\hypertarget{chapter-4-developments}{%
\section{Chapter 4: Developments}\label{chapter-4-developments}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``The viper that bites a Matron dies poisoned.''}

-Taghreb saying
\end{quote}

After the table was cleared most of my officers went with it. They had
duties to attend to, after all. While Juniper wasn't holding the legion
to wartime duty rosters, the influx of fresh recruits in the Fifteenth
meant the usual peacetime hours were far less than what was currently
being demanded of them -- especially with a budding portal to Arcadia in
need of garrisoning. Of the four that remained seated at the table when
servants brought wine, only two were a common fixture at these little
meetings. Ratface and Aisha effectively ran what passed for my network
of informants, through his underworld connections and her relatives in
the nobility. They'd done well, in my opinion, but they were going up
against spymasters who'd had decades to place their own people or
outright inherited a web of informants from their predecessors. Spies
were among the most precious parts of a noble's inheritance, in the
Wasteland.

Pickler, on he other hand, was a rarity. As much because she had no
interest in these things as because she rarely had anything to
contribute. That she'd stuck around would have surprised me, had I not
remembered the Empress' warning: I was going to be presented with an
offer by the Matron of the High Ridge tribe. Pickler's mother, allegedly
estranged. I didn't know much about that situation save for assurances
I'd received that having Pickler in the Fifteenth wouldn't mean a Matron
would be looking to slide a knife in my back. Robber, usually
maliciously eager to gossip, had been tight-lipped when I'd brought it
up. Goblins always closed ranks the moment you brought up anything
relating to what went on inside the Grey Eyries. Still, I could guess at
the shape of it. Pickler's open and vehement distaste for politics could
not have gone over well back home, or her lack of interest in anything
that didn't involve building new and improved ways to kill people.

Kilian was around more often, as my Senior Mage. Since she had a finger
in everything from our magical defences to setting up scrying channels
her input was occasionally needed. And with Apprentice so often holed up
in his tower these days, she served as our expert in the supernatural
when he wasn't around. Her knowledge wasn't nearly as expansive, I had
to admit, but she'd placed highly in the War College's mage courses for
a reason. Where Masego would have a tailored solution to any problem we
encountered, Kilian simply hammered in obstacles with group rituals and
repeated spellwork. Less elegant, maybe, but I didn't want my legion to
ever become too dependent on Apprentice. When it came to fights he'd be
at my side more often than not, and it wouldn't do for my mages to
become ineffective whenever he wasn't around. There was a reason my
teacher deployed Warlock as a combat asset on his own instead of the
leader of other mages.

That made for six of us in the room, if you counted Hakram and myself.
There'd never been any debate about Adjutant being there, of course. At
this point not having the tall orc at my side felt like I was missing a
hand. I'd noticed over the last year that Hakram rarely spoke in
meetings, not unless he wanted a point clarified for my benefit, and did
not often venture his own opinion. Sometimes he gave it to me in private
afterwards, but more often than not he simply kept his peace. Hakram
listened and waited and when I came to a decision he saw that turned
into a plan of action. It made it easy to rely on him, that I knew he
had no objective -- hidden or not -- he was working towards. Of all the
people I was close with, he stood alone in this. I accepted the cup of
Vale summer wine Ratface poured from the carafe, allowing myself to
savour the taste. It was a little early in the day, admittedly, but I
was going to need a godsdamned drink if we were going to talk about the
mess currently known as Marchford.

``So, watcha got for me,'' I prompted.

The two Taghreb traded looks. For all that their relationship had
apparently imploded years ago, in my experience they actually got along
fairly well. Ratface inclined his head and Aisha cleared her throat.

``The upheaval in the Wasteland continues,'' the Staff Tribune said.
``The mass defections started by the High Lady of Aksum, while slowing
in frequency, have yet to end.''

