\hypertarget{chapter-33-clean-up}{%
\section{Chapter 33: Clean-up}\label{chapter-33-clean-up}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``Of course I don't step on people's throats using my own heels.
Have you seen how gorgeous these boots are? I'm not getting blood on
these beauties: it takes at least two princes to get the right amount of
skin, and duke leather just isn't the same.''}

-- Dread Emperor Nihilis I, the Tanner
\end{quote}

We'd had to put the entire main avenue to the torch, no two ways about
it. While Robber took cared of scorching the earth where Heiress wanted
to make camp, my men were stuck with the clean-up. Corpses of my
legionaries and the Silver Spears both were stacked on great pyres that
would burn until morning. I had one made for Hunter alone, since he'd
earned at least this much from me. Anyhow, I suspected Archer would want
his ashes to bring back to Refuge, whenever she came back. Necromancers
could make some truly terrifying things out of the ashes of a hero, with
a little time and imagination, and since I had none of those in my
employ better they went far beyond the reach of my enemies. Handling the
corpses was grim work, but it wasn't the worst of it. Apprentice still
had enough wits about him that he could serve as a detection device for
corruption with the right spell, so I had Ratface appropriate a
guildhall and rotate all legionaries who'd been within sight of the
demon through it.

A dozen times, I patted a man or a woman who'd served me with nothing
but loyalty on the back and sent them to a backroom where a sword was
driven through their back.

I would have done it myself, felt like I \emph{needed} to, but I was too
godsdamned tired not to screw up the job. Of all the things to have
happened tonight, that one left the foulest taste in the mouth. It was
Sergeant Tordis who ended up bloodying her hands, though most of her
line stepped in at some point or another. Casualties to demon fuckery
were less than I'd feared: the trick it had used to make a new form
seemed to have killed most of the affected. There was, of course,
another problem. Apprentice himself might have been touched by
corruption, and could not be relied on to check himself. None of my
other mages knew the spell, and Masego was the only one who could teach
it to them. I had records kept of all legionaries who'd been exposed to
the demon even after the\ldots{} purge, just in case. I'd need to have
them looked over by another mage as soon as I could manage. I could feel
myself falling asleep on my feet, but there was still too much to do.

Hakram wasn't waking up, so I'd had him moved to my rooms until he was
back in action. My healers assured me this was a case of pure
exhaustion, and for what it was worth Apprentice cleared him of any
trace of corruption. Coming into his aspect when in range of the demon
hadn't had the consequences I feared, much to my relief. \emph{Of
course, unlike me he didn't try to fucking force it.} Robber came back
half a bell later, as I dipped a torch in bucket of oil standing in a
darkened street.

``Boss,'' he greeted me, creeping out of an alley on silent feet.

I'd heard him coming but I was too tired to bother. I shook off some oil
onto the paving stones and grasped the haft of the torch more firmly.

``Report,'' I ordered hoarsely.

``The munitions we had stocked in the manor went up by accident,'' he
lied baldly. ``By the time Heiress' boys got in place to put it out, the
place was a burnt-up husk.''

I smiled thinly. There was no pretending I hadn't given this order out
of pure spite, but I did not regret it. Akua had crossed a line by
meddling with demons, by setting one on my legion. The only reason we
had a truce was that forcing a battle with her right now was too risky.

``Tribune, listen to me closely,'' I rasped. ``As long as those fucking
Proceran mercenaries and their paymaster remain within a day's march of
us, there will be \emph{accidents}.''

The moon cast its light on the sapper's face, sharp needle-like teeth
and malevolent yellow eyes making my soldier a scarier sight than the
devils ever had been.

``There's all sorts of accidents,'' Robber mused. ``I wonder what kind
might happen to them?''

``Supplies will be poisoned,'' I ordered harshly. ``Beasts of burden
will be crippled. Any men who wander the city alone or in small enough
groups will end up dead in an alley. If they so much as stack two stones
on top of each other, I want them pushed down and on fire.''

``Hare anulsur,'' he murmured in Tahreb.

\emph{War of vultures}, it meant. The tribes of the Hungering Sands had
never matched the Soninke kingdoms north of them in numbers, but never
once had they been successfully invaded: Soninke hosts wandering into
the desert found only poisoned wells and and nights full of knives,
until all that was left of the enemy was a trail of corpses for the
vultures. He'd understood my meaning perfectly.

``We've been at war since the moment she let the abomination out,'' I
snarled. ``Time we started acting like it.''

