\hypertarget{chapter-41-retrieve}{%
\section{Chapter 41: Retrieve}\label{chapter-41-retrieve}}

\begin{quote}
``\emph{\ldots{} such wanton deviousness had been unseen since the days
of Dread Emperor Traitorous, who famously passed for his own Chancellor
through cunning use of a wig and a pair of cantaloupes\ldots{}''}

-- Extract from ``The Most Illustrious Histories of the Inimitable Dread
Empire of Praes'', volume IV
\end{quote}

The clamour died down before long.

The Fifteenth had been positioned according to Juniper's plan for the
forcing of the city, with Hune's irregular kabili of over a thousand men
taking point. Heavies in the front, with the strength of our sapper
corps behind them. Nauk's legionaries were split between the wings,
placed so that they would be able to reinforce weak points rather than
engage the enemy on their own. I would have preferred for the orc
commander to be the tip of the spear but Juniper had brought up the
valid point that he was a lot more likely to commit to too deep an
offensive than Hune. The ogre would not let her legionaries step even
once over the imaginary line set by the Hellhound. I had not cheered
with my legion, sobered by the knowledge that this was just an opening
blow. With the gates open my own instinct would have been to rush
through and take the enemy while they were still unprepared, but Juniper
had pushed back against that idea hard. The Lone Swordsman had a history
of trickiness that could not be denied, and she didn't want to have to
learn what he'd planned the hard way.

``So what do you have for us now, Willy?'' I murmured.

Sharpening my vision with my Name, I frowned and peered through the
broken gates. Like we'd anticipated the Stygian spears were surrounding
the entrance into the city -- whether or not there were archers behind I
did not have the angle to see, but I'd bet that there were. Neither the
Baroness Dormer nor William himself were noted military commanders, but
the older Stygian spear-slaves were said to be schooled in tactics and
strategy. It was one of their selling points: the few Free Cities that
used the slaves for war did not usually have an officer corps of their
own to provide. A few heartbeats passed without any response from the
other side, a fact that was almost more troubling than reassuring.
Meanwhile, Senior Sapper Pickler's boys got to work. The trebuchets
began targeting the ramparts to the sides of the gate bastion, massive
stones smashing into them with professional regularity. Our pair of
ballistas had been pointed at the bastion itself. There was no
expectation that the smaller stones would actually able to bring it
down, and we didn't actually want them to. They just had to clear the
fortificiations of archers and mages, while the trebuchets made sure
there wouldn't be flanking fire on the Fifteenth when it advanced.

I glanced at Heiress, who'd been silent since my last cutting retort.
Barika trailed behind her, eyes on my moving legion. They'd be giving me
trouble anytime soon now, but whatever they had planned the
contingencies I'd set up should hobble them. As long as Akua didn't have
the Procerans at her beck and call, all she could put forward was a
small retinue of her own guards and her noble minions. Dangerous, but
not so much that I couldn't step on them if I wanted to. Getting her
right here, where she couldn't get up to any shenanigans away from
prying eyes, had been the most important part. I wondered if this was
how Black felt all the time, measuring risks and moving enemies over
traps you could trigger at any time. It would explain a lot about the
man if he did: there was nothing wondrous or adventurous about this. It
was just\ldots{} work. Like bartending, if more dangerous. They didn't
talk about these parts in the stories. The sleepless nights you spent
anticipating the actions of your enemies, the grind of preparing your
counters to their moves. All the while knowing that you might never need
the work at all, or that it might turn out you'd made the wrong kind of
efforts entirely. \emph{And he did this for all of Callow for over two
decades.}

The thought was chased away the moment the rebels finally gave answer to
our drawing first blood. A lone silhouette passed through the gates,
gait assured and unhurried. For a moment I'd thought it would be the
Lone Swordsman, come to defy an entire army on his own, but my Name
sight found an entirely different face: Thief. The heroine was strolling
with her hands in her pockets, whistling if the shape of her lips was
any indication.

``Not the Named I was expecting,'' Hakram gravelled.

``Preaching to the choir,'' I said. ``Angling for single combat, do you
think?''

``She doesn't have a fighting Role,'' the orc frowned. ``I could more or
less handle her before I came into my Name: she tries you and she'll end
up bleeding on the floor.''

There was no flattery in that reply, just a matter-of-fact
acknowledgement of how good I'd gotten at killing things.

``Even if she calls for a duel, she'll be getting the princely reply,''
I said. ``We don't have time to waste on posturing.''

