\hypertarget{chapter-14-trick}{%
\chapter{Trick}\label{chapter-14-trick}}



\epigraph{``I can't beat your band of heroes, true, but what if there were
another eight bands also out for my blood? Ha! What are you going
to do, form a line?''}{Dread Emperor Irritant, the Oddly Successful}



I took one look at the Fields of Wend and started cursing in Mthethwa.
Lower Miezan just didn't have that register of pure spite the Soninke
tongue did. A mile of glaciers lay at my feet, their differing heights
and shifting movements filling the air with the sound of fracas every
few heartbeats. Named or not, if I got stuck between two of those I'd be
a woman-shaped pile of broken bones. I was really hoping the prophecy of
lies was going to work out, because if it didn't it was going to take
Hakram most of a day to find all the bloody pieces of what was left of
my body.

``You got fucked on the arena,'' Archer noted cheerfully. ``And not even
in the fun way.''

``I'd noticed, thank you,'' I replied crabbily.

The only saving grace of the Fields was that the uneven relief would
make it easier to take cover when the Duke of Violent Squalls started
throwing a storm and a half at my head. I was very, very glad I'd
decided not to wear armour. I wasn't so good a swimmer I'd avoid sinking
to the bottom if I slipped. My plate had been repaired by the servants
and set out for me, but I'd chosen something lighter instead. Grey
trousers went down into the same pair of good boots I'd taken to the
masquerade, over them a thick gambeson that went down to my knees. After
my last few scraps with the fae I'd learned that my plate served only to
slow me down. The sword at my belt rested comfortably, the handle veiled
by my usual cloak. I'd gotten little use out of the garment and its
supposedly spell-resistant abilities since Black had gifted it to me,
but today seemed a good day to bring in an additional precaution.

The four of us had taken the carriage to the duelling grounds and found
quite a crowd waiting for us there. More fae were in attendance than
there had been at the masquerade, though by the looks of it they were
still all aristocrats. Before being a pain in my ass, Archer had taken
the time to discreetly point out the handful of fae she'd bombarded with
prophecy the night before. At least one of them had the scroll on his
person, idly toying with it as he watched us. Would it be enough? I had
no idea. Masego's glamour amulet was nestled safely under the gambeson,
and I'd been met by a sea of blanks faces when I'd arrived, until they
all resumed normality. I couldn't know whether that meant they'd bought
it, but it was too late to back out now anyway. The crowd parted for us
effortlessly until we came to stand by the Duke himself. I eyed him
carefully. The bastard was in armour, unlike me. Plate of what seemed
like actual silver -- though I wasn't enough of a fool to hope the metal
would be as soft as it should be -- and a cape of blue silk dotted with
pale hellebores. He had a falchion at his side, ornately jewelled, but
no shield. \emph{Mage}, I thought\emph{. Free hand needed for
spellcasting.}

That was good news of a sort: it meant that he couldn't simply command
the winds with a thought. Possibly. Relying on that assumption might
just get me killed, so I'd have to fight as if he could until proven
otherwise. A fae I'd met before, the Lady of Cracking Ice, smoothly
stepped between myself and the Duke.

``Since we've all arrived,'' she smiled, ``we can begin the proceedings.
At the invitation of the Duke of Violent Squalls, I will be serving as
the officiant witness. Does the Lady of Marchford have any objections?''

``None,'' I said.

``This is pleasing,'' she said. ``As is custom, I must ask you if the
grievance between the two of you can be resolved by any other manner.''

``No,'' the Duke of Violent Squalls spoke carelessely.

``He could kneel at my feet and beg for mercy, then I'll consider it,''
I suggested.

Wind picked up sharply around us as the fae aristocrat glared hatefully
at my face.

``Didn't like that, did you?'' I mused. ``That'd be a no, then.''

``Very well,'' the Lady of Cracking Ice said, sounding amused. ``The
terms set by the offended party were death or surrender.''

``I withdraw the outcome of surrender,'' the Duke spat.

``This is quite irregular,'' the Lady said with a frown.

``I'll allow it,'' I shrugged. ``Didn't intend to let him surrender
anyway.''

