\hypertarget{chapter-25-dead-ends}{%
\chapter{Dead Ends}\label{chapter-25-dead-ends}}



\epigraph{``And so the First Under the Night came across a portal where
great danger might lurk, and upon witnessing it halted and sought the
council of Sve Noc. `O Night,' said the First, `what wisdom do you
offer?' And so the Young Night answered thus: `Try a foot first.'\,''}{Extract from the `Parables of the Lost and Found', disputed Firstborn
religious text}



\emph{Shit}, I thought to myself, \emph{this is going too well.}

``- the Alliance army has effectively withdrawn, and is making camp for
the night,'' the officer continued. ``They have recalled everything but
scouts, as far as our own can see.''

I'd told Vivienne what I wanted out of the manoeuvres, namely forcing
the western coalition to give me just enough room that I could gate my
armies away from this mess. It was starting to look like I'd be getting
exactly that, which was highly suspicious. Reports had begun to come
into the pavilion over the afternoon, everything going according to
plan. First the opposition drew back, then General Bagram threatened
their supply lines further north and they outright retreated. Had any of
the crusader commander taken the Fourth Army's distant presence as an
immediate threat and charged? No.~Had the drow been ambushed by some
unforeseen sun-based sorcery kept in store just for this day? No.~Had
some hero assassinated half the general staff of one of my divisions?
No.~This was going off without a hitch, which meant it wasn't and the
Gods were about to dump a sackful of angry badgers on my plans.

``Your Majesty?''

``It's always badgers, you know,'' I complained. ``It never goes a
\emph{little} badly, its's always `oh no, there's goblinfire burning the
city' or `oh no, the Praesi summoned a bunch of devils again' or even
`oh no, half the continent thinks a crusade would be just the thing'.
Would it really be too much to ask for a mishap instead of a catastrophe
once in a while? Like, `oh no, we're out of the good wine, but that's
fine we've got this pretty decent bottle instead we'll just drink
that'.''

There was a long moment of silence in the pavilion.

``So, double watch and not single,'' Marshal Juniper said, sounding
vaguely embarrassed of me.

``Don't you give me that, Hellhound,'' I grunted. ``You know I'm right.
Matter of fact-''

I went looking through my cloak before realizing I was not, in fact,
carrying anything that could remotely be used as coin. Arguably the main
drow currency was murder -- although, given how much obsidian they
always seemed to carry around maybe in practice it was that -- and it
wasn't like anyone had handed me a purse full of golden aurelii since
I'd come back to the surface.

``Hakram,'' I said, extending arm with my palm up.

I didn't even bother to look, nor him to argue. Two heartbeats later I
was slapping coins against the table, more specifically --

``- \emph{silver}?'' I said, turning to glare at Adjutant. ``You
cheapskate. That's old Marchford coinage, too, it's basically worth
nothing nowadays.''

``Thought we'd get rid of it while in Procer,'' the orc shamelessly
admitted.

``Ugh,'' I said. ``Fine then. Juniper, I'm betting these \emph{eight
silvers} that when you send a rider out on the field they'll run into a
scout on the way back with urgent news.''

``To clarify, they're silvers only in the nominal sense,'' Adjutant
helpfully added. ``Their actual worth is closer to-''

``You believe we're about to be ambushed,'' Marshal Grem interrupted in
a rasp.

The old orc was an interesting sight, I'd admit. The cloth covering the
missing eye his epithet promised was nothing out of the ordinary, simple
black linen with the First Legion's symbol embroidered in gold. It was
the Marshal himself I found interesting: neither as tall as Hakram nor
as broad as Nauk had been, the sight of his frame in Legion armour
brought to mind an old tree -- all dry and corded, but likely to be
nasty if pushed. He was, it would not do to forget, more than just one
of the finest military officers in the Empire: he was also an old man
who'd been born before the Clans were bound so tightly to the reformed
Legions of Terror. Back in the days where the orc clans had preferred
raiding each other and on occasion the Praesi to taking the Tower's gold
and serving in the ranks. For his clan to have been as prominent as it'd
reputedly been, he must have seen some brutal fighting. \emph{And that
was before he joined up with Black, through a civil war and the
Conquest}, I thought. There was a dangerous man, behind that red-brown
eye. Simply because my teacher's latest scheme had backfired on the
Legions did not mean the orc was helpless.

``I believe this has proceeded perfectly when we know for a fact there's
heroes nearby,'' I replied. ``One way or another, this is about to get
ugly.''

``Battle?'' he asked, tone calm.

There was no doubt in his eyes, like what I had said was a statement of
fact. I almost shivered at the sight of it, the old general waiting to
dissect my instincts like an augur would a bird. How many times had
Black stood in my place, lending his paranoia's edge to a finer
commander's plans?