The Thief agreed, apparently. She stopped sixty feet away from the gate,
on the open field but still out of crossbow range. A ballista stone flew
over her head, hitting the wall without making a kill but keeping the
archers crouched behind the fortifications. She flipped a finger in our
general direction then took up a leather pouch from her side, turning it
upside down as if to empty the contents on the ground. A heartbeat
later, twenty-odd river barges fell in a crash of wood and floodwater. I
blinked just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

``What the \emph{actual} fuck?'' I said eloquently.

I had a few more relevant questions in mind, but that was the one that
came out. I glanced at Heiress, whose face was emotionless. Not tell to
find there, unfortunately. Had the Thief\ldots{} summoned boats? This
was aspect stuff, there was no doubt about it, but she wasn't a mage.
That I knew of, anyway. I gestured for one of the Gallowborne to come
closer.

``Tell Apprentice to hurry back here,'' I ordered. ``This was, uh, not
part of the plan.''

``If this turns into a naval battle, we're down a fleet of our own,''
Hakram commented drily.

``Less sass, more figuring out what the Hells was the point of that,'' I
ordered.

There hadn't been much water, and it was already seeping into the
ground. Still, I somehow doubted making a little mud had been the plan
there. There was no sign of the Thief anymore, but I knew it'd be too
much to hope for she'd been crushed under the barges.

``They're blocking access to the gate,'' Hakram said.

I cursed. True, the boats had fallen all over the place: some forward,
yes, but some backwards also. The ones in the back probably forbade
entrance to the same gate we'd just knocked open. The heroes had replied
to our forcing a way in by dropping a mountain of wood in front of that
path. I might have picked up on that faster, had I not been befuddled by
the absurdity and overkill of the answer.

``They'll be putting the gate back up as we speak,'' I grimaced.

``We can order Pickler to smash the boats to kindling,'' Adjutant said.

``That'll take too long,'' I said. ``And I doubt our trick on the gate
will work twice.''

The orc cast me a cautious look.

``You only have so many cards up your sleeves,'' he warned me.

``I only have so many hours before the actual bloody Heavens show up,''
I replied, then turned to another of the Gallowborne. ``Run to Juniper.
Tell her I'm slapping down my first trump early.''

There'd be no need to be any more precise than that, not with the
Hellhound. I closed my eyes and reached for my Name, opening pupils on a
corpse far to my left. The ox rose to its feet. I'd been meaning this
particular surprise for Willy, a way to make swordsmanship irrelevant to
our coming fight. I'd had several of our labour oxen slaughtered and
stuffed with goblin munition loadouts, including one full of goblinfire.
\emph{He'll be expecting them after this.} The ox I'd reached for was
one heavy on demolition charges, the flesh carved deep and filled to the
brim. It would have been enough to casually level a city block, Robber
assured me, so it should be enough for the barges. If not, I had another
six oxen to finish the job. I set the undead construct to a steady trot,
only then opening my eyes. Hakram was looking at me, trying not to grin.
I sighed.

``Out with it,'' I said. ``What did they call this one?''

``The Oxis of Evil,'' he confessed.

Sappers were, I reflected, the worst of the worst. As if to prove my
point the ox I controlled came into my field of view and I noticed there
was someone riding on it. A goblin. I couldn't use my Name sight and
control the corpse at the same time, but there was no real need to.

``Remind me to demote Tribune Robber,'' I told Hakram.

``I'll make a note of it,'' the orc said.

``Lesser footrest,'' I decided. ``That'll be his new rank.''

``You don't have another footrest,'' Adjutant pointed out.

``But if I did,'' I replied vindictively, ``he'd be beneath them.''

Heiress, to my surprise, had not taken the occasion to snipe at either
myself or the Fifteenth. She was looking at the scene, turning her back
to me. Discreetly, I gestured at Captain Farrier to have another two
crossbowmen ready to take her out. I didn't trust how quiet she'd
gotten. With Pickler's engines keeping the enemy archers busy, Robber
and his mount covered the ground with only a handful of pot-shots taken
at them. One arrow hit the ox right in the brains, but the corpse wasn't
exactly using those at the moment. A few moments before impact Robber
leaned forward and struck a match, setting off a fuse before rolling
off. Landing on his feet, the goblin spread out his arms at the soldiers
on the rampart and yelled out something. I was too far away to hear, and
anyhow I was busy cutting the strands connecting me to the ox before it
exploded. The corpse hit the side of the closest barge, horns getting
stuck in the wood, and a moment later Creation lit up.