I grinned. It always put me in a good mood when I heard about the
Truebloods get the bad end of the stick. Not long after I'd extorted
three high nobles into backing the creation of the Ruling Council, one
of them had officially withdraw from the Truebloods. High Lady Abreha of
Aksum, the cackling old bat who'd cheerfully betrayed her fellows the
very moment the wind had turned. Though she had not joined the
Loyalists, Malicia's faction in Praes, losing a High Lady had started an
avalanche of setbacks for the Truebloods. Lesser nobles had begun
withdrawing their support or been assassinated by successors who did
before a fortnight had passed. While few of them changed their
allegiance to the Loyalists, the humiliation for the remaining
Truebloods had been both public and potent. I'd watched all of that
unfold with no small amount of glee.

``The most recent defection was by a lord directly sworn to Wolof,''
Aisha said. ``As High Lady Tasia is the head of the Truebloods, the loss
of face involved was massive. Rumour has it she could not afford to
match the bribe offered by the Empress, which has\ldots{} interesting
implications.''

I let out a whistle.

``We've confirmed Heiress has made no attempt to send any of the
revenues collected from Liesse to the Wasteland,'' Ratface added. ``Cat,
I think there's a wedge there.''

``Praesi stabbing Praesi in the back,'' Pickler said derisively.
``There's a surprise.''

Aisha raised an eyebrow.

``An interesting comment, coming from a goblin,'' she said.

Pickler shrugged, then looked away. That was as much as she seemed to
want to get involved, at the moment.

``And all these unaligned nobles, what are they doing exactly?'' Hakram
asked.

Aisha smiled, then gracefully sipped at her wine. I could see no hint of
her teeth as she did -- that was Praesi etiquette for you.

``They are no longer unaligned,'' the Staff Tribune said. ``High Lady
Abreha has begun to gather them under her banner.''

``The Moderates, they call themselves,'' Ratface added.

I raised an eyebrow.

``That's a promising name, but I'm not getting my hopes up,'' I said.

``The Moderates oppose certain of the policies championed by the
Empress,'' Aisha said, ``but do so without the undercurrent of opposing
the Empress herself. They're growing as an alternative to the Truebloods
for nobles who disagree with certain recent reforms.''

The approval in her voice was not masked in the slightest.

``So they're the good, polite racists,'' Pickler said bitingly.
``There's a relief, I thought there were only bad, rude ones.''

``One does not need to hate greenskins to realize breeding restrictions
on the Tribes are necessary,'' Aisha replied, tone aggressively mild.
``Or to believe that orcs chieftains being made nobility would disrupt a
very delicate balance of power.''

``It probably helps, though,'' the Senior Sapper said with a flash of
needle-like teeth.

``That's enough of that,'' I said quietly. ``Pickler, you know Aisha's
not one of \emph{those} nobles. She's never treated you anything but
politely. Aisha, half your people would accept making a bridge out of
dead goblins as a decent way to save on stone. She's not swinging out of
the blue.''

The Taghreb noble's face went blank, but she inclined her head. Pickler
grabbed her goblet and drank.

``I do love these little chats of ours,'' Ratface said. ``But I believe
there's one last thing for you to mention, Aisha?''

The lovely Staff Tribune cleared her throat.

``Infighting between the Truebloods and the Moderates has already begun,
but their agents at court do agree on one prominent matter,'' she said.

Well, that ought to be good.

``I'm on the edge of my seat,'' I said drily.

``To be blunt,'' Aisha said delicately, ``that point is \emph{you}. You
are worrying them.''

``She's had knives at her back since she became the Squire,'' Hakram
said calmly. ``What makes this unusual?''

``When you were merely the Squire, Lady Catherine, you were a minor
threat with the potential of turning into a larger one,'' the
olive-skinned aristocrat said. ``Your coming to command the Fifteenth,
while unfortunate, was not judged overly alarming. That changed,
however, when the Fifteenth \emph{kept growing}.''

