff meetings? I'm trying to work with you, Akua,
but if you want to turn this into a pissing contest don't get snippy
when I put you in your place. You're just a commander, here. Lesser than
even Nauk and Hune, because they have more troops and \emph{they've
never summoned a demon in the middle of a city full of civilians}.''

Yeah, I wasn't going to let that go anytime soon. Maybe when she was
dead, and even then I'd probably deface her tombstone with the words ``A
demon? \emph{Really}?''.

``I tire of you saddling me with the responsibility with your
blunders,'' Heiress sighed.

I would have believed her had I, you know, not not summoned a demon.
That kind of damaged her credibility. Still, it was a testament to how
skilled a liar she was that I almost wanted to to trust her version of
things.

``That conversation's not going anywhere, so let's put it aside,'' I
said. ``We've got a bigger problem now. Masego?''

``That ripple in Creation came straight from Liesse,'' Apprentice said,
pushing himself up in his seat. ``It was angelic in nature.''

Juniper barked out a laugh.

``We whipped the get of Hells already,'' she said. ``I suppose we were
due a fight with the other side of the field.''

``Your are overly simplifying matters,'' Heiress said, and to my
surprise this was not wrapped in a coating of insinuation.

She was actually contributing, would you look at that. Any time soon
we'd be buddies, except that apparently she'd owned Nilin body and soul
since the beginning and I'd thought he was \emph{my friend} and -- I
stopped when I heard the table splintering, every eye on the room on me.
I took my hand off the wood, sweeping away the shards.

``Continue,'' I ordered.

``The Hells and the Heavens are equivalent only in terms of absolute
might, not numbers,'' Heiress said warily. ``Devils are endless and
ever-spawning, but angels are a set and allegedly unchangeable number.
Divided in Choirs, they can never be more or less than they have always
been and always will be.''

``So we won't have to deal with a swarm of comically naked cherubim,'' I
said.

The House of Light taught these were the among the most powerful of
angels, associated with the Choirs of Compassion and Fortitude. A few
hundred years back, though a Proceran mosaic artist had displayed those
mighty angels as chubby naked sexless flying sprites. Like all Proceran
fancies that one had spread across the continent, to the mild amusement
of many a priest. No one reacted to my joke, so I grimaced and kept
quiet. Likely the only one with enough schooling in the Book of All
Things to get it was Masego, and we had different takes on humour. Since
I'd put explosives in his hair, I was willing to cut Apprentice a little
slack on that front.

``If it were a cherub we were dealing with, we'd be in a great deal more
trouble,'' Heiress said.

``She's right,'' Masego said. ``I don't know exactly what we're dealing
with, but it's not that high up in the Choirs.''

``You both speak,'' Juniper said slowly, ``as if we'd personally have to
deal with this angel.''

Masego eyed Heiress, who smiled charmingly at him. He ignored it. I was,
I reflected, rather lucky that Apprentice was a great deal more
interested in dissections than women. Or men, for that matter. Warlock's
son seemed to regard all of those matters with a certain intellectual
disdain, as if he couldn't possibly fathom why anyone would do anything
so unhygienic.

``I thought it was obvious to everyone,'' Apprentice said. ``Someone is
trying to bring an angel into Creation.''

``Seventh Choir,'' Heiress added. ``The Hashmallim, appointed rulers of
the Choir of Contrition.''

Masego seemed surprise. ``You're certain?''

``I have tools you don't,'' she replied flatly.

``Seventh Choir,'' Apprentice repeated. ``So that's how long we have.''

Juniper leaned forward. ``You can give me an estimate?''

``Seven times seven hours,'' Heiress said. ``And then an Angel of
Contrition will grace Liesse with its presence.''

Oh, I didn't like the sound of that at all.

``Practically speaking, what does that mean?'' I asked.

``It won't be there for long,'' Masego said. ``But anyone within
forty-nine miles will be made\ldots{} contrite.''

``What he means,'' Heiress said, ``is that anyone without a Name in that
range will be confronted will all their `sins' until they're broken to
the will of the Heavens. The last time a Hashmallim touched the world,
three hundred thousand people picked up a sword and fought until they
reached the capital of the Kingdom of the Dead.''

``If that angel comes into Creation,'' Apprentice said quietly, ``every
soul in Liesse, and the Fifteenth with them, will form the tip of the
spear for the Tenth Crusade.''