``Not tonight,'' I said. ``We're too close to sundown. But they'll
spring a surprise on us, you can count on \emph{that}.''

``Then it might be best to issue the recall for the Fourth Army early,''
Marshal Grem said. ``And allow the `Firstborn' to handle the defences as
our divisions withdraw through Arcadia.''

I flicked a glance at Juniper, who after a beat nodded.

``Do it,'' I said. ``Adjutant-''

``I sent one of mine to have a look,'' Hakram gravelled. ``We'll know
soon.''

I didn't quite manage to set aside the nagging feeling that we were
about to get screwed, but we still managed to get some business done in
the stretch that followed. We needed to hash out supply arrangements for
Marshal Grem's legions beyond this particular Iserran mess, and I had no
intention of forever feeding the legionaries unless they proved of some
use to me -- either garrisoning the Blessed Isle or participating in the
war against the Dead King. If they wanted to wait out the war until
Black died or returned, it would not be through the grace of Callowan
granaries. One-Eye hinted pretty bluntly -- still, it was something of a
novelty to see an orc \emph{hint} at all -- that private talks between
he and I should be held on the subject, and I was wondering whether to
push for either Hakram or Vivienne or both to be in the room instead
when a legionary stumbled back into the pavilion. He saluted at me
first, so he was one of mine and not the Legions, but his eyes flicked
at Adjutant after. One of Hakram's helping hand, then.

``Report,'' I ordered.

``Your Majesty,'' the legionary replied, saluting once more. ``While the
enemy's forces have not redeployed, they have sent a party out in the
plains towards us.''

My fingers clenched.

``How many?'' Juniper asked. ``Horse or foot?''

``Two or four,'' I said, tone calm.

The legionary's eyes widened.

``Two, Your Majesty,'' he agreed.

``And they'll be raising a tent, the smug pricks,'' I said.

Something like fear passed in the soldier's eyes.

``It is so, Your Majesty,'' he said.

``Black Queen?'' Marshal Grem rasped, tone inquisitive.

``One is the Grey Pilgrim,'' I said. ``I'm guessing the other's the
Saint of Swords, though he might have traded in for younger muscle.
Well, \emph{fuck}.''

The last word I said feelingly, as it looked like all my preparations
had gone up in smoke.

``They raised a tent, soldier?'' Adjutant said. ``You are certain?''

``Yes sir,'' the legionary nodded. ``One of those Proceran pavilions,
the ones they use to receive people.''

``We're not gating anywhere, looks like,'' I cursed. ``Let's find out
why at least. Adjutant, have a space cleared for an attempt. With
contingencies.''

My second nodded, and after a few nods of respect spread around left to
see my will done.

``An explanation would be appreciated,'' Juniper growled. ``For those of
us who aren't Named.''

``The Pilgrim is under the impression we'll be talking soon,'' I said.
``Considering I'm very much planning on getting the Hells out of here by
Arcadia if it's possible, that means he knows something we don't about
why that's not possible. It's his whole thing, Juniper, being wise and
and all-knowing. In practice I'd guess he's got some ties to a Choir,
maybe some limited foresight. Not that he'd be a fool without, mind you,
but he's certainly got an edge. Either way, by putting up that tent he's
making a point.''

``Posturing,'' Vivienne said. ``That is to say, preparing for
negotiations.''

``How kind of our friend Tariq to be willing to talk,'' I said, tone
gone sardonic. ``Why, he might even be willing to consider peace as a
personal favour to us. Entirely unrelated to the fact that he's
currently losing, no doubt. It will be our privilege, nay, our
\emph{blessing} to be allowed to make a truce with the side of the
Heavens.''

``Manifold thanks to the Gods Above,'' Vivienne agreed without missing a
beat. ``Who have ever protected and preserved us, praise be. We may have
to raise a new cathedral in Laure as an expression of our gratitude.''

``I take it,'' Marshal Grem said, ``that you are less than fond of this
hero.''

``Well, he's only tried to kill me twice so far,'' I mused. ``So I guess
that still puts him somewhere between Saint and Malicia,
relationship-wise.''

``Wait, what's the left extremity of that line?'' Vivienne frowned. ``It
can't be the Saint, we've barely fought her.''

``I think it's still William,'' I mused. ``He tried to kill me every
single time we met, I'm pretty sure. I mean, so did a few others but
mostly 'cause they didn't get to meet me twice.''

``That feels underwhelming,'' she said. ``He couldn't even ruin a city
without Contrition holding his hand, second rate at best. Really, they
shouldn't even make the list if they haven't tried to murder you through
use of an astral sphere.''

``Eh, I think Pilgrim's star-thing is more like a metaphor,'' I said.
``That'd only leave High Noon Delight and Queen
The-Sky-Is-A-Reasonable-Weapon from Summer. Two's not a list. Besides,
if we're opening the floor to metaphors then Willy's murder-sword thing
kind of looked like moonlight.''