``They think you're amassing a private army to come knocking at their
doors,'' Ratface grinned nastily. ``Their tender noble hearts are all
aflutter at the notion.''

``That's absurd,'' Kilian spoke up from my left. ``We don't have nearly
the men for that. We're what, six thousand now?''

``Seven thousand as of the census last week,'' Aisha said. ``By my
estimate, we'll be eight thousand come summer. The size of two standard
legions.''

``I don't have the corresponding number of mages under my command,'' the
redhead frowned.

I frowned, then pieced the discrepancy together.

``Mages are required to graduate from the College before service,'' I
said. ``We've been taking in Callowans.''

``There simply aren't that many mages available for us to bring into the
fold,'' Aisha agreed. ``Many went to the Fourteenth when it was formed,
and there are rumours a Sixteenth is about to be raised.''

That, I realized with a grimace, was a problem. A lot of the legion
military doctrine rested on the fact that mages and sappers would be
available in proportionate numbers to the amount of regulars. No wonder
Juniper was insisting on drills so much. She was going to have to revise
her tactics entirely before we next got into a fight.

``I don't suppose any of you have a workaround?'' I asked.

``We could recruit from civilian talent,'' Aisha said. ``That would
bring complications, however.''

``Good mages in the Wasteland have patrons,'' Ratface said. ``They're
not allowed \emph{not} to.''

``And they'd need to be trained to Legion standards,'' Kilian murmured.
``We don't have the facilities for that. Not to mention using the War
College's methods without sanction would be low treason, at the very
least.''

``Joy,'' I muttered. ``Think about it anyway. If you have a stroke of
genius, you know where my door is.''

Hakram set down his wine with a metallic clink.

``Practically speaking, what does the nobles being worried about our
numbers mean?'' the tall orc gravelled.

Ratface shrugged, looked at the other Taghreb in the room.

``Support for the only visible check on your power,'' Aisha said.

``Heiress,'' I said.

Well, wasn't that a treat. It would have been too much to hope for I'd
be allowed to expand my ranks without there being consequences, I
supposed. I passed a hand through my mess of a hair, which I'd taken out
of its usual ponytail for the meal. It would need combing soon. Kilian
nudged me with her knee under the table, smiling.

``We'll find a way,'' she murmured. ``We always do.''

I pressed a kiss against her shoulder as Ratface rolled his eyes and
Aisha politely looked away. Acknowledging the sight of emotions in
others was impolite, for Praesi, unless you were deeply intimate with
them and behind closed doors. Pickler was looking at us like she would
some sort of strange chimera, more puzzled than anything else. The
goblin notion of romance, as I understood it, was rather different from
the human one.

``That's one,'' I said. ``Ratface?''

``Are we done already?'' the Taghreb said. ``It was just getting
interesting.''

His lips tightened immediately afterwards, swallowing a whimper, and
Aisha smiled. I suspected he was going to be limping out of the room
when we were done. The bastard coughed.

``I've placed people in the lower rungs of two of the major Dark
Guilds,'' he said.

While there were apparently quite a few minor criminal associations that
styled themselves guilds, there were only three in Callow that really
deserved the name. The Assassins, the Thieves and the Smugglers. The
Thieves had been the ones to make it through the Conquest the least
affected, and the first to strike a deal with Black. Their activities
were tacitly allowed as long as they didn't threaten Praesi interests,
in exchange for a few concessions. The only really important one among
those was informing on any resistance group they came across. No wonder
my teacher hadn't been actually challenged by one of those in the two
decades he'd run Callow. He really had eyes everywhere, didn't he?

