\hypertarget{chapter-29-scale}{%
\chapter{Scale}\label{chapter-29-scale}}



\epigraph{``Ah, mortal wounds. My only weakness.''}{Dread Empress Sanguinia II}



This wasn't like fighting devils. Wasn't like fighting mortal soldiers
either, because mortal soldiers couldn't summersault in mail and swing
swords like they were feathers. We'd bloodied he fae so far but that had
been through tactics, no what I'd been taught to call qualitative
superiority. It was one thing to lead Nauk's heavies in forcing a gate
when we outnumbered the enemy ten to one, another to charge into a sea
of Summer swords and expect to come out on top. We would have to anyway.
If the eastern flank was allowed to collapse, we were all fucked. The
knights had bought us a lull and they were far from done with the day's
bloody work, but now the Fifteenth and its allies needed to bring it all
home. Summer would have trump cards of its own, of that I had no doubt.
I refused to believe all they had in their arsenal was regulars, winged
knights and a handful of nobles. If that were the case, they wouldn't
have a history of crushing Winter in open battle. My role, then, was to
force the hidden blade into the open and promptly break it.

There were probably elegant ways to do that, fancy manoeuvres and
strategies, but Akua hadn't been entirely wrong when she'd called me a
thug. I didn't have the time for elegant, so watering the ground with
red until something came to stop would have to do.

Fire greeted us when we came out screaming. Ribbons of flame shot out
like spears, shivering through the air and burning clean through steel
and flesh. The tongue that would have put a hole in my belly I cut
without without missing a beat, and Hakram contemptuously ignored the
fact that his own shoulder was smouldering. We were the only ones so
dismissive: sorcery the fae had shaped in the span of a breath stopped a
shield wall two hundred wide, and stopped it cold. We couldn't allow
them to pull these kinds of surprises often, I thought. We didn't have
the numbers to handle those kind of casualties. They could trade three
fae for every legionary sallying and still have it be nothing more than
a drop in the bucket. I'd enjoyed having the bigger army on my side, at
the fortress of Olden Oak, but now I was back in familiar territory:
outmanned and in way over my head. I smashed into the Summer line like a
runaway cart, the slivers of power I'd fed into my legs when I got close
seeing me shoot forward quicker than the enemy had anticipated. I hacked
my way through some poor fool's hand and threw him at the man behind
him, face grim.

The hateful thing about the fae was that their sorcery was not rituals.
Every one of them was at least a middling caster, and their tricks were
heads and shoulders above those that the Legions taught their mages.
Cutting my way into the throng had only killed the fire ribbons of the
fae in front of me, the rest could have cared less. We weren't entirely
unprepared, though. What few mages had not gone with Robber finished
their ritual a few heartbeats later, disrupting the fae flames and
allowing the heavies to finally close the distance. My insistence that
Apprentice teach our mage contingents some things to deal with the fae
was paying off, though they were few and no replacement at all for a
caster of Masego's calibre. With Adjutant at my side, I set to keeping
the fairies busy. Perspective went up in smoke as we waded into the
enemy host, replaced by quick flashes of movement and steel. My shield
was carved away strike by strike, ice growing to fill the gaps without
the need for me to even will it as I traded glancing blows for death
strokes. Calm, measured, ever going forward. This was not war, it was
just a chore taken care of to the backdrop of screaming.

Nauk's voice screamed for a wedge to be made and to my sides legionaries
took formation, shields high and swords piercing forward like this was
just a drill on the training yard. Getting our foot in the door had been
costly, I saw from the corpses and flickers of sorcery that still took
lives every few heartbeats, but we had it. At this rate there would not
be much left of Nauk's jesha by nightfall, but we had bought something
precious with those lives: room for the Watch. The cloaked Deoraithe did
not deign to use bows, this time. They took to the left of our wedge
with knives and longswords, scything through the Summer regulars with
war cries in the Old Tongue. The rank and file of Daoine's army poured
in behind them, propping up the Fifteenth. They were no legionaries, but
they were well-trained soldiers in mail with swords and shield that did
not flinch in the face of sorcery. I caught all this in a glance, for it
was all I could spare. The trail of dead behind me had apparently marked
me as enough of a threat the fae were getting \emph{inventive}.

