\hypertarget{chapter-10-release}{%
\section{Chapter 10: Release}\label{chapter-10-release}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``Did you really think I wouldn't cheat just because I was already
winning?''}

⁃ Dread Emperor Terribilis II
\end{quote}

``Oh? Things are about to-'' the Bard started, but I interrupted.

``\textbf{Shut up},'' I Spoke, and wasn't watching her mouth snap shut
the most satisfying thing I'd seen all week?

The heroine tried to open her mouth, struggling in vain against the
compulsion. That should take care of that, at least for a little while.
The Hunter charged for me again but he was moving so very \emph{slowly}
-- I stepped around the spear into his guard and opened him up from
belly to throat with a single cut, letting him fall with a scream behind
me as I stepped towards William without missing a beat. In the
background Apprentice and the Conjurer had begun their magical duel
anew, lights and shaped elements flying back and forth as the hero
steadily lost ground. Things turned sour for the twit even worse when
Kilian's mages started pitching in, a staggered flow of fireballs
disrupting his casting and forcing him onto the defensive. They were
adapting the rate of fire Legion doctrine taught to deal with dug in
targets, barely a heartbeat passing between every strike. The mages
would run out of juice in time, but hopefully by then Masego would have
closed the deal. There were only so many times the Conjurer could bumble
his way out of defeat: no Role could stave off death indefinitely.

Hakram was keeping his opponent at bay by the skin of his teeth,
collecting cuts but no wounds of any great import. His training was
playing against him here: he'd never been taught to fight as a Named and
legionaries were expected to kill in properly ordered ranks. Duels
weren't taught in the War College, and that was one of the reasons the
remnants of the barricade legionaries were getting mauled by enemy
soldiers. That they'd been caught flat-footed and dispersed didn't help,
sure, but when it came down to it Callowan swordsmen were just better at
fighting out of formation. In a contest of shield walls the Empire would
win nine times out of ten, but chaotic melees were a poor fit for a
stabbing short sword and unwieldy tower shield. \emph{Warriors against
soldiers. They won't last much longer.} Didn't matter: ultimately, all
the other fights were sideshows. Black had always stressed that the
place of a Named on the battlefield was to find the fulcrum, the tipping
point, and then to yank that lever as hard as you could.

For tonight's battle, there was no denying that the fulcrum was my duel
with the Lone Swordsman.

``I think this one will go a little differently. I'm not half dead this
time,'' I told William, casting away the wreck of my shield.

The dark-haired man smiled. ``Night's still young,'' he replied.

As someone who got into pissing contests with alarming regularity, I
could admire a good line like that. As the Squire in charge of a city
the bastard had been busy putting to the torch, I fully intended on
making him eat the words along with a mouthful of dirt while I buried
him alive. I raised my now-free hand and strands of shadow wove
themselves around it, forming a wicked-looking spear. I tossed it at
William with a grunt, aiming for his abdomen, but the green-eyed hero
raised an insultingly skeptical eyebrow. His sword came down and slapped
the projectile to the side, where it dug into the pavestones with a
howl. I hadn't figured out how to make it stop doing that yet. I wasted
a heartbeat in surprise, though I really shouldn't have. The spear trick
might have been the most dangerous ranged option in my arsenal, but I'd
already known William's sword was far from a normal one. The whole
keening sound whenever it cut someone was a bit of a giveaway. I pushed
the thoughts away: Struggle would only raise me up for so long, and if I
failed to get a definitive advantage before it was done then I'd be
facing a full strength Lone Swordsman while exhausted. That way lay bad
things, and not the kind of bad villains worked with. I focused on the
power, let out a deep breath and \emph{moved}.