``Since both parties are in agreement, it will be so,'' the Lady
conceded. ``Participants are to make their way to the Wending Heart and
stand at their respective edge. The duel will begin when the blue light
above your heads shatters.''

I glanced at the Fields. What she'd called the Heart was easy enough to
find: it was the tallest of the glaciers, topped by a perfectly round
platform of maybe forty feet in diameter. There was already a shining
blue orb hovering over it. I watched the glaciers around, getting a read
for the movements: staying on flat ground with someone who controlled
the wind was a death sentence. Ranged combat was no specialty of mine,
but if I wanted to live long enough to make it to close quarters I'd
need some form of cover. Hakram clapped me on the shoulder.

``Wade in their blood, Cat,'' he said.

``That's the plan,'' I replied.

I cast a look at the other two.

``If you have to die,'' Archer said, ``die \emph{loud}.''

I would have settled for a `good luck' but that wasn't really her style,
was it?

``Get it done quickly,'' Masego told me. ``I've experiments that should
not be left unattended for too long.''

``Love you too,'' I mouthed back.

Rolling my shoulder to limber it up, I began my trek to the Wending
Heart. Time to find out whether the magical power of lies could kill a
man.

---

There was enough snow on the glaciers that the way wasn't too slippery.
I was more sure-footed than a mortal had any business being, regardless.
Couldn't remember when I'd last tripped or slipped on anything, though
even before becoming the Squire I'd not been prone to clumsiness.
Probably because I was short, it saddened me to admit. No need to adapt
to growing limbs if they stayed the same length.

``It will be most amusing to make a plaything out of an entire
kingdom,'' the Duke spoke as we moved. ``No fae has ever possessed such
a bounty of souls.''

He walked so lightly he didn't leave footprints, I'd noted. It was
doubtful I'd be quicker than him, armoured or not.

``You know, I keep hearing about you Winter fae being great at mind
games,'' I said. ``But so far? Not impressed. I've had better quality
trash talk from orcs and I'm pretty sure that Heiress could make you
cry, given half a bell.''

We both made the leap to the Heart, his landing admittedly more graceful
than mine.

``Why bother with such games?'' he said. ``You are outmatched beyond
your understanding.''

``Not the first time I've heard that line,'' I laughed. ``Usually the
person speaking it is dead before sundown.''

I took the northern edge as he strolled to the southern one. Behind me a
lower platform of ice was idly drifting, maybe fifteen feet below. There
were a few spires on it that would do nicely as a shield until I could
find a good angle to approach. I unsheathed my longsword as he did the
same with his falchion, sneering, and with a loud crack the blue orb
above us broke. Before I could so much as blink wind howled, and I was
casually tossed off the Heart. For a heartbeat I watched the distant
ground under me and, with cold detachment, considered that this wasn't
exactly a great start. Even as I began falling I saw a large globe of
air forming around me and made the decision that I wasn't sticking
around to find out what that would do when completed. My Name flared and
I formed a circular pane of shadow under my feet, leaping off it towards
another glacier.

I landed rolling in the snow, arrows of wind hitting the ground behind
me and spraying ice everywhere. Archer might have undersold the whole
wind magic thing a bit, I thought. I cast a look backwards the moment I
got back on my feet and saw the Duke was standing at the edge of the
Heart where I'd begun the duel. And he was lazily pointing a finger in
my direction. Great. I made a run for it. Two glaciers to pick from:
what looked like a barren peak of ice or another flat platform below. I
picked the platform -- better line of sight -- but when jumping down
found myself hurtling towards a wall of perfectly still air. Ugh. Wind
magic was good at restricting movement, Apprentice had said. The
understatement trend continued. I hated fighting mages, it was all
tricks and no slugging and slugging was what I was best at. I forced
myself to twist in the air and landed feet first on the apparently-solid
wall, allowing a trickle of power to go down my legs so I could throw
myself at the ice peak instead of falling into the waters below.