There was no need to tell him not to get caught, and that if he was I'd
have to deny I'd ever given him this order. Goblins understood the ways
of quiet war better than humans ever could. With my free hand I opened
the shutter to the only lantern lighting up the street and used the
candle inside to light my torch. With heavy steps I walked to the pile
of firewood Tordis' line had stacked up, engraving the faces of the
twelve legionaries on it into my mind. \emph{Gods, they look so young.}
I threw the torch.

``Your deaths are debt,'' I whispered as the flames spread. ``And I will
have a long price for them. I cannot give you much, where you are going,
but I can promise you that.''

I turned away, Robber falling in behind without a word. Dawn was but a
bell away, and I needed to get some rest: Creation wouldn't stop
spinning just because I was exhausted.

---

My entire body ached when I woke up.

All available beds had been taken by my wounded, so I'd ended up passing
out on a chair in one of the empty rooms of the Fifteenth's command
centre. I tested my bad leg by putting weight on it and had to bite my
lip to stop from screaming. \emph{Fuck. Well, I won't be running any
time soon.} My armour was in a messy pile on the other side of the room
but putting it back on seemed like a masochistic endeavour, so instead I
carefully rose while putting as little weight as possible on my wounded
foot. I felt filthy, and probably smelled like it too: a mix of old
blood, sweat and grime. There was no washbasin, unfortunately, and going
on a quest for a bathtub was a luxury that would have to wait. The only
upside to how I felt was that I was too tired to be hungry. I bent over
with a hiss to pick up my sword belt and strap it on, tightening it
sloppily. My ponytail had turned into a tangled mess while I slept, but
that was nothing new: at least it had stopped growing since I'd become
the Squire.

I pushed the door open and limped into the wider chamber. There were
only a handful of officers there, spread among a few tables and talking
in low voices. Through the windows in the front I could see the sun had
risen, and that was as much as I took in before a hush fell over the
room. Every single legionary was looking at me in utter silence. I kept
my face blank, unsure how to react. It wasn't fear or resentment I saw,
but something else I couldn't quite identify. Aisha's voice rang out
suddenly.

``Back to work,'' the Taghreb girl barked. ``Azim, put the herbs in the
pot. If I catch any of you gossiping you're getting a double shift
helping the sappers.''

Aisha was perfectly groomed, looking like she'd just walked off a parade
ground. It wasn't because she'd not been in the thick of it, because
some of the other staff officers I could see were looking distinctly
haggard. I even smelled a touch of perfume on her as she came closer,
offering me an arm to lean on. I pushed away the gesture a touch too
harshly, regretting it immediately as I hobbled to a chair on my own.
She didn't seem particularly offended, at least. I suppose that being as
close to Juniper as she was, she knew a thing or two about dealing with
rudeness.

``Aisha,'' I grunted. ``What time is it?''

``Half past Dawn Bell,'' she replied, sitting on the edge of the table.

I noted with tired amusement that she was as close to me as she could be
without my feeling irritated at her closeness. I wasn't sure whether
that perceptiveness was a result of her aristocratic origins or
something unique to Aisha herself, but it was appreciated nonetheless.

``Hakram up yet?'' I asked.

She shook her head.

``Apprentice said he'd be out until noon, at least. Something about
drawing too deep on his Name,'' she paused, then raised her voice.
``Azim, if that pot isn't on its way I will have you \emph{strung up}.''

A harried-looking Soninke officer ran towards us with a very nice
porcelain pot I'd see Aisha use for tea before, nearly dropping the
matching cup in his haste. The Staff Tribune dismissed him impatiently
after he set it on the table in front of me. I raised an eyebrow in her
direction.

``Masego left me herbs for when you woke up,'' she explained.

I offered her a grateful nod and poured myself a cup of a brew smelling
just like the one Apprentice had made me before the battle. I noticed
her twitching at the sight of my pouring my own cup, which got the ghost
of a smile out of me. No doubt the aristocrat in her balked at the idea
of the highest-ranking person in the room filling their own cup, but she
knew me well enough by now to have noticed I disliked relying on people
for things I could do myself. The effect of the herbs didn't kick in
immediately, unfortunately. I spoke up again to keep my mind off the
burning sensation in my leg.

``Where \emph{is} Masego, anyway?''

``Room next to yours,'' she said. ``He didn't last much longer than you,
and informed me that if anyone disturbed him for any reason they'd spend
a week of their life as a toad.''

I snorted. Whether or not he could actually do that was debatable --
metamorphosis was a branch of sorcery that consumed a hideous amount of
power for even the smallest changes -- but coming from the Warlock's son
the threat would be enough to give anyone pause.