I'd again underestimated how much munitions were amplified by Name
power, it seemed. The hand of an angry god swatted aside the centre of
the boat pile, smouldering planks of wood catapulted in every direction.
One large piece hit the first rank of Hune's heavies, slapping down an
orc nearly as large as Nauk like he was a child. I winced. Broken bones
for sure, even if he'd caught it on the shield. When the mess settled
down I saw that something resembling a path had been cleared. Half a
barge was still in the way and would make passing under the bastion much
trickier, but it would also be usable as cover. Like I'd suspected, the
gate was already back up. Our way to get rid of it had left it largely
intact, after all, even if I doubted they'd have repaired the hinges so
quickly. I was beginning to think I should have used the oxen on the
walls, surprise or not. With the Fifteenth ready to pour in the gap the
moment it settled we might have avoided the mess at the gate entirely.
\emph{Too late for that now.}

``You were using your sight on Robber?'' I asked Hakram.

He was actually better as sharpening his senses than I was, nowadays. He
still lacked a second aspect but the few tricks Black had taught me he'd
taken to like a fish to water.

``I was,'' the orc agreed.

``What was he yelling?'' I asked with morbid curiosity.

Adjutant smothered another grin.

``I believe it might have been `knock knock, motherfuckers','' he
informed me.

``\emph{Lesser} lesser footrest,'' I muttered under my breath.

Behind us, horns sounded and the Fifteenth began to stir itself to
movement. The foreplay was over and Robber fled back to the safety of
our lines to the loud acclaim of his cohort of insane murderous
hooligans. That they were actually \emph{my} cohort of insane murderous
hooligans was something I was trying very hard not to think too much
about. In the distance I saw that Apprentice was coming back in my
direction, then frowned when he started gesticulating wildly. I gazed in
the direction he was pointing at. The Procerans, I saw, were not moving
in formation. They were supposed to slip in front of Hune's men to
harass the Stygians before impact was made, but they were splitting off
my host to the left.

``Heiress,'' I barked.

There was a chorus of swords being unsheathed and two dozen crossbows
instantly covered Akua and Barika . My rival cleared her throat
daintily.

``As the Sahelians have unfortunately been put under a strong financial
burden by Her Most Dreadful Majesty, I'm sad to inform you we can no
longer afford to keep the mercenaries in our pay,'' she said. ``As a
result, I no longer command them and therefore no longer qualify as an
auxiliary officer according to Legion regulations.''

``They're in the Tower's employ,'' I said.

``They've never signed any contract with the Tower, or been handed gold
by it,'' she smiled.

``Get off your horse,'' I spoke softly. ``Hands on your head, and the
same with your minion. You so much as make a vaguely suspicious move and
my men will drop you.''

Akua did not move.

``On what grounds do you demand this?'' she asked curiously.

Apprentice barrelled onto the scene a moment later, panting and looking
like he was about to throw up.

``Catherine,'' he said, his robes now sweat-stained. ``\emph{That's not
Heiress}.''

Without missing a beat I reached for the knife at my belt, palmed it and
threw it. It spun and sunk to the hilt in the leg of whoever was wearing
Heiress' face. The illusion shattered with a tinkling sound and the
sight of Arzachel, bound and gagged, was presented to my eyes. Barika
laughed.

``Too late,'' the heiress to Unonti said.

The haft of Hakram's axe caught her on the temple a heartbeat later,
throwing her down the horse and sending her straight into
unconsciousness before she even hit the ground. There was surge of power
in the distance, from among the mercenaries.

``The demon,'' I said. ``Masego, are we-``

``It's not getting through,'' he interrupted.

And like he said, a moment later, there was a responding surge of power
from where Kilian's task force of mages was waiting. We'd prepared for
this, thank the Gods. Horns sounded again and the left flank of the
Fifteenth turned to face the Procerans. They didn't seem interested in
giving battle, though. They were fleeing towards the walls. Not that
Juniper cared: before twenty heartbeats had passed the legion's
ballistas had been repositioned and a pair of bloody furrows was carved
in the mercenary ranks. Pickler's sappers had managed to hit the ground
at the right angle for the stones to bounce and continue rolling,
killing dozens instead of mere handfuls with every shot. Wouldn't have
worked as well on better armoured men, but these were light infantry. I
glanced at Masego, whose face had turned ashen.

``We have the wrong target,'' he said. ``She's not bringing something
through.''

Ripping one of the silver trinkets from his hair -- this one with a
reflective surface -- he spoke a few words and an image appeared on the
side of it. Zombie moved closer to him and I hunched over. We were
looking at the Stygian spears, arrayed behind the gates.

``They're the target?'' I asked.

``Not them in specific,'' he muttered. ``This is High Arcana, it works
through\ldots{} associations. Metaphysical concepts.''

One of the former slaves in the front ranks staggered, his muscular body
turning into a weak husk in the blink of an eye before he dropped dead
on the ground. One after another, the Stygian spears dropped. Two
thousand, they were. Before thirty heartbeats had passed every single
one of them was a corpse.

