\hypertarget{chapter-6-rapport}{%
\section{Chapter 6: Rapport}\label{chapter-6-rapport}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``There's no surer sign you're being played than being certain
you've grasped your opponent's intent.''}

-- Dread Emperor Benevolent
\end{quote}

``It's from the Trismegistan theory of magic,'' Kilian explained.

``Well, that certainly clears things up,'' I replied dryly.

The redhead frowned at me. ``Don't be a tit,'' she said, adding an
absent-minded `ma'am' a moment later. ``I won't go into too many details
-- it's fairly technical knowledge -- but the basics are that when the
Gods made Creation they set down laws for the way everything works.
Haven't you ever wondered why an apple falls down when you drop it?''

I raised an eyebrow. ``Gravity seems the likely culprit, unless you're
telling me it was a frame up all along.''

``It's probably for the best you never attended any of the mage
classes,'' the Senior Mage muttered under her breath. ``Look, gravity
doesn't apply everywhere. Exposed to the classical element of void, it
tends to fizzle out.''

I got the distinct impression out of that last sentence that the
classical elements weren't what I thought they were.

``So it's not an immutable law,'' I grunted. ``What's that supposed to
mean?''

Kilian took a sip of the wine glass I'd handed her before beginning the
conversation, leaning back in her seat. I was very careful not to let my
thoughts linger on the fact that she was sitting just a dozen feet away
from a very nice bed that could likely fit two people in it, should said
people be willing to do a bit of\ldots{} creative juxtaposition.

``It means the Gods put that law into place through their own power,''
Kilian informed me. ``That's what we call a creational law, a rule that
came into existence when the Gods manifested their power as the physical
realm we inhabit.''

I was fairly uneducated in matters of sorcery -- pretty much all Black
had ever bothered to teach me was that I did not have the inborn talent
for it before moving on to the best ways to kill mages of different
skill levels -- but I wasn't an idiot. The implications here were fairly
straightforward.

``So an original law is something that predates Creation,'' I guessed.

Kilian wiggled her hand in equivocation. ``It's a law that exists
independently of it. Like how you can't make something out of nothing,
for example. Some argue that to qualify as an original law it has to
apply to even the Gods.''

``That sounds a mite heretical,'' I noted.

Implying that the Heavens were not omnipotent was a good way to get
tossed out of the House of Light. Sure the priests admitted that the
Gods had limits, but according to them they were self-imposed for the
good of Creation.

The redhead smiled behind the rim of her glass. ``Trismegistus is the
Praesi name for the man who became the Dead King. A little heresy is to
be expected,'' she replied.

That would explain it. Anyone who'd ended up turning the entire nation
they ruled over into a horde of slavering undead was bound to have a few
disagreements on the nature of Creation with the clergy. \emph{Still,
hard to argue with a man who invaded one of the Hells.} Clearly the Dead
King had done \emph{something} right, for a very specific meaning of
right.

``I'm curious where you encountered those terms to begin with,'' Kilian
half-asked, her tone implying that if it wasn't something I could talk
about she would understand.

She'd always been good about things like that. Maybe it was the way
mages dealt with so many more secrets than regular people, especially in
Praes.

``Ran into an experiment Apprentice and Lord Warlock were having in
their tower,'' I told her. ``Something about determining the nature of
Demiurgian phenomena.''

``Ah,'' the Senior Mage mused. ``That would explain that massive ward
around the bastion. They're separating the place from Creation proper.''

I leaned forward, suddenly intent. ``Is that what that was? I knew it
wasn't a defensive thing, but what I can get from my trick is pretty
limited. If it's not out to disembowel me, my Name doesn't give me
much.''

``I'd need to have a look up close to be sure,'' Kilian hedged, ``but I
can't think of anything else that big they would set up in a city. I'm
not sure if it's a pocket dimension or if they're reaching for Arcadia,
but the end result is largely the same.''

Mhm. There were probably academic differences at play, but from a
tactical point of view I could think of one reason the Warlock would set
his home territory apart from Creation. It meant the man could actually
cut loose if the heroes came knocking. I'd read the histories, after
all. Warlock had ever only been deployed as a combat asset when my
teacher was willing to write off wherever the battle was happening. If
the Sovereign of the Red Skies decided to go all out in Summerholm it
would make the goblinfire incident look like a tavern scuffle. It
explained why he'd been sitting pretty in the bastion all this time,
too. \emph{So he wasn't just letting Summerholm spiral out of control,
he was setting up his battlefield for a confrontation.}

``You have that look on your face,'' the redhead spoke softly. ``The one
that means you've figured out you were wrong about something.''

