\hypertarget{chapter-63-initiation}{%
\chapter{Initiation}\label{chapter-63-initiation}}



\epigraph{``Blood sacrifice is such an ugly term. I prefer to think of it a
`blood redistribution', a thriving new form of Imperial enterprise.''}{Dread Empress Sinistra II, the Coy}



``One hundred and sixty years, subjected to the full breadth of lesser
and greater oaths,'' Akua said.

The nisi at her side, a one-eyed drow named Centon, repeated her words
in Crepuscular loudly enough all those assembled below would hear them.
Nearly seven hundred drow were seated respectfully on their knees,
packed tightly on the cavern floor, but they were the most orderly crowd
I'd ever seen. That many humans in a room would carry out hushed
conversations among each other, even if there was a devil looking over
them, and neither orcs nor goblins were very different. Goblins, in
fact, might try to talk with the bloody devil. Not a single one of the
drow had so much as let out a grunt except when bidding. The difference
here, I thought, was cultural. Most surface people had an expectation
they would not have their throat cut on a whim, while drow had lived
their whole lives under a different set of unspoken rules. Life was the
cheapest form of currency in the Everdark. Centon's words were not
followed by another bid, though in truth I'd not expected one. One
hundred and sixty years was fairly high for a rylleh. A sigil-holder's
corpse could easily fetch as much as five centuries, but then it came
with the understanding that a drow harvesting that much Night should
easily be capable of living that long.

Diabolist and I both knew why the bidding for lesser corpses had risen.
After it'd been made clear that titles like the one bestowed upon Ivah
would only ever be considered for people who'd fought under me and sworn
the full breadth of oaths, interest in even the lesser Mighty had
significantly increased. The most ambitious among the dzulu wanted to be
worth bringing along for the fight when we hit Great Lotow, judging the
comprehensive oaths an acceptable shackle if it could lead to that
greater ultimate payoff. The Lord of Silent Steps had made something of
an impression when it'd gone through the upper ranks of the Trovod like
a hot knife through butter, and the lingering tales of that had led to
regular polite inquiries on the subject of titles from both dzulu and
the occasional nisi.

``Then Sekoran may rise to take the oaths, and this auction has come to
an end,'' Akua said, after the silence continued for a full sixty
heartbeats. ``You may disperse.''

Centon translated her words, and without a sound the drow below us knelt
forward until their foreheads touched the floor. Not one rose before the
winner -- named Sekoran, apparently -- was climbing up. They left in
orderly files after that, neither jostling nor hurrying. Even though I'd
made it clear that as far as I was concerned all of their kind were
equal under my rules, the nisi still allowed the dzulu to leave ahead of
them while expressing deference through tilts of the head lowering their
gaze to the floor and presenting their neck. It meant, Akua had told me,
that the nisi in question were offering their life and Night for harvest
should their social superior wish it. Mostly a courtesy, as nisi were
communal property of the sigil and not to be touched unless allowed by
the sigil-holder, but here in the outer rings those customs were more
loosely kept to. When the difference in power between rylleh and
sigil-holder was thin, order tended to break down and killing nisi was
often used as statement of rising or descending influence. The drow, I'd
learned, made the Praesi fondness intrigue and blood sport look
positively mild in comparison. Sekoran climbed up the rocky outcropping
that'd served as our seat for the auction with poorly-hidden eagerness.

It was young, though it was hard to tell with drow. Sekoran did lack the
kind of agelessly young look most Mighty had, though, its features still
soft and lacking the harsh angles of a mature drow. The lifespan of
their species was a headache and a half to understand. It was known that
those who held no Night save that which they were born to would live
exactly sixty years, much too clear-cut a lifespan to be natural. They
called it the Three Faces: drow reached maturity at twenty and began
their decline at forty, their bodies breaking down over those last
twenty years until death took them at the exact age of sixty. Dzulu,
like Sekoran's silver-touched eyes betrayed he was, could expect to live
over a hundred years old. It was unheard of for even the lowest of the
Mighty to die of old age, but some of the worst monsters in the inner
ring were alleged to have lived over a millenium. The kid bowed after
finishing the climb, first towards me then towards Akua. It allowed
Centon to speak to it with contemptuous patience, though more than once
I caught it glancing at the banner at my side while the nisi spoke. It'd
made an impression, as it'd been meant to.

