\hypertarget{chapter-45-ambush}{%
\section{Chapter 45: Ambush}\label{chapter-45-ambush}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``As the Bellerophans had not redrawn their war maps in over a
century, their expedition against Penthes instead began with the sack of
three outlying Delosi towns, one of which was walled and whose watchmen
rebuffed the assault of the army. The Republic ultimately withdrew a
month later after capturing a Stygian trade caravan carrying a handful
Penthesian goods, announcing the unequivocal success of its punitive
expedition to the great confusion of the Exarch of Penthes, who was
still mustering her army over three hundred miles to the north.''}

-- Extract from `A Pack of Squabbles, or, A History of Internal League
Warfare' by Prince Alexandre of Lyonis
\end{quote}

If it was a distraction, then it was a good one -- not that I'd expected
any less from Malicia. Boots scraping against the faded stone, I
crouched at the edge of the pyramid's slope and studied the silhouettes
below. Twenty-one, all in all. Ten faceless and genderless soldiers in
steel with masks of black wrought iron, the Tower's own personal guard.
The Sentinels, I'd been taught was their name. I was unsure of how hard
a fight they'd be able to give me, but they were not a young Praesi
institution. If even half the the hundred Tyrants who'd once commanded
them had bothered to teach them a nasty trick or two, they would not be
easy meat. The silent guard formed a ring of steel, broad tower shields
up as they protected the remaining delegates. Those, I thought, would be
the source of the real trouble if there was trouble to be had. Of the
eleven remaining strangers only two wore armour and it was clearly
ceremonial. Not unlike the colourful scales I'd known Diabolist to wear
before she claimed that very Name. Those two were Soninke, men and too
flawless to look upon to be anything but Wasteland highborn.

I dismissed them anyway. The warlocks would be the real threat here, not
swordsmen no matter their skill. And there \emph{were} mages among the
delegates, I could tell as much at a glance. None of the other Praesi
wore a weapon heavier than a long dagger, and though their robes were an
ornate riot of vivid silks the colours were not enough to hide the
discreet shimmer of runes woven into the fabric. Defensive enchantments,
though without Masego around I had no real way to know of their purpose.
What I \emph{did} know was that while silk was one of the fabrics most
apt to imbibe magic without spoiling, there was only so much sorcery any
fabric could take. Against another sorcerer, defensive enchantments were
a significant advantage. Against me, it'd be trying to hold back the sea
with a wooden bucket. \emph{I'll still have to hit them hard}, I
thought. \emph{Smaller wisps of Winter will just be ignored, if I'm to
strike at them it'll have to be by surprise and with overwhelming
force.} Admittedly my favourite kind of fights, on the rare occasions I
managed to have them.

One person stood out from the rest, and the sight of her had me
tightening my grip on the pommel of my sword. The woman was Soninke and
young. No more than twenty, by the looks of her, and though she was of
plain appearance every other delegate around her behaved like sunflowers
turning towards the sun. Her dress was tastefully understated, as was
the silver jewellery adorning her neck and wrists, but there was no
mistaking who that was. I wasn't Malicia in the flesh, or more
accurately it was but not \emph{her} flesh. A simulacrum, then. I felt a
sharp edge of relief at the confirmation of what I'd always believed to
be the most likely reality. And yet part of me was disappointed as well.
There would have been chaos, in slaying the true Malicia, but
opportunity as well. If I'd been able to force a war of succession on
the Empire without getting embroiled myself\ldots{} No point in whining
about it. It was what it was, and in this case the presence of a mere
flesh puppet might be a blessing. Said puppet was awake and alert, I
saw, and with good reason.

It had just almost died.

I'd arrived too late to see it happen, but just from the lay of the
Praesi I could get an idea of what had taken place. Just as they'd left
the Threefold Reflection through the nearest gate and taken the avenue
into the tall colonnade they now occupied, someone had taken a shot at
the Empress. The shimmering panes of light around the flesh puppet told
me exactly why it'd failed, and pointed at the most likely suspect for
the attempt: Thief. It couldn't be Archer. She had arrows that'd go
right through most sorceries, and even if she'd failed to make a kill at
a distance she would have closed in and carved away at the Sentinels.
Adjutant had not aspect that would work for a quiet ambush, and I'd just
left behind the remaining two. No, it had to be Thief. The Skein had
hinted, back in his lair, that she might try to kill Malicia with the
same blade of moonlight she'd stolen from the Spellblade. That was my
guess: she'd approached under cover of her aspect, placed her shot and
immediately retreated when it failed to breach the Empress' protections.
I couldn't be sure whether that failure was because the Praesi wards
were particularly strong or because the tool employed had not been a
good fit, and that was worrying.