``That a bad thing?'' I asked mildly.

Kilian cleared her throat, looking rather bashful. ``I like it. Most
people do. Even Juniper said that the way you don't get stuck in your
preconceptions is `laudable', and getting compliments out of her is like
milking a stone.''

I snorted. ``Hard to get all high and mighty when you're wrong about
things as often as I am,'' I admitted. ``I'm lucky I found the people I
did, to be honest. I'd have a lot more blind spots if I hadn't.''

Sometimes I wondered what it said about me that all the people I trusted
were Praesi, but what else could I do? If I wanted to get anything done
in Callow I'd need the Fifteenth backing me and the core of my legion
was from the Empire. In time that might change, but as the months passed
I was beginning to think certain things might not. How could I trust a
new officer more just because of the land of their birth, when the likes
of Nauk and Robber had been with me since the beginning?

``I think we're luckier to have you,'' the redhead said softly. ``I
don't think you realize what it means, for the Fifteenth to have someone
like you at the helm.''

I hadn't drunk nearly enough wine to justify the flush that took my
cheeks at the almost-whispered words. Gods but Kilian was pretty. I
still didn't know if she had any interest in women, though. I'd thought
about asking Hakram, but that would have been as good as declaring an
interest and I wasn't quite there yet. Still. Unlike with pregnancies,
it wasn't like\ldots{} fraternization was against regulations, so long
as the people involved weren't in a direct chain of command.

``Someone like me,'' I repeated in a murmur, wishing the redhead wasn't
sitting on the other side of the table.

Kilian bit her lip. ``A woman who-``

Someone knocked at the door and I felt the sudden urge to order a round
of hangings. \emph{Really}. Couldn't whoever that was have waited for
another few moments? Hakram entered the antechamber a moment later and
for the first time since I could remember I glared at my adjutant. The
Senior Mage recoiled like she'd been burned, cheeks reddening. The tall
orc eyed us both curiously, but he knew better than to ask.

``Report, Adjutant,'' I ordered with ill-grace.

``Ma'am,'' he saluted, raising hairless brows at my tone. ``Your hunch
was right. About twenty servants were indisposed at the last minute and
had to be replaced by `relatives'. We have the replacements in
custody.''

I grumbled under my breath, irked at the knowledge that the news would
have kept if he'd waited a little longer.

``Were any of them armed?'' I asked, setting aside my irritation for the
moment.

The orc shook his head. ``Several of them had scars, however. The kind
you get in military service.''

I grimaced. That was suspicious, but circumstantial at best. There were
plenty of veterans from the Conquest who'd had to get mundane jobs after
the Empire had taken over. The legal aspect of things didn't concern me
overmuch: this would have been trickier elsewhere, but Summerholm was
under martial law and regardless as the Squire I was pretty much a law
unto myself. But part of me balked at ordering forceful interrogation
based on barely floating evidence. We'd have to do without.

``Keep them under heavy guard,'' I told Hakram. ``At least two lines,
one of them with munitions. If someone with a Name mounts a rescue
operation they should toss sharpers in the cells before getting the
Hells out of there.''

I was less than optimistic when the it came to the victory chances of my
legionaries against a band of heroes, goblin munitions or not. The
Fifteenth was already at half-strength, I had no intention of losing any
more soldiers in a fool stand against the likes of the Lone Swordsman. A
rough voice cleared their throat from the threshold to my rooms.

``Afolabi will get pissy if we move too many troops into the Comital
Palace,'' Legate Juniper told me, strolling into the room.

Like the rest of the people in my quarters, she was in full legion gear.
From the looks of it she'd had hers cleaned and polished recently, which
as much of a concession to propriety I'd been willing to order my
officers to make. Attending a dinner with a general of the Empire in
armour was in poor taste but with the Swordsman likely to make an
appearance I wanted them ready to fight.

``The general should have taken care of this fucking mess before we
arrived, if he wanted to have that right,'' I grunted.

Juniper flashed ivory fangs in a hard smile at my words.

``I don't disagree,'' my Legate replied. ``Just warning you we won't be
making friends in the Twelfth with your plan.''

``We'll deal with that if we survive the night,'' I mused.