The stone under my feet broke as I barrelled forward towards William. He
met me with calm, measured precision. His stance perfect even by the
exacting standards of my teacher, he pivoted to let me pass him and
struck for the back of my neck. I ducked under it, momentum carrying me
in a slide on the stone, and cut at his legs. Pointless, now that he'd
traded his leather duster and chainmail for actual plate, but just the
force of the blow was enough to throw off his stance. He took a single
step back and adjusted so he was facing me as I stood back up. He waited
with his sword raised, unhurried. I was the one with a time limit, he
could afford to let me go on the offensive and wait for me to make a
mistake. I grimaced. For all that I'd stated that this fight would be
different than the last one, I'd never had a real confrontation with the
Swordsman before. Taking him by surprise when half-dead didn't count,
and before that he'd trounced me effortlessly. Both our Roles were
related to combat, but there was no denying that he was a better
swordsman than I was a swordswoman. \emph{It's in his bloody Name, it
shouldn't come as a surprise.}

I probed his guard, hoping for him to move, but he didn't bite. Green
eyes remained trained on me, that fucking little smile never leaving his
face. My Name snarled at the sight of it and I let the power guide me,
following the set of instincts that weren't my own but not someone
else's. My arming sword came high, for his eyes, but he stepped into my
guard and our forearms met. Sucker punching was usually what I would
have gone for in a situation like that, but with his armour there was no
point: I could hit hard and my gauntlets would add that little extra
twist, but it wouldn't be enough to damage good plate. Instead I grabbed
the back of his head and smashed it into mine, the top of my helmet
slamming into his forehead. For once being this short had come in handy.
He grunted but pushed me away, slicing at my sword hand without pause --
I dropped my sword and caught the handle with the other one, ramming the
pommel into his stomach. It wasn't enough: his fist caught me in the jaw
and my teeth clattered together painfully. If he'd hit a moment later I
might have bitten through my own tongue, I realized with a start.

I used the fear like the fuel it was, weaving my Name into a lesser
trick: the blast of dark power erupting from my hand threw him back.
Finally, a solid hit. I wasted no time in weaving a few strands into a
proper spear that took him right in the chest as he was trying to get
up. I'd seen that working punch through plate, but aside from knocking
him back again it left him unharmed. Weeping Heavens, what would it take
to actually hurt him? Face still serene, William rose and went on the
offensive. The flat of my blade slapped the side of his in a display of
dexterity that would have been beyond me if not for my Name, carefully
avoiding for either blade to bite into the other. I flowed into a cut
that would have torn through his forearm if he hadn't kept pace, blade
twirling and coming down on the top of my head. I felt the metal give
but I mostly managed to step out of the blow, sweat pouring down my
back. That had been close. Way, way too close. Another heartbeat and
that screwed up sword of his would have hacked straight into my skull.

``I see you're beginning to realize it,'' William spoke calmly.

He didn't sound like he was gloating or dramatizing, for once. In fact,
the moment blades had come out he'd turned into an entirely different
man, the frills of his personality falling away to leave only naked
steel intent on killing me.

``The Bard was right,'' he noted. ``You have an aspect that serves as an
equalizer.''

``I'd be a little more worried about that, if I were you,'' I replied
through gritted teeth.

I'd been taught to fight by some of the most dangerous people to ever
grace Praes, and they had kept me sharp over the last year. I came for
his head again, and there was nothing uncertain about it this time. He
needed to die. For all of this to work, he needed to \emph{die}. Darting
back and forth around him, I put all the swiftness my Name granted me to
work. The moment I stepped out of his field of vision I stepped into his
dead angle and went for a crippling blow, but the Swordsman remained
unfazed. He might as well have had eyes in the back of his head, given
how easily he seemed to predict my movements.

``That's the thing with Names, Squire,'' he continued in that same even
tone. ``An equalizer can put you on even footing with me power-wise,
but\ldots{}''

He took a hand off his sword and caught my wrist with it a moment before
my blade went through the back of his neck. I tried to blast him away
but a flare of blinding power killed the manifestation of my Name before
it could get anywhere.

``\ldots{} but it doesn't account for \emph{skill},'' he finished, and
his blade dug deep into my shoulder.