They hadn't seen me, at least for now. I'd not woven glamour over myself
yet, afraid some of the mages would be sensitive enough to such powers
it would effectively announced my presence even if they couldn't see
through it. The moment the delegation caught scent of me, my bet was
that they'd turtle up behind heavy wards and make enough of a racket
that the Dead King's people would have to come and take a look. If that
was allowed to happen, the game was done. Pushing any further would
break the unspoken boundaries Neshamah had placed on this little lark of
ours. Was Thief still around? My guts said yes, but I couldn't count on
it. She might still be acting according to a plan I didn't know. Which
was the point of all this, I supposed. We'd filled the Skein's sight
with so many of those there'd been no telling where the rest of the Woe
were or what they were up to. At the unfortunate cost of my being kept
in the dark concerning those matters as well. I set aside the thoughts
for now, eyes one the Praesi delegates. They were on the defensive for
now, the Sentinels using the cover of the colonnade to form a decent
holding position while the mages layered enchantments, but they'd get
moving soon.

If I were in Malicia's shoes, right now, I'd be worrying more about
Archer than Thief. The longer she remained in the open, the higher the
risks she got an unexpected arrow through the throat. If I wanted to
have a decent swing at the Empress, I needed to be close by the time
they set out. Which left me with the task of moving unseen next to a
cluster of highly-trained, professionally paranoid and recently ambushed
Wastelanders. While wearing armour. In broad daylight. With no real
cover to speak of the moment I left the upper reaches of the pyramid.
This was not a recipe for success no matter how you looked at it, but at
least I was wearing mail instead of plate. Pretty weak, as far as silver
linings went, but I'd take what I could get.

Pulling the Mantle of Woe tight around me, since it was colourful but at
least not actively shining under the sun, I began to make my way down.
Obliquely, or as close to that as was possible. There were open grounds
between the colonnade and the end of the Threefold Reflection proper,
and crossing those unseen was a fool's errand. No, the longer I thought
about it the more obvious it got I'd have to roll the dice on my ability
to predict where the Praesi would be headed and lay my ambush there.

There were only so many places they could go, I mused as I moved from
stone to stone. There was another palace up ahead, but I wouldn't put my
money on them going for it. There'd be another Revenant inside,
certainly, but it didn't look like the most\ldots{} hospitable of
places. The fluid obsidian structures were unpleasant to look at in some
primal way, though it was the outlying decorations that would give the
Praesi pause. Small channels had been dug into the stone in arcane
symbols, lit up by what appeared to be liquid flame. The palace flicked
with shifting shadows even under sunlight. If they went through there,
I'd kill them all. They'd be forced to take narrow fire-walled paths
with plenty of cover for me to ambush from. Unless the Revenant was
already in place and ready to intervene, the outlying parts of that
palace would be a perfect killing floor for me. Malicia herself wasn't a
military tactician of any renown, but she was hardly a fool. It'd be one
of the other two paths she took.

The first would be a gambit on her part. The colonnade and almost
temple-like promenade surrounding the pyramid did have a path going
around towards the open plaza where the Hall of the Dead and a horde of
minions would be awaiting. If the Empress made it there safely, she was
out of the woods. I couldn't snatch her out of the Dead King's grasp
without screwing all of this up. On the other hand, I was rather hoping
that was the option she'd take. I was already near to the last third of
the pyramid, and all it'd take was dipping out of the sight around the
corner for me to slip ahead of her party in the colonnade. I'd already
begun angling my descent to be a step ahead if that was the choice she
made. Malicia had to know, however, that it was a mostly open space and
most the Woe were still on the prowl. Forget Thief, but if Archer came
across her there'd be blood on the floor. Quickest path to safety, but
arguably the most dangerous.