``Didn't the Page have a similar trick?'' Vivienne asked. ``You
mentioned it a while back.''

``Oh \emph{man}, I'd almost forgotten about her,'' I admitted with a
hum. ``When I think about Three Hills it's always Nauk popping the
Exiled Prince in the throat that comes to mind.''

\emph{Bambambam.} Marshal Juniper smashed her sheathed sword against the
table one last time, for emphasis, and then cleared her throat with a
growl.

``Orders, Your Majesty,'' she said.

``At the moment?'' I said. ``Everyone is to remain in a defensive
posture, as they've already been ordered to. We won't know more until
I've tried a gate, which Hakram is securing grounds for me to do as we
speak.''

I drummed my fingers against the table.

``I'd recommend for the two of you to prepare a plan of action for the
eventuality of being forced to march out of Iserre,'' I said. ``Or being
forced to give battle here, either against the current army or the
entire Grand Alliance field force.''

``You don't intend to participate?'' Marshal Grem asked.

``The skeleton I'll leave to the two of you,'' I shrugged. ``I need to
see some birds about something, and if that doesn't work I'll have to
beat Larat until answers come out. Might take a while, it's mostly lies
and arrogance in there.''

``Understood,'' One-Eye said, apparently unruffled.

Merciless Gods, what kind of insanity had my father put this one through
that he wouldn't even blink at that? I shot him an assessing look, but
let it go for now.

``You coming?'' I asked Vivienne.

``The birds,'' she said. ``From underground?''

``Those are the ones,'' I agreed. ``They're perfectly safe.''

Vivienne's brow rose.

``Probably safe,'' I corrected.

The brow stayed up.

``To me,'' I specified.

``I shall stay and provide a political perspective to these unfolding
campaign plans,'' Vivienne Dartwick serenely said.

``You do that,'' I snorted, then glanced at the Marshals. ``Until later,
then.''

A dip of the head for me, salutes for them, and on my way I went.

---

It was still the better part of an hour before dusk when the Sisters
came to me.

I could have tried the gate before then, of course, and very nearly did
-- though it would tire me to make the attempt, it was nothing that
second wind coming with nightfall wouldn't carry me through. Still, I
was\ldots{} wary. I'd not forgotten what Robber had told me, the tale of
gates into Arcadia opening into the Hells instead or simply wildly out
of course. Adjutant had done well in arranging for me a wide courtyard
now surrounded by basic wards, but if devils started pouring out those
wouldn't be enough. \emph{I} might be, even on my own, but best to
exercise a little patience if it lowered the risks. The crow-shaped
slivers of godhood sliced into the glare of the sun like knives, their
unnaturally graceful flight taking them in twin spirals until they
claimed my shoulders in unison. Perfect unison, I'd realized. Not even
the fraction of a moment in delay. That kind of precision was
unsettling, as no doubt they'd meant it to be.

``I have a problem,'' I said, leaning on my staff.

``A servant of the Pale Gods,'' crow-Komena said with relish.
``\emph{Finally}.''

``See, I don't believe it's actually him that's the trouble here,'' I
said. ``Well, not this particular trouble anyway. He's definitely some
other sorts.''

``You believe the ways into Arcadia to have been wounded,''
crow-Andronike said. ``Amusing, that you'd believe what frustrated some
errant Splendid would be a threat to us.''

``Now \emph{that},'' I said, ``is the kind of talk that ends up with
gods in boxes. Or cut up for parts. Or, you know, made to scamper away
in disgrace by a hero. You've been down there for a long time, O
Goddesses of Night. Here be monsters, and some of them were born to make
sport of those like you.''

I could feel their roiling anger, not that it cowed me in the slightest.
My very purpose in their service was to pull them back when they were
about to make a mistake like this. Twirling the ebony staff lightly, I
clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth.

``So, let's try this again,'' I said. ``I have a problem. Some hero with
friends upstairs believes I won't be able to gate out of here. In your
opinion, how dangerous would it be to try opening one right now?''

``The taste of the boundary has not changed,'' Komena said. ``You worry
for nothing.''

``It would not, if the change were coming from without,'' Andronike
noted.

My brow rose.

``So, if there's a mess it's more likely to be coming from Arcadia?'' I
asked.

``A more precise explanation would be well beyond your understanding,''
Komena said.

It was surprising, I mused, how quickly one got used to being
condescended to by a bird. I lowered my staff, tip touching nothing at
all.

``So, a quick look is in order,'' I said.

Night flooded my veins, abrupt and eager to answer my call. The gate
ripped through Creation easily, to my surprise -- and that of the
Sisters, I felt. I'd felt this before, in Marchford. When Akua's demon
had weakened the fabric of Creation enough that it was made easier for
the Winter Court to raid through. It'd not been like that when I gated
earlier, I thought.