I ran through a soldier but her charges' momentum had her collapsing on
me, another three fae piling up on me as a dozen of them rose in the air
and began calling on colourful lights. A few crossbow shots from the
Gallowborne slowed them down, but I was too busy dealing with the
writhing, clawing mass trying to pull down my shield to be thankful. The
lights hit the lot of us like a dozen sharpers, tearing through flesh
and bone and blowing up straight off my feet. I was thrown against the
raised shield of one of my retinue and sharply refused his hand to help
me up: my fucking shield was gone, again. And my sword was bent and
burned to the point of uselessness. Those \emph{pricks}. I'd spat in
Malicia's soup already, where did they think I was going to be getting
goblin steel from now on? I sidestepped a spear, chucked the remains of
my sword into the man's face and ripped the weapon out of the fae's
hands. Had no idea how to use one of these, so I snapped it in half and
broke a soldier's jaw with the shaft before taking her exposed throat
with the point.

\emph{She} had a sword, thank the Gods, so I lifted it up her corpse and
took it in hand. Too light and long for my tastes, but it would do.
Anyways, it wasn't technically corpse-robbing if the battle wasn't over
right? Deoraithe arrows took care of the flying casters before they
could have another go at blowing me up -- and huh, my breastplate was
actually melted and I simply hadn't noticed -- so I gripped the neck of
a fae trying to put a spear in Hakram's back and squeezed until
something gave with an ugly crack. He grunted thanks and I waved them
away, barely remembering to drop the corpse in my grip first. The
Fifteenth had gained ground since the Watch had taken the field,
steadily advancing as the cloaked lot essentially took care of the left
flank. Watching the fights there was hard on the eyes. The Deoraithe
were as quick as the fae and twice as ruthless, deaths on both sides
happening almost faster than the naked eye could see. Whoever led Summer
now that the Princess of High Noon was busy beating Winter royalty raw
had to know they were in trouble, I thought.

Our sortie had put a knife in their bellies, and between the knights and
the Watch the palisades had managed to sort themselves out. Ranker's
engines were still pounding wherever the fae were thickest, and though
bloody trails could no longer be seen now that they'd gotten used to it
every shot still left its share of dead. The trade of corpses was in our
favour, and if Juniper managed to get enough men on this side of the
gate then we'd have them encircled on three sides and it wouldn't
\emph{matter} if they were more than us -- it was the soldiers at the
edge of the circle that fought, not those in the middle. They needed a
win on one of the three sides, and they needed it quick because even if
they unfucked one of the flanks as long as my sortie went unchecked
there was a chance we'd split the meat of their army in two. If we did,
they were done. \emph{So bring out your monsters}, I thought. \emph{Now
is the time.}

The fae lines parted and I finally got to see Summer's answer to the
Sword of Waning Day, the deadwood soldiers that had given me so much
trouble on our first encounter. Fae tended to prefer mail, and light one
at that, but these were different. Heavy plate of gold from foot to
neck, thick gleaming rubies dotting it in arcane patterns. Golden armet
helms atop, with the thin slit for their eyes steaming from whatever was
inside. Long heater shields polished like golden mirrors, almost as if
someone had tried to make a kite shield for a footman, covered their
left flanks. In their right hands halberds of pure ivory were held. Was
I supposed to be impressed they used a two-handed weapon with one hand?
I was pretty sure I could do the same. Wherever the tread the greenery
smoked and died, which did not bode particularly well. If they were half
as good as killing as the deadwood soldiers, then Nauk's legionaries
were going to rout. I'd taken \emph{Named} to handle a few members of
the Sword of the Waning Day, and there must have been at least ten
thousand of these shiny bastards ahead of me.

Well, at least I knew what part of this battlefield the enemy commander
was most worried about. I looked at those rubies, and the armours that
seemed made of pure gold.

``Catherine,'' Hakram gravelled. ``Why are you smiling?''

``Because by the time this is all over, I'll be able to afford
rebuilding Marchford,'' I said.