``No one can find Archer,'' Aisha continued, ``and Juniper's sleeping
the battle off somewhere on a rooftop.''

Surprise must have shown on my face, because the lovely Staff Tribune
elaborated.

``She always does that after a fight,'' she explained. ``Lets her mind
rest.''

As far as vices went, that was a rather mild one. Not that I should be
surprised: the Hellhound was one of the most temperate people I'd ever
met. Hardly drank, disapproved of gambling and I'd never heard of her
being involved with anyone. Robber kept insinuating she was sleeping
with either Aisha or Hakram, but then he'd also composed a ten-stanza
poem about how Nauk had fathered half a dozen calves during our march to
Callow. The tribune's words had to be taken with a grain of salt, was
what I was saying. I hummed, finishing my cup and pouring another. The
taste of the brew was bitter but it soothed my throat, and already the
pain in my leg was receding.

``Heiress?'' I finally asked.

``Hasn't made a move,'' Aisha informed me. ``Set up her camp around the
ruins of the manor and put up a palisade. There are regular watches, but
none of her men have set foot in the city.''

That was fine. I was willing to be patient: night would fall eventually,
and unlike Robber's men hers did not see in the dark. Wooden stakes
would do little to impede goblins with knives and a mandate to spill as
much blood as they could get away with.

``And so ends the Battle of Marchford,'' I murmured. ``We got so close
to a real victory, Aisha. So damned close.''

The Taghreb's face went inscrutable, then she let out a soft sigh.

``Ma'am,'' she said, then stopped when I gave her a look. ``Catherine,''
she corrected herself. ``Look at that orc over there, the woman with the
lily jutting out of her breastplate.''

The sight of a broad-shouldered orc frowning down at paperwork was
almost comical, I had to admit.

``That's Lieutenant Asta,'' Aisha continued. ``When she went for water,
around dawn, a five-year old boy walked up to her and have her that
flower. Thanked her for saving his mother from the devils.''

I met Aisha's eyes and saw she was smiling softly.

``That's happening all over Marchford, right now,'' she said.
``Callowans are pitching in to help legionaries clear debris off the
streets. Half my staff was ambushed by old women bringing them
sweetbread and lamb stew. Catherine, a fortnight ago these people
thought we were worse than the plague. Now children are bringing us
flowers.''

She rested a hand on my wrist for an instant, then withdrew. Such soft
skin, for a soldier.

``That look on their faces when you walked in was \emph{pride},
Squire,'' Aisha told me. ``We're proud of what we did here. The
Fifteenth took a stand and we were bloodied for it, but we won. And that
makes all the difference.''

``We didn't get the demon,'' I replied tiredly. ``Heiress did.''

The Taghreb aristocrat shrugged. ``That may be true. But the stories
that are coming in aren't awe about her taking care of the threat.
They're about three villains and a pair of heroes, standing between the
Fifteenth and a demon. They're about you and Hakram forcing back a
monster the size of a guard tower with nothing but swords and shields,
about Apprentice making a new sun in the sky to scour it clean. Maybe in
the Tower they'll care about what Heiress has to say, but not those of
us who were here. We know, and more importantly we'll \emph{remember}.''

I looked away, feeling my throat choke up. How tired must I have been,
for this to bring tears to my eyes? Aisha was kind enough to pretend she
wasn't seeing anything and I forced myself to finish my last cup of
herbal brew. I took a few deep breaths, enjoying the last few moments of
peace I'd be getting for a long while. The Battle of Marchford might be
over, but I still had another war to fight. The same war that had begun
the moment I'd laid eyes on Heiress, and made the mistake of ignoring
because I hadn't seen her since. A prickle at the edge of my senses
chased that peace away in the blink of an eye. I immediately rose to my
feet, much to Aisha's surprise.

``Lady Squire?'' she asked worriedly.

``Trouble,'' I hissed, as a door behind me slammed open.

Masego hopped out, robes askew and his braids an unwholesome mess. His
eyes were red and bloodshot.

``Fucking Hells,'' he snarled. ``\emph{Really}? Right after the demon?''

``Focus, Apprentice,'' I spoke up, forcing my voice to remain steady.
``What exactly is this?''

``Something's coming from Arcadia,'' he replied, and I only now noticed
he wasn't wearing his spectacles.

I had a dozen urgent questions, but none as urgent as this one:
``Where?''