Which was, truthfully, still up in the air. We had the defensive
position and we knew they were coming, but four heroes weren't something
to sneeze at. Entire kingdoms had been toppled by less. I wasn't going
to risk Hakram in a fight, nascent Name or not, so my only back up for
the initial phases of the battle would be Apprentice. How useful the
Soninke would actually be in a life-and-death struggle remained to be
seen: he hadn't given me the impression he was someone used to the
rougher side of being Named.

``Senior Mage,'' Juniper spoke flatly, only now deigning to acknowledge
Kilian's existence. ``Our caster lines will be needing their
instructions soon.''

The redhead flushed, looking guiltily at her half-finished wineglass.

``I had a few questions for her earlier,'' I told Juniper, hoping to
deflect some of the attention.

``I'm sure you did,'' the Legate replied serenely, not a hint of
impropriety on her face.

Hakram coughed into his fist and I made a mental note to take revenge on
him for this at some point.

``Lady Squire, ma'am,'' Kilian saluted the both of us, pausing by a
still-grinning Hakram to daintily kick his ankle.

Considering the orc's armour was the only thing thicker than his skin it
did absolutely nothing to discipline him, but I approved of the general
intention. I waited until she left the quarters to return my focus to
Juniper.

``We've reinforced the palace garrison at all choke points?'' I
prompted.

The orc officer nodded. ``Your special orders have been given to the
troops at the gates,'' she said.

I'd kept those rather simple. \emph{If a lone individual in a cloak
approaches the entrance, shoot them until they stop moving. And then a
few more times to be sure. Don't even bother hailing them, just unload
your crossbows.} If the Lone Swordsman intended on making a dramatic
entrance, he was in for a rough evening. Unfortunately, the bastard had
taken to irregular warfare like a fish to water. I doubted he'd be
stupid enough to try getting into the palace the old-fashioned way.

``I suppose we'd better get moving then,'' I grunted. ``Has Apprentice
showed up yet?''

Juniper cast a look at Hakram, who shook his head.

``Not yet,'' the adjutant replied. ``I've taken the liberty of providing
him an escort when he leaves the bastion.''

I smiled at my officer, pleased at the initiative. I doubted the heroes
would try picking off the Warlock's own adopted son in broad daylight,
but there was no sense in taking unnecessary risks.

``Ah, diplomatic dinners,'' Juniper grinned unpleasantly. ``Everybody's
favourites.''

``At least the food won't be poisoned this time,'' I noted. ``That's a
marked improvement.''

``Does that mean you won't be breaking anyone's bones tonight?'' the
Legate asked wryly. ``Shame, that was the best part of the evening.''

I pushed myself to my feet, adjusting the sword at my belt.

``I'll see what I can do, Legate,'' I replied. ``I'm sure there's at
least \emph{one} guest that could use the exercise.''

---

The palace's banquet hall was the oldest part of the building and it
showed in the stonework. Not that it was shoddy, but instead of imported
granite from northern Callow the petty kings of old Summerholm had had
to make do with local quartz deposits. Nowhere as good to hide under
when trebuchets started singing, but back then siege engines had been
fairly rare. I had two lines from Nauk's command idling around the
hall's entrance, the boredom of the assignment warring with the warning
their officers had given that they were likely to see fighting before
the end of the night. General Afolabi had posted only a tenth of his own
soldiers and they looked rather displeased to be sharing the duty with
my own. \emph{As long as they don't start fighting I couldn't care
less.}

I let Juniper and Hakram stride ahead of me into the hall, slowing when
I noticed a handful of people being interrogated by my soldiers. Four of
them, to be exact. Three men and a woman, all of them adorned in fancy
clothes and bearing musical instruments. The lieutenant in charge of
security was ignoring the protests of the musicians and patting them
down for weapons, at least those of them that were standing. The only
woman had claimed a chair, propped her lute over her knees and seemed to
be polishing off a flask of alcohol so strong I could smell it from
where I was standing. I found the supreme unconcern rather amusing and
out of curiosity I claimed the seat next to hers.

``Dare I ask what you're drinking?'' I said.

She grinned drunkenly, shaking the silvery flask.

``Why, the very elixir of life,'' she replied theatrically. ``Back home
they call it the `water that burns'.''

``Well, anything in contact with it definitely would become flammable,''
I observed.

I didn't recognize her accent. Not Praesi or Callowan, and her colouring
was a little too light to be a Taghreb's. Her strong nose and curly dark
hair were striking, if short of outright attractive, provided no real
hint as to her origins.

``Ashuran,'' the stranger said.

``Pardon me?'' I replied.

``I'm Ashuran. You're trying to figure out where I come from,'' she told
me amusedly. ``The staring was a bit of a giveaway.''