The second path was a retreat. Not back into the Threefold Reflection --
though that was possible, if exceedingly foolish -- but towards the
lower rungs of Keter. We were all in the highest ring at the moment,
surrounded by the same rampart Athal had taken me to earlier through the
secret passage. The Empress could head for those walls, and from there
either count on the Dead King's soldiers being there and providing
protection or journey further down and away from the area she knew the
Woe was roaming. I'd had the advantage of height over her earlier, so I
already knew there were no undead on the ramparts at the moment. Indeed,
their absence was quite glaring. Neshamah was quite pointedly looking
away, in a manner of speaking. Malicia wouldn't necessarily know that,
though. The Crown of the Dead screwed badly with scrying rituals, so it
wasn't like she could have a look through a bowl. If she went with that
choice, she was keeping the game afoot. As long as she wasn't surrounded
by undead soldiers, she remained a target no matter how far down she
fled. I wasn't all that familiar with the rest of the city, though, so
we'd both be going into that blind.

I'd reached one of the pyramid's four spines when the Praesi moved out.
Peeking around the corner, I grinned nastily as I watched the delegation
head towards the central plaza at a brisk pace. She'd bet it all on a
quick resolution, then. I could work with that. I picked up the pace as
well, dropping down on the ground long before they were in sight of the
turn. Fingers drumming against my sheath, I eyed the spot where the
ambush would have to take place: right after the turn, with a clear line
of sight to the path leading to the plaza. The columns were but a few
feet apart and joined by a low wall on the outer half of the colonnade,
though the half facing the pyramid was without. The turn was angled too
circular for me to be able to hide in the bend, sadly, but there was
another detail to this construction: a ceiling. Barded with
criss-crossing beams of copper, the angular stone roof was held up by
the columns. The ceiling itself was filled, but there was room between
the long stretch of stone supported by those same columns and the roof
itself. Not much, but then for once my size might come in as actually
useful. A few years ago, the notion of hanging from a ceiling like a
fucking bat to swoop down on my enemies would have struck me as absurd,
especially if I was wearing armour. Now, though? It wasn't like my arms
could get tired anymore.

It'd have to be around the turn, otherwise the moment the enemy
approached they'd just see me hanging there. That'd turn awkward real
quick, leading to questions like `why did you think that would work?' or
even worse, small talk. I wasn't emotionally prepared to make polite
conversation with the Empress while murder-hanging from a ceiling. I
hoisted myself up the low wall and frowned up at the column. There was
distinct lack of good handholds, but using Winter would be tipping my
hand and I needed to hurry before the enemy arrived. With all the grace
of a one-legged squirrel, I hugged the column and shimmied my way up. It
was easier up there: I caught one of the copper beams and left the
column, effortlessly dragging my hole body up and spreading my legs to
gain more traction from other beams. My free hand went into collection
my cloak, which was now hanging like a shitty tapestry, and just kind of
bunching it up over my stomach before I pulled myself close to the
ceiling. There, that should do. I was kind of hoping Thief wasn't
around, because if she saw me I'd never live this down. I heard the
footsteps, then their words.

``The Dead King's enchantments make it impossible to use proper sensory
spells,'' a woman's voice sighed in Mtethwa. ``My apologies, Your Dread
Majesty. My abilities are lacking.''

``I hardly expected you to be the Hidden Horror's superior in matters of
spellcraft, Lady Olinga,'' the flesh puppet replied. ``Already your
wards proved your worth by sparing me the Thief's ambush.''

``She may well still be lurking about,'' a man warned. ``And the
Adjutant will have found a way out of the illusions by now. We must
hurry.''

``Any faster will disrupt the wards,'' Lady Olinga peevishly replied.
``It already took me decades to train them to be able to maintain it
while moving.''

``The Warlock can-``

``I am not the Warlock,'' the Soninke cut through. ``Nor even the
Hierophant. Do ask miracles of me, Galadan, when you can barely use High
Arcana yourself.''

``We will proceed at the current pace,'' Not-Malicia said, and I could
almost hear the soothing smile. ``Peace, my friends. This interlude soon
comes at an end.''