I hit the ice with a grunt and plunged my sword into it so I wouldn't
just start slipping, hanging by a single hand. Another trickle of power
into my arms and I spun on myself, tearing out the sword and landing
more or less on my feet at the top of the peak -- just in time to duck
under a sharp-looking sickle of wind. The Duke of Violent Squalls was no
longer standing at the edge of the Heart, I saw. That was a mixed bag.
On one hand, he no longer had high ground and a good field of vision. On
the other, I had no godsdamned idea \emph{where} he was now. I got an
answer when the peak under me exploded in a shower of ice and I caught
the glint of a moving blade in the spray. \emph{Below, and behind.} The
falchion sliced through my cheek, missing a deeper wound only because my
footing had quite literally been shattered. I bit down on the hiss of
pain and swung blindly at the silhouette of the fae -- but he was gone
before I could get even vaguely close.

I landed on what remained of the peak with my cloak over my head to
shield from the falling ice, managing to vault to another glacier before
a wind spear the size of a ballista's bolt tore through the ice under me
and collapse the whole thing. Shit. If I got hit by that, I wasn't
walking away from it. I kept moving even if I didn't have a precise
destination in mind: so far every time I'd slowed for more than a moment
I'd been hammered by magic. All right, so this was like fighting an
extremely mobile armoured mage without any need for incantations, who
could very likely fly as well and would be unaffected by the terrain.
I'd, uh, had better days. \emph{Here's a rule for not dying stupidly}, I
remembered Captain telling me. \emph{Never give a mage room to set up.
The longer they have, the more dangerous they get.} The few spars I'd
had with Masego had only reinforced the notion. If I wanted to avoid
further nasty surprises I needed to know where the Duke was.

``Gods Below, this is going to hurt,'' I muttered.

I climbed to higher ground and crouched, waiting for my enemy to catch
up. The first strike I saw coming. A cylinder of wind with ice shards
inside formed ahead of me and began spinning ever faster, shooting out a
volley of glinting ice spears that tore through the spot I'd been in a
moment earlier. The second, though, I did not. The entire glacier I was
standing on broke in half and even as I moved to the left side the Duke
of Violent Squalls came out of the waters below, like an arrow adorned
with translucent blue wings. He was carving his way up with his
falchion, now wreathed in a wind version of the weapon that was three
times the size of the original. I let the reflexes of my Name take over,
stepping back: If I'd been a heartbeat slower, I would have lost an arm.
As it was he ripped his way up the side of my body and straight through
the clavicle. The wind weapon blew up a moment later, tossing me onto
another glacier before I could strike back. I managed to land on my
feet, sliding back and blood flowing down the mangled gambeson.

``Rise,'' I said, the aspect coming to the surface.

I'd gotten what I wanted, but the pain wiped away any notion of smiling
at that victory. I'd touched the edge of his cape while he was carving
me up, slid a thread of my Name's power into it. A variation on the
trick I used with the bone contraptions crafted to trigger goblin
munitions, though this had been much more delicate. If I focused I could
get a vague sense of where that bit of power \emph{was,} since it was as
much a part of me while away as it had been before. And right now, it
was circling around my left. The flesh knitted itself back together as
the aspect I'd Taken from the Lone Swordsman did its work, though it
pained me that I'd had to use that card this early in the fight. It
would be diminishing returns, from now on, and I could only use it
another two times. My feet padded against the snow as I focused to keep
a read on where the Duke was, astonished by how quickly he was getting
around. Just ahead was an ice spire, and in about three heartbeats by my
estimation he'd be behind it. I blew out a steamy breath and called on
my Name, fashioning a spear of shadows that shattered the spire in a
heartbeat.

Let's see how he dealt with being on the \emph{other} side of that. I'd
been moving before the spear had even left my fingertips, so I came out
of the mist just as the Duke was turning in my direction. I swung with a
grunt of exertion, tip of the blade managing to cut through the tip of
his nose as he smoothly leaned back. With a flick of the wrist I
reversed the strike, hacking through the edge of his right eye just
before our bodies impacted. He screamed in anger as we rolled on the
ground. Unlike the fae, I knew how handle myself to come out on top when
we slowed. Not much of a scrapper, this one. I slugged him in his
bleeding face as I drew back my sword, the sound of my fist crushing the
bones of his nose the sweetest of melodies. A burst of wind threw me off
him but I managed to have it put me back on my feet, immediately going
back on the offense. He swung his falchion without even trying to hit
me, the displacement of air caused by the strike magnified until it
became a squall that knocked me off my trajectory.