The second guild, the Smugglers, had not gotten away unscathed. Not
because the Tower had tightened the screws, at least not in the usual
sense.They'd been making a fortune out of importing Praesi luxuries
before the Conquest, but their roles as middlemen had become unnecessary
when actual trade routes had opened. Making it worse, quite a few drugs
and substances that had been illegal under the Kingdom were nothing of
the sort under Praes. After floundering for a few years, they'd managed
to find a niche in importing foreign luxuries through Mercantis while
bypassing tariffs -- the Wasaliti, after all, was no longer patrolled by
war barges. Their following attempts to get weapons into Callow had been
met by the assassination of half their leadership, and they'd taken that
warning to heart. Since they'd restricted their activities to what
wouldn't earn Black's attention, offering a cut of their profits in
penance. They were a pale shadow of what they'd used to be, though, by
far the weakest of the three guilds.

The Assassins had happened upon a middle ground between those two,
neither crippled nor largely untouched. Their more patriotic elements
had been purged by the Named who exemplified their trade, leaving only
hardened professionals behind. Those had shown no qualms in cooperating
with the Tower and even some Imperial Governors, though assassinating
Praesi without unofficial sanction had been forbidden. While not as
numerous and entrenched as it had been before the Conquest, the Guild of
Assassins had settled comfortably into its new role. They had, if
anything, thrived under the rule of officials coming from a culture
where their trade was not only accepted but held in some esteem. Few
nobles of the Kingdom would have ever contracted a Dark Guild for work,
after all, but Praesi were not above employing local talent when
bringing in their own specialists would have been too costly.

``The Smugglers were easy enough to infiltrate, since I've had indirect
dealings with them in the past,'' Ratface said, shaking me out of my
thoughts. ``As for the Thieves, getting a foot in was doable but rising
in the ranks will take years. They tend to operate in local cells.''

``You couldn't get anyone in the Assassins?'' I asked.

The handsome Taghreb shook his head.

``They recruit by invitation only,'' he told me. ``Murder convicts,
mostly, taken in by spiriting them out of prison before they hang.''

I made an understanding noise. That would make it tricky to get anyone
inside. If Black had managed the feat, he'd never told me.

``Got anything out of it so far?'' I said.

``Nothing all that useful, though one piece does stand out,'' Ratface
mused. ``The Guild of Thieves has recently had a change of leadership.
Their `King of Thieves' was overthrown.''

``A shadow war across Callow would have been noticed,'' Hakram said.

``They don't operate like that,'' the Supply Tribune said, shaking his
head. ``The person in charge is whoever has some fancy crown. Any member
of the guild can try to steal it.''

I raised an eyebrow. That seemed like a horrible way to run an
organization, considering anyone close to the guildmaster would be
tempted to steal it. Besides, all it took was for an idiot to get lucky
once and you'd have a fool at the helm. Aisha made an approving noise
and I glanced at her. Ah, of course she'd think well of it. Praes was
run on basically the same principle, only with more murder and demons.

``Keep an eye on them,'' I finally said. ``I'll want to know where they
stand when we move on the Assassins.''

Ratface nodded.

``Speaking of,'' he said, ``I found out what you wanted. They've none or
negligible presence in Marchford.''

``Well, I was due something uplifting,'' I muttered. ``Any idea why?''

``The Countess Marchford hated them deeply,'' Aisha said. ``She cleared
them out of the city a few years after the Conquest, after they killed
her husband and infant son.''

I leaned forward in interest.

``How?'' I asked.

``She torched the entire city quarter they operated out of,'' Ratface
told me grimly. ``Had anyone that crawled out of the ashes drawn and
quartered in the public square.''

Well. Not exactly something I could replicate across Callow. Horrifying
as that method was, I couldn't help but be somewhat impressed. Elizabeth
Talbot had not been one to fuck around, when she wanted something done.
The Duke of Liesse had no business ever getting near a throne, but the
Countess Marchford would have made the kind of queen that took more than
a page in chronicles. Not all of it good but, Hells, who was I to throw
stones?

``My turn?'' Pickler asked impatiently.

I looked at the two Taghreb, but neither of them had anything to add.

``Good,'' the goblin muttered, then straightened in her seat. ``Lady
Foundling of Marchford, I bring an offer from Matron Sever of the High
Ridge tribe.''