Drow did not take oaths, or make them, and so a few of the first dzulu
to secure a corpse in the auction had treated their word a little too
lightly. Three, to be precise. They'd tried to slay other drow under my
banner, or hurt them. Their hideously twisted and frozen corpses had
been hung from the long metal pole at my side, dangling softly back and
forth. I'd not had to lift so much as a finger to see them die. The
oaths had seen to that, the sliver of Winter I'd put inside them
devouring their bodies from the inside the moment they acted in a manner
breaking their word. The Night they'd taken was still there, stirring as
they dangled.

They'd started taking the oaths seriously after that.

``It is ready for the ceremony,'' Akua said, breaking me out of my
thoughts.

I glanced at the shade and nodded. She'd helped me with both the ritual
and the wording of the oaths, putting her extensive experience with
diabolism to slightly more acceptable use. As a sorcerous discipline,
diabolism was as much about wordcraft as it was rituals: a binding could
be technically flawless and still turn out to be completely worthless if
there was a loophole in the protections it carried. There was a reason
Praesi preferred summoning lesser devils when they could get away with
it: the risks rose sharply when the devil was capable of thought. I'd
agreed that making the oaths in Lower Miezan would be to our advantage,
since neither of us mastered Crespuscular well enough to be able to
understand all the nuances -- or, to be frank, trusted any of our
translators enough to let them shape the oaths in our stead. Centon
would translate the words as well as it could, but the oaths and answers
would be in my own native tongue. The ritual tools involved were, to
Akua's open despair, rather crude and simple. A sharp obsidian knife,
unadorned save for the leather grip, and a rough bowl of sandstone. More
than once I'd caught her complaining under her breath that only a
Callowan would `try to subvert an entire civilization with kitchen
utilities', but she'd get over it.

Or not, I didn't care either way. Her continued genteel horror was
always good for a laugh.

The ceremony, if it could even be called that, was rather simple. I
sliced the knife across my palm -- normally I'd consider that horribly
inconvenient, but my unusual physiology allowed me such dramatic
liberties -- and let the blood flow into the bowl. I handed the knife to
Akua, who then passed it on to Sekoran. It followed suit, cutting too
deep in its eagerness. There was no need to slide a piece of Winter into
the mixture. My blood itself, I'd been forced to admit, was the stuff of
Winter manifest.

``Sekoran of the Everdark, under this name and any name you have ever
borne or will ever bear I bind you by these oaths,'' I said. ``May they
hold true for one hundred and sixty years, lest the power now bestowed
devour you whole.''

``I so swear,'' Sekoran spoke in heavily accented Lower Miezan after
Centon translated for it.

``You will never slay nor harm nor hinder any in the service of the
Sovereign of Moonless Nights, or dwelling within Callow, save in your
own defence or the pursuit of its laws,'' I said.

``I so swear.''

``For the duration of one hundred and sixty years, you will follow the
orders of the Sovereign of Moonless Nights without intent to subvert or
pervert the spirit in which they were given,'' I said.

``I so swear.''

There were sixteen lesser oaths, all in all, and we moved through them
briskly. Most of them were practical boundaries I needed to set before
turning loose the murderous drow equivalent of the Watch on the surface
for my campaigns. There would be no rape or wanton slaughter, protection
of civilians would be enforced by magical oath and standards of decent
behaviour thrust upon them. Akua had called it forging a facsimile of
Callowan honour through threat of death. I called it refusing to create
another batch of fae nobility if they weren't bound to behave the way
nobility supposedly did. The greater oaths were only three, and it
wouldn't be inaccurate to call them my \emph{contingencies}. Black had
taught me that there was always a point of failure hidden away in even
the most stringent of plans, something unseen and unexpected that would
come back to bite you at the worst possible time. Given the scope of
what I was undertaking here, the sting of that bite would be
equivalently brutal. If -- when -- this turned south on me, I needed
levers to either sideline or end them. Fortunately, this time I was not
negotiating with the most powerful woman on the continent while she was
arguably at the height of her power. I was dealing with eager, desperate
drow who craved what I had to offer so badly they could taste it.