I adjusted my angle without flinching and hacked down at his shoulder. I
grimaced before the strike hit: I'd misjudged my strength, that was
going to hit plate instead of neck. To my surprise, my blade cut
straight into the silver-like metal. I felt flesh give underneath, if
not deeply. My sword, unfortunately, was now stuck. His free hand
pointed towards my chest and the spear of wind that impacted me a moment
later blew me straight off my feet. Along with breaking half my ribs and
puncturing a lung, by the feel of it. I managed to keep enough of a grip
on my sword that it came with me while my body hit a wall of ice behind
me with a dull thud. I coughed out blood, feeling the lung he'd struck
beginning to fill already. Hells, that magic hit like a horse.

``Rise,'' I rasped out.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, I felt the wound beginning to heal. It felt
like getting stabbed all over again, Merciless Gods. I managed to push
myself back to my feet anyway. The Duke's hand was on his armour,
looking appalled. And \emph{scared}, I saw, for the first time since the
duel had begun.

``What madness is this?'' he barked. ``You do not have the power to even
begin to touch my armaments.''

I wiped the blood off my lips and grinned red.

``Guess it was just meant to be,'' I said.

Strike one for the power of lies. It wasn't handing me the victory in a
handbasket -- the fake prophecy hadn't been well-crafted enough for that
-- but I'd touched the story just enough I could twist it. That there
was a \emph{chance} for me to win. The hole in my lung closed, though my
ribs still felt like a clan of orcs had been stomping on them. With only
one good eye left and a broken, blood nose the Duke had come out ahead
but he no longer looked so pristine. With a snarl of rage, he flicked
his hand upwards and I took that as my cue to make a tactical retreat. I
jumped atop the wall behind me and legged it to another platform. Good
instinct, I saw a moment later. Winds roiled in a circle enveloping the
entire width of the glacier then came down like the hand of an angry god
-- the entire mass broke like glass and sunk under the water, sending
waves in every direction that had the glaciers rocking like ships in a
storm. The Duke of Violent Squall had not moved, wings keeping him aloft
in the air as his eyes searched for me. Deciding that running the Hells
away was the better part of valour, I ducked behind an ice spire and
continued my escape.

The sliver of power in his cape told me he was on the move a heartbeat
later, when I concentrated. Going under the water again, I thought.
Running out of tricks, was he? Or perhaps fae weren't \emph{allowed} to
be too creative. If they could make too many decisions, their stories
might not unfold as they should. I gauged where he came out of the deep
and moved to flank him. I felt the Duke pause and smiled. I'd done
enough damage the creature was wary now. He seemed to be hiding beneath
a glacier's cliff, so I crept quietly atop and only allowed a trickle of
power into my legs when it came time to leap, teeth bared and sword
high. Another eye, I thought. If I could take its vision away this would
become a great deal easier.

I realized I'd fucked up about halfway to the ground.

The Duke of Violent Squalls was not under me, waiting to get stabbed.
His cape, however, was. Trap, and I'd literally leapt at the occasion of
falling into it\emph{.}A globe of air, the same magic he'd used early in
the fight, formed around me. A heartbeat away from my feet touching the
ground the air \emph{solidified}, trapping me like a fly in amber. I
stayed there hanging, barely able to breathe, as a spire of ice
shimmered and revealed itself to have been the Duke. The snow-pale fae
smiled and idly waved his hand, the globe shrinking closet to my body
before rising higher in the air, taking me with it.

``Sooner or later,'' he said, ``vermin gets caught. Shall we give them a
spectacle worthy of my name, Lady Foundling?''

His wings beat and he took me back to the Heart still in his globe,
landing fluidly on the ground as I hung in the air above him. I could
feel the fae on the shore watching us, though I couldn't see them. The
Duke has positioned me as if I was still about to fall on him, a mocking
smile on his face. Four spears of ice rose were carved out from the
ground by roiling wind, rising to align with my shoulders and knees.