Well, she wasn't wrong about that. More worryingly, I was hearing the
Empress and the highborn moving but not a single Sentinel footstep.
Spelled gear, had to be. And there was no telling what calibre either.
Enchanted artefacts weren't as rare in Praes as they were in Callow, but
even in the Wasteland it was the petty stuff that wasn't kept within
powerful families. Magic made into enchantment waned over time, so for
anything to last for more than a few years it had to be an extremely
powerful mage -- or ritual -- that had first made the artefact. The
lesser stuff had to be empowered anew pretty regularly, and most mages
saw that kind of repeat labour as beneath them. Which meant finding
another practitioner to take care of it, certainly easier in Praes than
my homeland, but artefacts only worked perfectly for the mages who'd
first made them. After that, every set of hands they passed through made
them a little shoddier until they broke down. Of course, then you got
the stuff out of myth. Which tended to be either like the Lone
Swordsman's, a feather from an angel that'd made intense eye contact
with Creational laws until they backed away uncomfortably, or your
average legendary stuff. Which had both been crafted by the kind of
sorcerer or Named that came around once a century and been made out of
materials with inherent magical properties that kept the enchantments
going indefinitely. All stuff that was rare, difficult to obtain and
horribly, horribly expensive. Archer's longbow was probably worth a pair
of large palaces in Procer, if she ever tried to pawn it in Mercantis,
and it wasn't even quite up to snuff compared to some of the stuff out
there.

Now, if they were from anywhere else, I'd dismiss the thought of the
Sentinels having even one piece of such gear out of hand. Personal
guards or not, they wouldn't rank that kind of ridiculous expense. They
were, unfortunately, from the Dread Empire of Praes. When a nation got a
line of three emperors that picked \emph{Profligate} as a reigning name,
terrible monetary decisions were only to be expected. And that was
without thinking of the gaggle of practitioner Tyrants that'd held the
Tower with just as many Warlocks serving beneath them, few of which had
ever held qualms about a little mass murder and assorted bankruptcy if
it got in the way of their latest idea. Even then, there couldn't be too
many of it. Enough to equip ten guards, though. Would Malicia risk that
kind of precious equipment by bringing it to Keter? My guts said yes.
She wasn't a mage herself, and like the Calamities she'd never shown a
great deal of respect for artefacts that were relevant only on the
tactical level. I could easily see her kitting out her handpicked
Sentinels in the good stuff both as a show of force for the Dead King
and for that little additional sliver of safety abroad.

Which meant I couldn't just ignore the soldiers, as I'd intended to
previously. They might have stuff that could hurt fae -- no, knowing
Malicia they \emph{definitely} had stuff that hurt fae. Still, the
sorcerers remained the greater threat. Fighters, even dangerous ones, I
could kill my way through. If I got stuck behind a ward, there was no
getting out. I held my breath, lips thinning when I realized my lungs
never began to burn. Yet another comforting illusion that would not
withstand scrutiny. Eyes wide open I waited for the Praesi to approach.
Artefact-bearers or not, the Sentinels still wore those fucking stupid
masks. They couldn't easily look up, and their peripheral vision was
shit. I'd let them pass me before dropping down and take out as many
mages as I could in the first strike. Without a sound a pair of
steel-clad soldiers passed under me, and then -- \emph{shit}.

I dropped down before the streak of lightning could tear through my
belly. Had that come out of an opal? Did I have to start worrying about
the jewellery on people's clothes now? The Sentinels were on me before
the others could so much as exclaim in surprise, swords swinging.
Sorcery flared behind them, the mages taking action, and I knew without
a doubt that if I got stuck in a brawl with the soldiers this was headed
downhill. \emph{Never give mages time to cast}. I breathed out, and
ripped away another illusion. I stepped through the sword blows, the
mist that was now my torso billowing as their blades went through. One
step, two, three and then I was among the mages. Solid, I ordered my
body. My blade ripped through a Taghreb's throat and the panes of light
around Malicia dimmed, her eyes widening in fear and surprise. I tugged
out a string of my domain, shaped it and let it loose with a flick of
the wrist. The javelin of night-stuff flew perfectly, puncturing the
sorcerous protection and\ldots{}

Breaking an illusion.

Fuck. A ward closed around me a heartbeat later and I found myself
surrounded by very displeased Praesi. With a sigh I rose from my
half-crouch, adjusted my cloak and offered the delegation a winning
smile. I did not get a single one in response, which might have
something to do with the man bleeding out on the ground a mere foot
behind me.

``Well,'' I muttered. ``This is a little awkward.''

I reached for Winter but found my will couldn't quite make it. That, I
mused, was not a promising start to these negotiations.