I watched my two Tribunes from the corner of my eye. Ratface looked
surprised and concerned. Aisha's brow rose, until her eyes widened in
understanding. Then her face returned to pleasant and unreadable.
\emph{Something that passed through Court at some point, then}, I
thought. I'd been under the impression goblins stayed out of Praesi
politics, so my curiosity sharpened.

``I've got an official letter for you to gawk at,'' Pickler continued,
discarding ceremony as quickly as she'd taken it up, ``but the gist of
it is this: the High Ridge tribe and its allies would like to establish
a goblin settlement in your lands.''

I blinked.

``What?'' I said, for eloquence was one my foremost virtues.

I paused.

``Is that even \emph{legal}?''

``The Empress reinstated breeding restrictions to show favour to the
Moderates,'' Aisha said quietly. ``In a gesture of goodwill, however,
she allowed the establishment of a new goblin tribe for the first time
in two hundred years.''

``Matrons fought over the right like a bag full of angry cats,'' Pickler
shrugged. ``Mother's the most vicious old bitch of that pack of vicious
old bitches, though. She ended up on top of that pile of bodies.''

``There's never been a goblin settlement outside of the Grey Eyries
before,'' Hakram said, sounding surprised.

I glanced at him.

``Foramen,'' I reminded him.

``Foramen has been ruled by humans since the Miezan occupation, even if
goblins work the forges,'' the tall orc replied.

That\ldots{} might be true? I really had no idea. Praesi history not
related to the Tower wasn't something I'd read a lot of. Anyway, no
point in quibbling since odds were he was right and this wasn't the most
salient issue at the moment anyway. My eyes returned to the Senior
Sapper.

``That's an,'' I started, looking for the word, ``\ldots{} interesting
offer.''

``She doesn't expect you to accept out of love for goblinkind,'' Pickler
said, amused. ``She's offering for the goblins in question to build
fortifications for the city, free of charge. The tribe would occupy the
designated land but pay rent for the privilege, as well bribe you
generously for your generosity in considering the matter. Everybody
knows Marchford's ledgers are bleeding like slow raider.''

I felt it safe to assume the raider in question was bleeding because
he'd been too slow to dodge a knife. That expression told me a lot about
how what living in the Grey Eyries would be like.

``I've been looking into ways to fill the coffers,'' I said, glancing at
Aisha.

The lovely tribune shook her head.

``While I find the notion of a tribe of goblins within sight of where I
sleep horrifying, none offered terms you would find acceptable,'' she
said. ``There's quite a few families willing to make a loan, and some
are even willing to forego interest. All want a governorship as part of
the deal.''

``Come on,'' I griped. ``There's got to be at least one that just wants
to fleece me.''

``With almost no remaining Praesi governors, anyone who could secure
such a post under your reign would gain a massive advantage against
their rivals,'' Aisha said. ``None are willing to forego that chance. I
have, however, accumulated some funds when they attempted to bribe my
intermediaries. The appropriate portion was added to your treasury.''

``That's something, I guess,'' I said, reluctantly amused.

The mirth died quickly enough when my gaze returned to Pickler.

``You talked about rent,'' I said. ``Not a grant of land.''

``While swearing fealty to you would have been hard enough to swallow,''
the Senior Sapper said, ``The possibility that one day a male descendant
of yours might rule Marchford pretty much killed that idea.''

She shrugged.

``They're not wrong,'' the yellow-eyed goblin said. ``It'd be pretty
disgusting for a Matron to take orders from a man.''

``I'm feeling somewhat insulted, right now,'' Ratface mused.

Pickler eyed him pityingly.

``You're a fine warleader, Ratface,'' she reassured him. ``You're just
not cut out for important matters like ruling or raising children. Men
are too emotional for those things, it's not your fault.''

``Matrons have taken orders from Dread Emperors,'' I pointed out,
morbidly fascinated.