The kick caught me in the stomach a moment later, sending me rolling on
the stone with shoulder bleeding. I came to a stop on my back, the
now-broken arrow I'd been shot with earlier seeking deeper into my body.
I let out a hoarse cry and force myself to get up. \emph{Keep moving,
keep fighting.} Hune would have reinforcements coming, I just need to
stay alive a little longer.

``You're a decent swordswoman, for someone who can't have been at it
more than a year,'' William admitted casually. ``You even seem better at
working your Name into the fight than I am.''

``I'd blush,'' I gasped, raising my sword. ``But I don't think there's
enough blood left to spare.''

Heartbeat by heartbeat, my Name's power bled out. And with it went the
burst of energy I'd felt, the wall that had prevented me from feeling
the pain in my body. My acrobatics had torn something in my leg and all
the jumping had wiggled the arrowhead around enough that muscles had
been cut into. My shoulder was a bloody mess, and with it went my sword
arm. I traded hands with my sword, but I was painfully aware I was much
sloppier with my left. Against an opponent of this calibre, I might as
well have been waving a stick. Gods, I felt tired. My eyes wanted to
close, to let me sink into a sleep where all the pain and throbbing
would go away.

``This? This is what I do. I've been learning the sword since I could
walk,'' William said, smiling mirthlessly. ``I am not a general, you
see. I am not a politician or a scholar. I'm self-aware enough to know
I'm not even particularly clever.''

It saddened me that I was too tired and sluggish to make something out
of that.

``All I'm good for is swinging a sword, Squire,'' the Lone Swordsman
told me, ``but sometimes, that's all that's needed.''

The blade rose, and a bolt of lightning struck him in the face.

``Would you \emph{shut up} already?'' Kilian snarled, strands of energy
whirling around her.

William fell to the ground, body wracked with spasms as the redhead
continued to pour power into the spell.

``Hakram,'' she yelled. ``Take care of this, she's badly wounded.''

My vision was swimming but I recognized my adjutant's silhouette ambling
towards the Swordsman.

``Finish him,'' I croaked. ``Quick, before he recovers.''

Kilian laid a hand on my shoulder and whispered a few words, frowning
when the wound failed to heal.

``I can't do much more than stop the bleeding,'' she told me.

``The sword,'' I said. ``It's\ldots{} wrong.''

``Preaching to the choir here,'' she replied as she passed a hand
wreathed in a green glow over my wound. ``Just looking at it gives me a
headache, there's no way that thing is made of metal.''

She helped me back to my feet. With a rush of panic, I saw William was
already on his, sidestepping Hakram's blows effortlessly. Fucking Hells,
what would it take to put the man down? I knew heroes were more durable
than most, but this was ridiculous. I frowned as a thought suddenly
struck me.

``If Hakram's here, where's the Thief?'' I asked.

``She disappeared after he punched her in the face,'' the redhead
snorted. ``I guess she's not the fighting type.''

``So to speak,'' an amused voice acknowledged from behind her.

The short-haired woman appeared out of thin air, dagger in hand aimed at
Kilian's back. No.~I tried to push the redhead down but I knew before
moving that I'd be too slow and \emph{no}.

``None of that,'' Masego growled, snapping a hand in our direction.

An invisible force yanked the Thief back in the air, her eyes widening
in fear and surprise as she continued to gather speed until the spell
threw her through the window of a house on the other side of the street.
The bespectacled boy winked in my direction before contemptuously
slapping aside a fireball sent in his direction by the Conjurer who was
still, against all odds, standing. The patches of darkened skin had
spread over most of his face by now, though his other eye remained
untouched.

``Kilian, go back to your line,'' I spoke urgently.

``I hear that,'' she muttered, face pale.

Coming that close to death had a way of shaking people. Well, sane
people anyway. The jury was still out on whether I qualified for that.
She smiled at me and opened her mouth to speak, I followed her eyes and
saw William casually rip up his sword, tearing his way through Hakram's
chest and taking a hand with it.

``\emph{No},'' I screamed, already running. ``Not Hakram, you son of a
bitch.''