His fingers lit up with red light and he traced a few runes in the air,
muttering under his breath as they rearranged themselves on their own.

``Where we fought it,'' he replied, and didn't have to specify what `it'
was.

I felt calm settle on me. We could handle this. We'd have to.

``Aisha, evacuate the whole sector,'' I ordered. ``Send word to
whichever commander is awake, I want the Fifteenth on combat footing
immediately. Surround the place. Mages are to make sure nothing gets
out.''

She saluted immediately, and I turned to Masego.

``We're going,'' I said, and it wasn't a question.

---

``I thought Fae could only come into Creation through gates? You know,
like the one in the Waning Woods,'' I said to Apprentice as we hurried
through the streets.

``Powerful enough fairies can create paths,'' he explained, rubbing at
his eyes.

The morning sun wasn't doing either of us any favours.

``And Marchford is in a unique situation,'' he added.

We turned a corner. The street was empty, Aisha's runners having taken
care of making sure there wouldn't be anyone caught in the crossfire. It
would take longer for the legion to be in position, though. We'd be
without backup for the beginning of the fight.

``Elaborate,'' I gritted out when it became obvious he wouldn't.

``Slower,'' he panted.

I resisted the urge to point out that I was the cripple between the two
of us. \emph{He's running drills with Hakram after this, Heavens burn me
if I lie.}

``Demons damage Creation,'' he told me as we cut down our pace. ``The
separations between Creation and a realm as close to it as Arcadia will
be running thin right now. Maybe forever.''

``Well that's just fucking wonderful,'' I cursed.

Fae inside a bloody city. Just what we needed right now. And I couldn't
even use all of my legion against them: at least a third would have to
be watching Heiress' army to be sure they didn't backstab us at the
first occasion. Which they damn well would, because Akua was the kind of
insane megalomaniac who used existential threats as catspaws. Sometimes
I understood why Black had wanted to put all the Wasteland's nobility to
the sword after the civil war.

``Are we sure they're going to be hostile?''

``Fae aren't hostile, Cat,'' he got out. ``They just like their games
and don't understand the concept of mortality. They're basically souls
given form -- inside Arcadia they can't die.''

I paused. ``But in Creation they can, right? \emph{Right}?''

Apprentice cleared his throat. ``That's, uh, a matter of academic
debate. The most popular current of thought is-``

``\emph{Masego},'' I barked.

``Sure,'' he replied, looking as pained by the lack of precision as he
was by the act of running. ``Stab away, that'll work.''

We cut through the plaza as fast as we could and arrived at the head of
the avenue just when something tore open. Blizzard poured out of an
opening I couldn't see, impossibly thick. Winds howled as frost spread
across the ground, an empty ruined avenue turning into the eye of the
storm faster than I could unsheathe my sword. I grimaced.

``Well, that's promising,'' I muttered.

Masego whispered something under his breath and a moment later I stopped
feeling the cold. I shot him a grateful glance, and together we strode
forward. It was hard to make anything out in the spinning snow, but as
we got to the edge of the blizzard we saw a silhouette approach. A man?
Maybe not, the features were too fine to tell and the long hair could
have belonged to either gender. If Fae even did gender, which I wasn't
sure they did -- some were supposed to be shapeshifters. Tall, with
impossibly clear blue eyes and hair that looked more like flowing
darkness than anything materially possible. Those eyes, I noted, were
wide and showing white. The Fae looked at us and hesitated, then jerked.

``\emph{No},'' it called out in a voice that was like velvet made sound,
even when taken by terror.

Something dragged it deeper into the snow storm and there was a scream,
then a sickening crunch. I licked my lips nervously.

``Suddenly I'm not too sure about going to have that look,'' I admitted.

``You're the commander,'' Apprentice croaked out. ``If you favour a
tactical retreat, who am I to argue?''

We never got to make a choice, as the blizzard continued to expand and
enveloped us a heartbeat later. I kept close to Masego and brought up my
sword. The visibility was the real problem here, not even my Name sight
could -- the cold touch of steel against the back of my neck stilled my
heart.

``Wekesa?'' my teacher's voice prompted.

``She's clear,'' Warlock replied, still invisible. ``Though someone took
a butcher's knife to her soul.''

``Your son?''

There was a long pause.

``Also clear,'' Warlock finally said.

The sword came away from my neck as the tear in the distance closed, the
blizzard dispersing to reveal the sight of the Black Knight in full
regalia save for the helmet. He offered me a sardonic smile.

``So,'' he mused. ``I'm given to understand you've had an eventful few
weeks.''