I'd always known the Tribes were a matriarchy, but I'd never actually
\emph{seen} that in action before. Pickler was a clever, intelligent and
talented officer. Who'd somehow come to believe that barring half her
people from leadership positions could be anything but shooting herself
in the foot.

``Tyrants don't count,'' she said, eyeing me sceptically. ``They're
Named. They're not like other men.''

``So you're telling me an entire culture recognizes me as objectively
better than Ratface?'' Hakram said, leaning forward.

I snorted.

``You're a traitor to your gender, Hakram,'' the Taghreb said. ``For
shame. Where's the solidarity?''

``\emph{I} recognize you're objectively better than Ratface,'' Aisha
told Hakram. ``I'm sure I could get a petition passed around to collect
broader opinion.''

``So I'm to leave this room both without all my toes unbroken \emph{and}
my dignity?'' the bastard mused. ``You people are animals.''

Pickler sneered in the general direction of the gallery before returning
her attention to me.

``Think it over,'' she said. ``Left the letter in your affairs, since I
didn't want to bother remembering all the legalese. They'll expect an
answer soon.''

I nodded slowly. I had no intention of agreeing to anything before
talking it over with a few other people, anyway. That the Empress had
allowed this at all meant she tacitly endorsed the idea, but scrying her
for a conversation wouldn't be a bad idea. Getting Black on the other
side of a bowl would be even better, but I had no real way to contact
him. Pickler slid down her pile of cushions and saluted me before
stalking away. Aisha and Ratface took the hint, and made their exit not
long after. Hakram was polishing off the rest of his wine, so I turned
to Kilian. Who was already looking at me, I was pleased to see.

``So, Senior Mage,'' I said. ``When do you get off duty?''

``I've no responsibilities until afternoon tomorrow,'' she replied with
a smile.

I raised an eyebrow.

``How'd you manage that?'' I asked.

``I forewent my free days for the last month,'' Kilian said. ``Though I
did manage to walk the city a bit before that.''

``Oh?'' I said, fingers toying with the edge of her tunic.

``Found a little shop in the merchant district,'' she said idly. ``They
do very interesting things with lace.''

My breath caught. Smiling impishly, she leaned closer.

``I'm wearing one of their creations right now,'' she murmured.

I rose to my feet.

``And we're done here,'' I announced.

Catching Kilian by the hand I immediately headed for the door but paused
when I passed by Adutant.

``Hakram,'' I said. ``My buddy. My friend.''

``Cat?'' he replied bemusedly.

``I've been sleeping in an empty bed for two months,'' I said. ``If
someone knocks at my door before noon tomorrow for anything short of an
invasion, I will have them \emph{hanged}.''

Kilian snorted, and we were out of the room before the orc could reply.

---

I woke up in the middle of the night.

The armful of redhead at my side was still asleep and my pillow was
decadently soft after having been on the road so long, so I closed my
eyes and buried my head back into it. Someone banged on the door again,
more urgently this time. I cursed, then got up. Kilian's eyes fluttered
open.

``Cat?'' she asked sleepily.

``Go back to sleep,'' I said. ``I'll be back in a moment.''

I almost went to open the door before remembering I was naked. Picking
up a shirt from the pile of dirty clothes I really needed to have
laundered at some point, I slipped it on. The asshole on the other side
of the door banged again. Adjusting the shirt to it covered my thighs, I
made my way to the door and wrenched it open. On the other side, a
legionary with lieutenant stripes stood with his hand raised.

``\emph{What}?'' I hissed at him.

The Soninke took in the sight of me dishevelled, half-asleep and
entirely furious before gulping nervously.

``Lady Squire, the Winter Court is attempting to invade the city,'' he
managed to get out. ``General Juniper sent me to wake you.''

I sighed, then rubbed the bridge of my nose. One of these days, I was
going to learn to keep my fucking mouth shut.