The golden fae slammed the butts of their halberds against the ground as
one, a wave of heat washing over me and everyone else I could see. The
warmth didn't leave, afterwards, it hung in the air. The Summer fae in
it quickened, while my legionaries grew sluggish. Oh that was just
\emph{bullshit}. Warlock could probably do something similar, but there
weren't \emph{ten thousand} of the handsome bastard. Ranker, bless her
wretched goblin soul, caught the danger. She had the ballistas fire at
the golden fae, a dozen bolts that should have punctured their ranks.
Instead the cold iron-tipped bolts hung in the air mere feet in front of
them, and slowly began to turn. That, uh, wasn't a great development.

``Dodge,'' I yelled.

On the bright side, they'd been aiming for Named and not legionaries.
Unfortunately that meant me, and even though I flattened myself against
the ground and avoided the worst of it two of them tore into the same
shoulder. Gods, those things were fucking heavy. I bit my lips to avoid
screaming and crawled on the ground trying to get them out as the golden
fae began to advance. My fingers were twitching too much, pain
continuing to roll through my body in harsh waves. It was the iron,
wasn't it? You couldn't steal fae power and not expect to have some fae
weaknesses come with it. Adjutant was the one who got them out of me,
and I muttered \textbf{Rise} through gritted teeth as my broke shoulders
and ribs snapped back in place and the wounds slowly started to close.
The well was beginning to run dry, I could feel. Another damned
liability I was going to have to deal with. Hakram's plate was dented in
three places, but the bolts hadn't broken through. The sight was no
comfort. He must have called on his aspect for that, and that was
another advantage we'd just lost.

``Is it possible to bruise a lung?'' I said, spitting a thick gob of
blood to the side. ``Because I think I bruised a lung.''

Whatever Hakram would have replied I didn't get to hear, because I was
too busy exploding. Or at least that was what it felt like. At least a
few of my ribs were now more powder than bone, an entire pauldron was
liquid and burning through my aketon and to add that special touch I was
now falling. From the sky. Where I did not remember going of my own
will. I coughed blood again but managed to shape a pane of shadow and
ice under me, landing on it like a rag doll. The strange noise of fae
wings in action erupted, and a dark-skinned woman in mail of jade came
to face me. Her eyes were golden as the armour of the fae who'd been
wrecking my day, golden as the Diabolist's. For all that, she was no
Soninke. Her power filled the air to thickly I could almost taste it.
Duchess, I thought. She had to be. Unlike the Summer nobles I'd fought
so far, she did not talk and posture. She pointed the tip of her sword
at me, and I hastily broke the panel that held me up. The air where I'd
been exploded again, not in flames or light but as if the wind itself
had gone mad. Another panel formed under me, and this time I landed on
my feet.

``\textbf{Rise},'' I barked.

The ribs began to fix themselves but it was slow work and Gods I might
not be able to afford slowness.

``Wither,'' the duchess said, her voice stunningly musical.

Three panels, I judged in less time than it took for my heart to beat.
That was how many supports I'd need to leap my way to her. I moved
before the thought was finished, and that was the only reason I
survived. The hem of my cloak was caught in the area where her power
surged, and the cloth thinned and dried instantly. Considering the
amount of water there was in my body, the thought of what would have
happened to me if I hadn't moved was chilling. I moved faster than any
mortal could have, but in the sky only the fae reigned. When I landed on
my second panel she simply flew higher and pointed her sword at me
again. \emph{Fuck}. This wasn't a Rider of the Host I was scrapping
with. If I kept this up, I was going to get killed. I unmade the panel
and dropped down another fifteen feet before landing on another. We were
staggeringly high, I only now noticed. That first hit had sent me up as
if I'd been tossed by a trebuchet. Below us the golden fae had engaged
the Fifteenth and the Watch, and the engagement was gruesomely
one-sided. I needed to wrap this up quick if I wanted to have an army
left by the time I broke my legs landing.

``Aren't you supposed to introduce yourself before we tangle?'' I called
out.

If nothing else, her title would give me a better read on what her
powers came from.

``I am the Duchess of Restless Zephyr,'' she replied. ``You are a
corpse.''

I wasn't particularly fond of being on the wrong side of that line, I
decided. The healing power I'd stolen from the Lone Swordsman was being
a real trooper about getting me back into fighting shape, but it only
worked so fast. At least I was no longer in any danger of choking on my
lungs. I leapt another two panels upwards to avoid getting exploded
after her announcement, keenly aware that I was burning through power
quickly. Even just maintaining a panel was draining, and unless I wanted
my blood to turn to ice again I was going to have to find another
solution.