The Thalassocracy of Ashur, huh. First time I'd ever met anyone from
there. It wasn't that they were isolationist, per se, but more that they
rarely bothered visiting anywhere boats couldn't reach. The Ashurans had
stayed much closer to their Baalite roots than the Dominion -- they were
still part of the Hegemony, for one. Not that being a member of the
Baalite Hegemony meant as much as they once had. The old maritime empire
had been on the decline since centuries before my birth.

``So why's an Ashuran bard trying to get drunk in a Callowan fortress?''
I asked.

``I am not trying,'' she informed me proudly. ``I am
\emph{succeeding}.''

I snorted. She offered me the flask and, against my better judgement, I
took a sip. I promptly started coughing.

``Gods,'' I rasped out. ``How are you not dead?''

``My liver is cast iron,'' she admitted solemnly. ``To answer your
question, I drifted towards here when I heard about the rebellion. Seems
to me there's a song in there.''

I handed her the flask back and to my horror she drank from it like it
was river water going down her throat.

``Are you even going to feel your fingers when you strum that lute?'' I
asked dubiously.

``Doesn't make as much of a difference as you'd think,'' she
acknowledged cheerfully. ``Besides, I am not a mere bard.''

``This will be good,'' I coughed, still trying to rid my throat from the
stranger's devil-water.

She rose to her feet, teetering back and forth and reached for something
above her head. Her hand came back empty.

``Right,'' she muttered. ``I lost the hat. No matter!''

Striking a pose with her foot resting on the seat she'd vacated, the
woman swept the horizon in a generous gesture.

``Before you stands Almorava of Symra, minstrel without peer!''

She punctuated the announcement by sweeping a few strings, the resulting
sound eerily similar to a cat getting stepped on. I could feel everyone
else in the hallway suddenly staring at us and had to suppress a smile.

``That sounds technically true,'' I mused. ``Have you considered you may
have a drinking problem?''

``My flask is almost empty,'' Almorava agreed. ``That \emph{is} a
problem.''

The officer in command approached us carefully, hand on his sword.

``Lady Squire,'' he asked. ``Is there a problem?''

I waved the question away. ``None at all,'' I replied. ``Continue your
work, Lieutenant.''

He saluted before returning to the other musicians. I felt the bard --
ah, minstrel -- staring at me and sighed. Well, so much for anonymity.

``Catherine Foundling,'' I introduced myself.

``I had a feeling,'' the Ashuran said. ``Can't think of another reason
they'd allow a Deoraithe your age this deep into the palace with a sword
at her hip.''

``Most people would be a little warier at the revelation they've been
talking with a villain,'' I murmured.

``Most people would have passed out before they got hallway through the
flask,'' Almorava grinned. ``Besides, you've yet to set anyone on fire
so at least one of the rumours is wrong.''

Godsdamnit. Was that really going to follow me everywhere? At least she
hadn't mentioned Summerholm or goblinfire. ``There's rumours?''

The minstrel chuckled. ``My dear lady, you're the Callowan apprentice of
the man who conquered the Kingdom. There's a tale in every city from
Ater to Salia, each wilder than the last.''

``All of them flattering, I'm sure,'' I spoke drily.

Almorava hummed. ``Opinions are split, actually. Of course there's the
usual crowd in favour of removing the head of anything in contact with
the Empire, but you'd be surprised how many Callowans are cautiously
optimistic.''

``That\ldots{}'' I trailed off. ``You're right. I \emph{am} surprised.''

``There are some who think having one of their own high up in Imperial
ranks might solve some of the most undesirable aspects of the Praesi
occupation,'' the minstrel said. ``They might not be a loud as the
`stone her to death' crowd, but they do exist.''

``You seem remarkably well informed for a wandering minstrel,'' I said.

The Ashuran shrugged. ``You pick up things, playing in taverns.''

\emph{I'm sure you do.} I rose to my feet.

``It was a pleasure, Almorava,'' I said. ``But I have a reception to
attend.''

``Have fun,'' the minstrel waved cheerfully.

I kept my smile on my face until I'd turned, taking aside the lieutenant
when I passed by him. I leaned into his ear.

``The woman I was talking to. She won't have any weapons, but I want a
pair of crossbowmen keeping an eye on her at all times,'' I murmured.

The man nodded and I patted him on the shoulder, squaring my own as I
entered the banquet hall. \emph{Come out and play, Lone Swordsman. I'm
ready for you this time.}