``Did you think resembling my form would make me hesitate?'' he asked
amusedly. ``Let me disabuse you of the notion.''

In that moment I watched his eyes and saw his entire concentration had
gone into manipulating the spears. That was the thing with magic: no
matter how old and bad you were, it was impossible to cast more than one
spell at a time. He was \emph{invested}, and withdrawing from that would
take a few moments. The Beast laughed, standing behind my shoulder and
baring its fangs. I could feel its warm breath on my cheek, feel my Name
pulsing with it. For a moment I almost forced myself to speak, to ram a
cheeky reply down his throat, but I pushed down the urge.
\emph{Monologues are for amateurs.} The spears began moving, slow to my
eye, and I reached for the second bundle of power inside of me. Heat
flowed through my veins and in the back of my head I heard a snapping
sound, the very same the Penitent's Blade had made when I'd broken it
over my knee. I'd thought about keeping it, after Liesse. When it was
just a very sharp sword. But then the day after it had become light as a
feather, for angels were not prone to metaphor, and I had seen my death
writ on its edge. So I'd broken it, into a hundred pieces I'd had
scattered over rivers and lakes so it would never be forged again.

It had not been an act without consequence.

``\textbf{Break},'' I croaked.

For an instant all I felt was my will pushing against something
infinitely larger. If the Duke had fought me, I grasped, I would have
been swept away by the tide effortlessly. But he wasn't fighting me.
Magic was will, and \emph{his will was in the spears}. The globe
shattered, the Beast howling in approval. I'd been caught with my sword
raised to strike and though the momentum had been blunted that was again
how I began descending. Panic went through the fae's eye and a
hastily-redirected spear caught me in the shoulder -- but it was the
wrong one, I laughed -- then another tore through my side and finally my
arm came down even as the ice tore through flesh and bone. The tip of
the blade punched through the silver armour and straight through the
heart.

``You,'' he gasped.

``Me,'' I replied, taking all that was left of my Name and pouring it
into the blow as I scythed down through his body, cleaving it in half.

Icy red water poured out of the gaping wound and I ignored the pain from
my shoulder long enough to raise my blade one last time, meeting the
Duke's eyes as I struck. The head flew. I let out a groan of pain and
exhaustion as I dropped to my knees. Shit. I'd been spending power like
coppers throughout the entire fight just to survive, and now the well
had run dry. Couldn't even muster my last use of Rise, it was slipping
through my fingers. I groped blindly for my hand and found a signet ring
there, gurgling out a triumphant laugh. With an ugly gasp I broke the
spear that had bit deep in my shoulder, leaving the ice inside and
haltingly getting to my feet before trying the same with the one in my
flank. My fingers were too weak -- I botched the job and cried out when
the ice dug deeper into my flesh. I saw the fae on the shore, vision
swimming, and almost wept at the idea of having to make my way back
there. Worse, the Heart was still rocking from the massive blow the Duke
has struck earlier with his magic, though it was almost unnoticeable
now. I paused. Entirely unnoticeable. The hair on my arm rose. Something
was wrong. I looked down at my blade and dropped it in surprise. The red
droplets falling from it were staying in the air, frozen. And now that
I'd dropped it, it was staying still as well.

The Duke? Was this a variation on the globe from earlier? If the Duke
wasn't dead -- no, he had to be. Otherwise I wouldn't have the signet.
There was a sharp snip from behind me and I turned. There was someone
sitting at the edge of the Heart, a piece of ice and a knife in hand. He
-- it was a man, slender and dark-skinned -- was carving the ice. His
hair was long and dark, coming down in waves over his shoulders. On his
brow I glimpsed a crown, fashioned in grey dead wood and weeping
blood-red sap. He turned to me and a single glance was enough to have me
fall to my knees. The ice in my shoulder \emph{burned}, until the pain
left and a strange and terrible clarity replaced it.

``Catherine Foundling,'' the King of Winter spoke.

The words were not words. They were mountains old as dawn ground to
nothingness one season at a time, they were ice so deep in the heart of
the world it had never seen the light of day. My ears were bleeding.

``Come, sit,'' he ordered. ``It's time we had a little chat, don't you
think?''