The kind of people willing to make dangerous bargains.

``Until death, you will obey and enforce any and all terms of the Liesse
Accords,'' I said.

``I so swear.''

``The Sovereign of Moonless Night will once name a foe you must fight
until it and all it commands is utterly destroyed,'' I said.

``I so swear.''

``The Sovereign of Moonless Night will have right to ask one boon of
you, to be carried out at all costs, and that right if unused can be
passed down to others at its discretion,'' I said.

``I so swear.''

\emph{Help, long-term plan, insurance}. It was not fool-proof, but it
was the best the finest diabolist of my generation had been able to help
me craft.

``Then Sekoran of the Everdark is granted right to the corpse bargained
for, and all Night held therein,'' I said. ``By this compact we are now
bound, and will remain bound.''

The young drow shivered, and it had nothing to do with the coolness of
the cavern air. There'd been power in the air, power running through its
veins. Through mine as well. I glanced at Centon and nodded. The nisi
spoke in Crepuscular, and guided the other drow towards the rylleh's
corpse. Akua lingered, to my complete lack of surprise.

``Diabolist,'' I evenly said. ``Report.''

She sat at my side without need for an invitation.

``The food situation is out of control,'' Akua said. ``We can last two
more days, three if we ration even the children.''

``We'll be seizing the Berelun reserve today,'' I said.

``And the Berelun themselves with it,'' she pointed out. ``The speed at
which we accrue bellies to fill vastly outstrips the quantity of food
we're acquiring.''

I nodded slowly. She wasn't wrong.

``I expect you're leading to a suggestion,'' I said.

``You were intent on hitting another two sigils before moving against
Great Lotow,'' Diabolist said. ``We cannot afford that. Perhaps one, if
what passes for their granaries is large enough.''

``We're still weak,'' I said.

``Our drow contingent will not be the cause of victory or defeat in
Lotow, let us not pretend otherwise,'' she said. ``A few more Mighty
sworn to you will not make a significant difference either way.''

Time and empty bellies. Along with coin, they were the enemies that most
often imposed on my plans.

``Agreed,'' I sighed. ``I'll send Archer to see if the Delen are more
inclined to fighting than fleeing, we can decide from there.''

``Sensible,'' she conceded with a nod. ``As for the situation in the
camp, it remains\ldots{} fluid.''

``Rarely a good word, when passing Praesi lips,'' I said.

She seemed amused by that, and did not deny it.

``The nisi remain cautiously grateful for the rules of behaviour you
have imposed, though skeptical it will last,'' Akua said. ``The
situation with the dzulu, however, is fast reaching boiling point. The
auction has worked, to an extent, but I would expect betrayals in the
camp from ambitious elements the moment we run into solid opposition.''

``You have names?'' I asked.

``I am in the process of gathering them,'' Diabolist said. ``Which
remains difficult, as I lack eyes to watch on my behalf. I must rely
almost entirely on rumours and observation of social currents --
observations, I will remind you, made without appropriate cultural
context.''

``Still angling for your little death squad, I see,'' I said.

``There is no nation or large-scale organization on Calernia that does
not have individuals charged with internal surveillance,'' Akua said.
``Including Callow under your reign, Catherine. Drow being notably more
fractious than humans, to establish such a measure is mere common sense.
We both know the longer we wait the larger this will become and the
harder it will be to track would-be traitors. It must be done, and done
quickly.''

``Not to revisit our last argument, but I still don't trust dzulu to
keep an eye on their own kind,'' I frankly replied. ``And for them to
have right of life and death inside the camp would carry obvious
dangers.''

``I have come to understand and somewhat agree with your perspective in
this,'' Diabolist said. ``Which is why I would amend my previous
request. I would like ten ispe corpses from the next\ldots{} acquisition
to be set aside for raising nisi of my own picking. They can be charged
with the duty, after being subjected to a strict set of oaths.''

``That'll take the wind out of the next auction,'' I said.