``Would you like to make a wager?'' I called out.

\emph{Come on, you're fae}, I thought. \emph{You lot feed are always up
for a bet.}

``No,'' she replied, after trying to explode me again.

That was starting to get old, I would admit. \emph{Play to her nature,
Catherine. She wants a kill, not a crippling. She's been throwing around
hard hits since we started.}

``I am going to destroy you in one blow,'' I lied, sword rising above my
head as if I was preparing some trump card I really wished I had right
now.

The Duchess of Restless Zephyr laughed. She was maybe thirty feet below
me, and in the face of the flaring of my Name she smiled mockingly.

``You are no true duchess,'' she said. ``Just a mortal playing the fool.
Learn your place.''

Unlike my parchment-thin deception, the ball of roiling winds that
formed above her head was very much a threat. She kept feeding power
into it while I tried to look like I knew what I was doing. Which I
might. Maybe. It was a gamble with horrendous odds, but still better
than jumping around beneath the clouds and hoping she ran out of juice
before I did. Studying her face I gauged when she was about to finish
preparations, the sneer and hint of triumph giving it away. If I got hit
by that ball, what was left of me was going to rain all over this
battlefield in little chunks. I really hoped that would hold out for her
as well, because I was about to surrender an advantage that had saved my
life at least three times in the last year. Her wrist began to move my
fingers tightened around the hilt of the sword I'd stolen.

``\textbf{Take},'' I said.

Her eyes went wide as we both felt the same thing: my Name claiming
ownership over the winds she'd been gathering. The remains of what I'd
stolen from the Lone Swordsman vanished, and instead a painful surge
filled the aspect. I gritted my teeth to avoid screaming. Claiming
Summer power when I was already bound to the Winter Court felt like my
insides turning out. I struck down with my sword and the ball of winds
followed, smashing into her and detonating. Dry winds howled all around
as the arm she brought up to shield herself was ground out of existence,
her tall silhouette plummeting down like a gold of old had kicked her
back down to Creation. My control over the winds was beginning to wane,
and I hurriedly forced them down to follow the Duchess. She'd fallen in
the back of the lines of golden fae, the ground heaving at the impact,
and that was where the winds unleashed the fullness of their fury. Fae
were scattered like insects, the hurricane my opponent had meant to
destroy me with blooming life a flower in every direction. That, I
mused, should help my army get their bearings back.

Then the winds contracted, crushing whatever they'd drawn in with them,
and shot back up towards me as my aspect once again became a shapeless
bundle of power needing to be defined.

``Shit,'' I said, for my wit was peerless in any world.

I was quick to flee, but not quick enough. The ball had been popped
already, but the winds were far from tender: they pulsed and detonated
into a circle that had me sailing through the sky for the second time
today. And was that the feeling of another rib breaking? Ah, no, just
fracturing. It had happened to me often enough that I was beginning to
be able to tell the difference just from the kind of pain that had me
clenching my teeth. I couldn't even tell what direction I was falling
in. I shaped a pane of ice in front of me but I was going so fast I just
tore right through it. Another two tries only managed to slow me down
and cut the side of my neck with shards. The landing was going to be
problem, I mused. And this time I couldn't rely on stolen hero tricks to
get me back on my feet afterwards. I was debating creating three panes
in a row to see if that would do the trick when I felt my fall slow.
Yanked out of the air, I started to float down like a feather until I
was caught in a strong pair of arms.

``We meet again, Foundling,'' Archer grinned.

``Are you seriously trying to pretend you were the one to cast the
spell?'' Masego asked peevishly. ``You're not even a mage.''

I sighed, leaning back bonelessely in Archer's arms so I could stare at
the braided Soninke.

``Hello, Apprentice,'' I said.

``Do I need to explain to you how gravity works,'' Masego said, ``And
what it does to the bones of women in plate falling from the sky?''

``I am invincible,'' I gravely said. ``Gravity bends to my will.''

Naturally, Archer took that as an excuse to drop me.