``Weeping Heavens,'' I whispered. ``What kind of a ritual is this?''

``She fed them, didn't she?'' Masego said. ``She gave them water and
rations. Hers. And she just retrieved that gift.''

``If it's retrieved, that means she \emph{got it back},'' I hissed.

Two thousand lives in fuel. The power to the east had not dimmed, it had
grown. And even as I thought, I could feel it taking shape. The
ballistas continued taking their toll but they were irrelevant now.
Heiress had never intended for the Procerans to be the force she used
today. They'd been a red herring for me to focus my efforts on, thinking
I was scoring victories by hobbling them. In front of the fleeing
mercenaries a tear in Creation formed, pouring out a geyser flame and
sulphur.

``Contact the task force,'' I ordered Masego immediately. ``Shut this
down, \emph{now}.''

The image on the trinket shifted and Apprentice immediately began
talking in a low voice to someone. I didn't stick around to supervise:
he knew how to handle that situation better than I did. I passed by
Hakram and the Gallowborne securing the unconscious Barika. Someone had
gotten Arzachel off the horse and handled the wound, but he wouldn't be
talking: his tongue had been removed. \emph{So that's why the Procerans
are listening to Heiress.} Odds were someone with Arzachel's face was
giving them their orders. When had she made the switch? I doubted she'd
managed to put a prisoner on a horse under my nose without my noticing,
so she must have found a way to fool Apprentice's spectacles from the
beginning. \emph{But then how did he figure out she wasn't the one on
the horse when he came back?} Suspicion gnawed at me, but I set aside
the matter for now. My eyes turned to the ritual gate, and what I saw
there had my limbs going numb. Devils were spewing out of it by the
hundreds. Ironhooks, jackalheads and the lizard-tigers. Other kinds I'd
never seen before too, with wings.

All of them were going for the walls. The ironhooks would be able to
climb them with no trouble. Some would die going up, shot by archers,
but eventually a foothold would be made. And then the levies would
panic, and the whole infernal host would spill into the city. Thousands
would die, I already knew. Tens of thousands, even, since the civilians
would be so tightly packed. All of it because I'd thought Heiress would
use an old trick again instead of pull out a new one. My Name was
silent. It should have been howling in anger and outrage, but there was
not so much as a ripple in the pond. The stillness in my mind was all
mine. So was the vicious, frozen fury going through my veins. Eventually
Kilian's task force managed to shut down the ritual gate by following
Masego's instructions, cutting through a giant snake as it did. It
didn't matter: another one had passed through unhindered, and it was
closing its jaws on the top of the ramparts. Lesser devils were already
beginning to use it as a way up.

I got down from my horse and walked to Barika's prone form, crouching to
slap her awake. I felt like my body was not my own, like I was puppeting
myself the way I did corpses. The Soninke opened her eyes with a pained
gasp.

``You breed are ever sore losers,'' she sneered the moment her eyes swam
back in focus.

I felt myself exhale.

``It truly is a game to you, isn't it?'' I said. ``Even when people die.
Just part of the steps.''

``You're in over your head, Foundling,'' Barika said. ``You have been
since the beginning.''

I smiled.

``You know, I've had a lot of time to think about things on the march
here. After Marchford, you see, I seriously considered assassinating
Heiress even after Black essentially warned me off the idea. Do you know
what held me off?''

``Fear,'' the aristocrat mocked.

``Yes,'' I agreed softly. ``You're right. I was \emph{afraid}, Barika.
Not of her but of\ldots{} escalation. How much worse would she get, if
she felt that her life was on the line?''

``Your mistake,'' the Soninke said, ``was to think that you should only
be afraid of us when you threaten our lives.''

``Right again,'' I chuckled. ``Not in the way you meant it, but there it
is. I keep expecting you lot to have lines you won't cross. But you
don't, do you? You weren't raised to think that way. Anything goes if it
gets you what you want.''

``Torture might be preferable to your petty moralizing,'' Barika said.
``Not that you'll get anything out of me. I've been trained to resist
the likes of what you can bring to bear.''

``You probably have,'' I acknowledged, and rose to my feet. ``Thank you,
Barika Unonti, for this valuable lesson.''

Calmly, I took the crossbow of the closest Gallowborne and placed a bolt
through her eye. She was dead before she even realized what was
happening.

``Masego,'' I said, looking down at the corpse. ``Scry Juniper. I'm
ordering a full frontal assault.''

``And what will we be doing meanwhile, Catherine?'' Hakram asked.

I spat to the side.

``We're going to have a conversation with the man who cut off your
hand.''