``It will also make it clear that there is more than one way to rise in
your service,'' Akua said. ``A useful tool, if the notion is properly
conveyed.''

I clenched my fingers, then slowly unclenched them. She was right about
the risks of leading a pack of drow without anyone charged with keeping
an eye on them. Knives pointed at our back weren't just likely at this
rate, they were inevitable.

``Agreed for the corpses,'' I said. ``We'll discuss the hierarchy of
that fresh batch of spies and assassins after the Berelun have been
brought into the fold.''

I was disinclined to let Akua Sahelian head what would effectively be my
equivalent of the Jacks down here, but I might not have another choice.
Ivah was another possible candidate, but I might need it on the
frontlines and my leash on Diabolist was arguably tighter. In the end I
could dislike it all I wanted but who else was there?

``One last subject, if you would,'' Akua said.

Evidently she'd noticed my attention was waning.

``I'm listening,'' I said.

``I would ask for one more ispe to be set aside,'' she said. ``For
Centon to harvest.''

``Your assistant,'' I frowned. ``It should have enough status from that
position alone, and I can't think of another reason why you'd want to
empower it.''

``It is being treated as a nisi favoured by one of higher status, not an
individual to be respected outside that very narrow boundary,'' Akua
noted. ``The casual disrespect it is still offered grates me and hinders
its work besides. Status as one of the lesser Mighty would neatly remedy
that.''

And also allow her to sink deeper hooks into the rest of the drow
through Centon, a notion I was much less pleased about. Keeping
Diabolist useful without giving her too much power was ever a delicate
balancing act.

``If you were serious about promoting for reasons other than martial
talent, you will hardly find a better candidate,'' Akua said. ``It was
careful enough to hide it held the Secret of Lower Miezan for more than
twenty years.''

``No one's born with a full Secret,'' I grunted. ``Not even literacy,
and that's the most common there is. It whet its blade a few times to
complete that.''

``You might as well chide a Praesi for diabolism,'' she replied
amusedly.

My brow rose.

``How's your heart, Akua?'' I said.

``Ever in your hand, dearest, in more ways than one,'' she smoothly
replied.

I rolled my eyes.

``I'll see if I can spare an ispe, but that's unlikely until Lotow,'' I
said. ``Make do until then.''

``By your will, my queen,'' she said.

``Because \emph{that's} not getting old,'' I muttered.

I rose to my feet. Time to finish cleaning up the Berelun, then. Archer
would be getting restless by now.

---

``You're angry,'' Indrani said. ``It told Ivah you'd be angry.''

``First off, I very much doubt that,'' I replied.

``That's fair,'' she mused. ``I mean, I \emph{was} lying.''

``Yours is the laziest, sloppiest form of treachery I have ever
countered,'' I said. ``I can't believe that's a mark in your favour, but
Gods help me it is. Anyhow, I'm not angry. Surprised? No, surprised is
too weak a word. \emph{Befuddled}.''

``I mean, you left us alone without supervision so when you really think
about it who's really at fault?'' Indrani said.

There was a pause.

``You. You are that fault. That was what I was implying,'' she revealed.

``I left you two alone for two hours and a half tops, Archer,'' I
complained. ``How the Hells did you end up `accidentally' taking over
another sigil?''

What the Berelun called their stronghold was, practically speaking, a
plateau inside a tall cavern with a passage through drilled under it. To
reach the part where the drow had actually lived -- the top of the
plateau, more specifically a knot of descending stalactites and
stalagmites that'd fused into some sort of stone tree around which all
the Berelun tents and structures were centered -- would normally have
required climbing a sheer cliff, but there were benefits to being made
of smoke and mirrors. Like growing wings at will. When I'd first
realized that Archer and Ivah had proceeded ahead of me I'd expected to
find the stronghold cleared of the last Mighty and terrified drow
awaiting instructions. The second part of that, at least, had come true.
The first had not, since I was currently looking at around thirty Mighty
of varying ranks kneeling on the stone with their hands behind their
necks.

``There's a very good explanation for that,'' Indrani assured me.

My brow rose, and I gestured for her to speak. Silence persisted.