The Swordsman spared me a glance, face expressionless.

``Let's get this over with,'' he spoke.

He should have known better by now. The chariot barrelled through the
sky at breakneck speeds, the two pitch-black winged horses pulling it
running the hero over with almost inappropriate enthusiasm. The wooden
wheels creaked as they rolled over him, breaking bones, and Warlock put
down the reins casually, pulling at his gloves.

``Well,'' the Sovereign of the Red Skies said, ``this is a mess. It used
to be such a nice city and now there's blood everywhere. Think of the
resale value, children.''

``You're late,'' I called out, relief slumping my shoulders.

The older Soninke raised an eyebrow. ``There was this-'' he paused as
Conjurer sent a column of fire in his direction.

With a put-on sigh he wiggled his hand and the spell redirected to his
left, looping behind him and coming out as a flock of crows made of
fire. They lost none of their momentum and flew to the other side of the
street, where they caught Thief in the chest as she crawled out of the
house's wreckage. The explosion threw her back out of sight.

``Fire,'' Warlock finished. ``Just a moment, Catherine.''

Conjurer was already casting, but the Calamity lazily pointed a finger
in his direction.

``Boom,'' was all he said.

A perfectly symmetrical charred hole appeared in the middle of the
hero's forehead, and a heartbeat later his skull imploded. A shiver of
dread went up my spine when the body dropped and I saw that the house
behind the Conjurer was also a burning wreck.

``Now,'' Warlock said calmly. ``Who's the rapscallion responsible for
all this arson?''

The chariot flipped over, the Calamity almost losing his footing before
landing on his feet and brushing away a few flecks of ash.

``That would be me,'' William grunted. ``Finally, villain, you crawl out
of your hole.''

``Mind your manners, boy,'' the dark-skinned man replied. ``It will do
wonders for your life expectancy.''

The Lone Swordsman smiled. ``You should worry more about yours.
\emph{Now!}''

He brought down his hand in a sharp gesture. I started moving towards
them, but nothing happened.

``Was that a bluff?'' I asked as I slowed down, a little puzzled.
``Because we're pretty much past that phase of the fight.''

A shape emerged from one of the rooftops. Not a human, I saw. One
goblin, drenched in blood from head to toe.

``Boss,'' Robber saluted. ``Sorry for the wait, ran into some shady
Thieves' Guild folks. Lots of bows, skulking around rooftops, you know
the type. I'm happy to report we stabbed everything until it stopped
moving, just like you taught us!''

``I didn't teach you that,'' I replied automatically. ``Don't implicate
me in your future crimes.''

William's face dropped, as well it should. Hunter was a gory mess on the
ground, and while I suspected he might not be entirely dead he was done
for the night. Conjurer had just been served the Calamity special and
Thief had just taken a second hit in the face. The Bard was -- my eyes
turned to the rooftop where she'd been, finding it empty. \emph{Oh, that
could be trouble.} Regardless, the enemy soldiers had killed through the
rest of the barricade legionaries only to get wrecked by Kilian's line,
if the scorch marks were any indication. The amount of casualties left a
foul taste in my mouth but it could have been much, much worse.

``Doesn't matter,'' the Lone Swordsman finally said. ``Maybe it was
always supposed to be this way. Just me and the monster.''

``You're about forty years too early to take a crack at me, boy,''
Warlock sighed. ``For one, an older hero would have known not to give me
all this time to cast.''

He snapped his fingers and William flipped, something dragging him up by
his feet. He snarled and his sword lit up, but Warlock frowned and the
glow winked out.

``A nasty piece of work,'' the Calamity acknowledged as he levitated it
away from the hero's grasp ``but I've handled nastier.''

``Permission to make a joke about your sex life, sir?'' Robber called
out.

``Denied,'' I interrupted.

The Soninke cast an amused look at my tribune before turning his
attention to me.

``You'll have to kill him yourself, of course,'' he said, ``but there's
no reason we can't put him on ice until we can arrange that in a more
controlled setting.''