``This is unusual,'' Andronike said.

I felt it too, even as the ink-black gate opened before me. Eyes,
unfathomably large, gazing at me. The surface of the gate was like
liquid obsidian, though without a single ripple, and I hesitated. I held
back, leaning on my staff.

``Thoughts?'' I said.

``Try a foot first,'' Komena drolly suggested.

``Oh, we think we're funny now do we?'' I muttered. ``Mark my words,
that one's going into the holy book.''

\emph{Godly advice, my ass,} I thought. Still, wasn't like there was
another choice was it? I breathed out and stepped through. The rippling
sensation was replaced by howling winds as my feet stumbled over
Arcadia's grounds. Blinded and deafened by what must have been half a
hurricane, I called on the Night and let Andronike's steady hand guide
my will: a bubble of stillness bloomed around us, sudden and absolute.
Breathing out, I put my cloak in order and finally took a good look
around me. This was Arcadia, I was certain of it. The\ldots{} sensation
was the same. Which made what I was looking at all the more worrisome.

``That is not the work of fae,'' Komena croaked.

``No,'' I murmured, ``I don't think so either.''

Before us spread out a wasteland to make the heart of Praes flinch.
Choking black dust billowing in a great storms as streaks of lightning
erupted wherever they wished, striking at the ground with thundering
claps. The noise of it all was deafening, even inside the bubble of
stillness. I could see fractures of glowing red snaking across the
ground, and liquid fire bubbling out when currents unseen made the heat
rise in great geysers. The sky above us was an endless shifting tapestry
of darkened clouds, with malevolent pale lights lurking behind them.
This had been Arcadia, I thought, before someone broke it beyond repair.

``No,'' Andronike said, disagreeing with my thought. ``To the very point
it can tolerate breaking, and not a step more.''

In the distance I could see the great storms strengthening, until what
looked like the eye of the madness: a great hidden shape, the dark winds
whirling around it masking the true appearance of what lay there.

``This was done on purpose,'' I murmured. ``And you felt it too, didn't
you? How easy it was to open the gate here.''

The Sisters did not speak the approval, though a hint of pressure
against my thoughts served as acknowledgement. It was almost secondary,
now, that I wouldn't be able to evacuate my armies through Arcadia -- as
if I'd not lose every damned soldier, trying to march them through here.
I suspected now that if I tried to open a gate leading to anywhere I'd
still end up here, as if all the paths now led to this place. In a
sense, I thought, they probably were. Something, or someone, had damaged
this chunk of Arcadia to pry it loose from the rest. And now, if I was
not mistaken, this wretched placed was slowly dropping down into
Creation.

``We are \emph{seen},'' Komena suddenly hissed.

Behind me, the still-open gate shuddered. Well, shit. I wouldn't be
using that one to leave anyway, but it looked like we'd drawn the
attention of something I'd rather not be in the eyes of.

``What is it that's here,'' I urgently pressed. ``Before going back we
have-''

The gate broke. The inky power it was made of \emph{shattered}, and the
shards started slinking through the dusty ground -- towards that hidden
shape in the distance, I judged.

``Tell me,'' I hissed at Sve Noc. ``Is it the Dead King, or-''

An eardrum-breaking shriek tore through this nightmare of a realm, then
four grinding cacophonies in interweaving succession. Almost like rusty
metal being pulled apart, but the truth of it was much worse: in that
storm-cloud covered sky, burning red circles formed. Out of them winged
creatures poured, swarms and swarms of them, weaving in and out of the
horrid winds. Hellgates. Temporary and unstable, but hellgates
nonetheless.

``- or Hierophant,'' I finished, shivering. ``\emph{Fuck}.''

``We need to leave,'' Andronike said. ``The gate, First Under the
Night.''

``There's something happening,'' I said. ``Look, under the hellgates.''

Some glittering array of runes formed in a circle, at twice the height
of a man, though looking upon them cut at my eyes in an almost physical
way. I thought I glimpsed something ghostly at the centre of the runes,
but it was there for only a moment -- and then the massive detonation
that followed blew me off my feet, ripping right through the miracle. I
landed in a sprawl of dust, cawing crows stumbling with me, and didn't
ignore the Sisters twice. The gate ripped open in front of me, though to
my horror something fought me for control of it. A will pitched against
my own, though that was no person's. It felt more like one of the fae,
though one of royal title at \emph{least}. The goddesses slid their will
along mine, and that bought us just long enough to drop through the
bloody fairy gate. I dropped on the ground maybe three feet to the left
of where I'd entered the other gate, covered in dust and lightly
smoking.

``Well,'' I murmured, looking up at the setting sun. ``That's going to
be a problem.''