``I can't think of a believable lie,'' she admitted after a moment.

``Have you considered giving me an actual truthful accounting?'' I
suggested.

``What is this, a bloody House of Light?'' she complained, then her eyes
brightened. ``Although, if you're willing to wear ripped up sister robes
I'm more than willing to give you my \emph{confessions}.''

``Just give me your godsdamned report, Archer,'' I said, rubbing the
bridge of my nose.

``Fine,'' she pouted. ``So I was, like, making small talk with Ivah
while surrounded by corpses.''

``As one does,'' I said.

``Right? We never go anywhere without there being corpses around, we
should work on that,'' she said. ``Anyways, it was all like `Archer, you
peerless beauty whose charm has moved me, I'm going to brag so you
become interested me'.''

``Classic Ivah,'' I agreed.

``And so it mentioned that Bere-whatever tried to convince it to stab
you,'' Indrani said. ``Offered it fourth place in the local pecking
order.''

Probably the only accurate part of what she'd reported so far, though I
would not hold out hope for that trend to continue.

``So then, I was like all `Ivah, please, don't be so obvious it's just
embarrassing'. But then I figured -- wait, fourth? That's pretty high
up. Burley-whatever brought two rylleh with a bunch of mooks and Ivah
hadn't done much to show power at that point. Unless it was real bare
back on the home front, Shirley-whatever was full of it when it made
that promise.''

The worst part, I thought, was that she was perfectly aware that the
name of the sigil and sigil-holder had been Berelun. She was yanking my
chain. I knew that. She knew I knew that. And I knew that she knew I
knew that. Yet if I actually corrected her I would lose, and that was
just unacceptable.

``So you went on a walk,'' I prompted.

``Well, technically you said to keep an eye on the corpses and the
corpses were gone by then,'' Indrani said. ``So really you have only
yourself to blame.''

``Oh I wouldn't worry about that,'' I grunted. ``There's plenty of blame
to go around.''

``Look, when we found the Troubadours they were already under attack by
this other bunch of drow,'' Indrani protested. ``So you know, I defended
the innocent. As is my custom.''

``I don't suppose you bothered to learn the context for all this,'' I
tried.

``I knew you'd say that,'' she crowed. ``So I wrote it down.''

She pulled back her coat and mail sleeve, revealing red scribbles. I
blinked.

``Archer, is that \emph{blood}?''

``Which do we run into more often down here: dead bodies or inkwells?''
she pointed out. ``It's like you don't even think, sometimes. Anyways,
here it is. The Dubious-''

Delen, I mentally corrected, which was the nearest sigil to this tone.

``- have been all warlike recently, and slapped the Henries in the face
in a skirmish a while back, a defeat bad enough that it cleaned up most
of their Mighty.''

Had we really gone from `Bere-whatever' to `Henries' in the span of
thirty heartbeats? I was in dire need of a way to exact pretty revenge
on Indrani, it was the only language she truly understood.

``When they heard the Henries were moving out to speak with us, they
decided it was a good time to attack,'' Indrani continued. ``But they're
blind and their timing is shit-''

The stronghold of the Berelun was difficult to access and finding out
precisely when they'd gone to ambush me was difficult, I mentally
translated.

``- so they were only just getting started when me and Ivah showed up,''
she said.

``Ivah and I,'' I said. ``You ignorant wench.''

She flipped me off. My gaze returned to the kneeling drow, who'd been
watching us talk back and forth very carefully.

``And you what, killed enough of them that the rest gave up?'' I asked.

``We protected the innocent until surrender ensued,'' Indrani proudly
replied, then spoiled the way she'd kept her face straight through that
by badly winking.

``Fuck it,'' I sighed. ``We'll offer them the usual `oath or sword'
bargain then loot everything before we get back on the road.''

``Yes sir, your queenliness ma'am,'' Archer grinned. ``We decided on
where we're headed, then?''

``Great Lotow,'' I told her. ``I hope you're in a fighting mood, because
we're about to declare war on an entire civilization.''

The smile she gave me at that was terrifying in more ways than one, but
at least she was on my side.

The drow wouldn't be so lucky.