``Nah, that's not gonna happen,'' a voice called out.

The Wandering Bard sauntered onto the scene, undaunted by the fact that
my legionaries immediately formed a circle around her. Warlock frowned.

``A Bard,'' he spoke with distaste. ``By far the most irritating type of
Name ever inflicted upon us by Creation.'' He paused. ``On the other
hand, I \emph{have} been meaning to dissect one of those. I thank you
for the sacrifice you've volunteered to undertake on behalf of the
Empire.''

``That got personal \emph{really} quickly,'' Almorava announced. ``But
as I was saying, we're totally going to escape. We got our asses kicked,
so William needs to go all brooding for a while so he can pull his shit
together before the third fight and lead our little band of misfits to a
last minute victory.''

I opened my mouth but she raised a hand.

``I get it, things aren't ideal what with Conjurer having gone all
esplody and Hunter doing his best imitation of a pile of fresh pork
chops. But come on, any team with a woman as outrageously beautiful as
me on it is basically mandated by the Heavens to win.''

``The only thing outrageous about you is the size of that nose,'' I
muttered.

The Bard gasped. ``That actually hurt my feelings a little,'' she
admitted. ``Now I don't even feel guilty for threatening you guys.''

Warlock drummed his fingers against his leg impatiently. ``Do get on
with it. Exactly why shouldn't I put you in a block of ice and have
Masego buy a very reliable set of gags?''

``Right,'' the Bard said, shaking herself. ``So when that whole tower
ward went down, I took whatever power you didn't sink into you and
shoved it in a bottle. Think sharper multiplied by about a thousand.''

She fished a bottle out of her knapsack and presented it triumphantly. I
squinted.

``That's a half-empty bottle of rum,'' I told her.

Apparently my waitressing days \emph{could} come in useful, who knew?

``That's embarrassing,'' Almorava admitted, not looking in the least
embarrassed. She took out another bottle, this one emitting an ominous
blue glow.

\emph{Shit.} She hadn't been lying. Warlock cocked his head to the side.

``Are you trying to bluff me with a bottle full of common Callowan
sprites?'' he asked incredulously.

The Bard cursed. ``All right,'' she replied. ``So that could have gone
better. I'll admit, the plan still has some kinks to work out. But
that's okay! I was just a distraction.''

The arrow took Warlock in the shoulder. The Calamity barely blinked
before turning in the direction it had come from -- before I could even
see what was there, half the rooftop was on fire. A single silhouette
fell off, trying to smother the flames. A handful of smokers blew around
William, but by the time Masego dispersed the smoke with a gust of wind
there was no trace of the Lone Swordsman. I didn't even bother looking
for the Bard: she would have disappeared the moment we'd stopped looking
at her. It was my turn to curse.

``Mages, see to the wounded,'' I called out. ``The rest of you, secure
the archer. And someone check if the Hunter's still alive.''

They snapped to it. I headed for Hakram immediately, pleased to see
Masego was already taking care of him. The orc looked paler than usual,
and it was disturbing to see an orc his size looking so\ldots{} frail.

``You'll be all right, Hakram,'' I spoke, kneeling next to him. ``You're
in no danger of dying.''

``Well,'' my adjutant replied, ``I suppose my clapping days are over.
Good thing I was never much of a theatre enthusiast.''

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a hand came to rest on my shoulder.
It was Warlock. The touch made me uncomfortable, but after he'd pulled
our asses out of the fire I suppose I should grit my teeth and take it
without comment.

``We won't be able to reattach the hand, child,'' the Calamity said.
``Things cut by that sword remain so, as your leader well knows.''

I absently traced the length of the long scar across my chest hidden by
my armour. A good thing I'd never been particularly vain about my looks,
as it was pretty disfiguring.

``That said,'' Warlock spoke with an interested glint in his eye,
absently ripping the arrow out of his shoulder, ``some interesting
discoveries have been made in the area of magical prosthesis, these last
few years.''

A real grin split my adjutant's face.

``I'm listening,'' he said.
