\hypertarget{interlude-iron}{%
\section{Interlude: Iron}\label{interlude-iron}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``There are only two sorts of freedom to be found in Praes: the
tyrant's freedom, and the freedom to do as the tyrant said.''}

-- Extract from the memoirs of Hiram Banu, the Ninety-Year Chancellor
\end{quote}

Her Most Serene Highness Cordelia Hasenbach, First Prince of Procer,
Princess of Salia, Prince of Rhenia and Warden of the West found that
her patience ran thin, these days. Not for a freshly developed failure
of character, she'd decided, but rather because there was simply so much
to do and so little time to see it done. Petty temporizing from others
had once been something to tolerate out of courtesy, to maintain the
ties of etiquette binding all to civility and so providing a common
tongue, yet now ever instance was measurable loss. And never a frivolous
one, either, for all the decisions of middling import she could pass on
to subordinates she already had weeks ago. Therefore, when the First
Prince of Procer entered her solar at a brisk pace she was quietly irked
by the absence of one of the three men she'd sent for. The Principate of
Procer could be said to have three great assemblies of spies, when
counting those attached to the sole office of the First Prince and not
the particular of who sat on the throne. The first and foremost was the
Circle of Thorns, whose webs of informants abroad had been the eyes and
ears of the rulers of Procer for centuries now: its current highest
patron, the skeletal and balding Louis of Sartrons, rose smoothly as she
entered. A noticeable moment later the other man in the room, Balthazar
Serigny, followed suit.

That hirsute bear of a man, his face a bold battlefield between
ferocious eyebrows and an uncompromising beard, was the head of the
Silver Letters. A pack of thieves and assassins grown so successful some
centuries past they were given official sanction and from then on used
as the spies of the First Princes within the boundaries of the
Principate itself. Balthazar the Bastard, as his subordinates called him
without speaking of the circumstances of his birth, had opposed
Cordelia's rise to power during the Great War and remained in place
after her crowning largely because he was too difficult to swiftly
replace and the successor she'd handpicked for him was not yet ready.
There should have been a third on his feet there, Simon of Gorgeault,
standing in the name of the Holy Society. That one was as much a
diplomat as a spy, for the Holy Society and its assembly of highborn lay
brothers and sisters was at times more an informal channel of
communication with the House of Light than shadowy obtainers of secrets.
Gorgeault's lateness grated on her more than it should have, Cordelia
knew, for knowing the man it would not be without reason. Yet his close
ties with the House and in particular the Holies -- that informal
assembly of the influential within the House whose equally informal
decisions ever became formal policy -- were doing him no favour in her
eyes of late.

``A good morn to you both,'' the First Prince of Procer calmly said.

She paused long enough to allow the two spymasters to return the
courtesy.

``Be seated,'' Cordelia Hasenbach ordered. ``We will begin without
Brother Simon.''

The blonde Lycaonese pressed her skirts against her legs to more
elegantly sit her chair, dismissing the attending servants with a polite
shake of the head when inquiries were made by silent look. She had no
intention of entertaining these men long enough for refreshments to be
required, much less a meal. Besides, should she offer either etiquette
would require small talk be made over them before serious matters were
spoken of and she had absolutely no intention of wasting half an hour on
inanities when Procer was rarely more than one calamitous day away from
annihilation.

``We will attend to the Iserran situation first,'' Cordelia stated.
``Gentlemen, am I to understand that disaster was truly averted?''

The men shared a silent glance, the rapacious-faced head of the Circle
and the half-wild former fantassin who'd killed and blackmailed his way
to supreme prominence in the Silver Letters. It was the latter that
spoke first, first clearing his throat in a surprisingly dainty manner
for a man of his looks and conduct.

``We have confirmed that the foreign forces have all begun to evacuate
the plains,'' Balthazar the Bastard said. ``It was made known to the
rank and file of both the Army of Callow and the Legions of Terror that
winter quarters will be raised in Arans before they went through the
gate, so I believe it likely the Black Queen intends to keep her word.''

Of that there had been little doubt in the First Prince's mind: she'd
read a transcript of these Liesse Accords, passed along by hasty
scrying. It was becoming increasingly evident they'd all severely
underestimated Catherine Foundling, and that her game was a long one
indeed. Cordelia's cold blue eyes moved to the other man sitting across
from her, inviting elaboration.

``The League of Free Cities has agreed to begin marching south, and to
the offered sale of supplies as the costs you offered,'' Louis said.
``The Hierarch himself is said to have granted full authority to his
advisory council over the matter, though the Tyrant of Helike remains
the dominant force among it.''

Though not by so large a margin as he would have been before what her
people had taken to calling the Princes' Graveyard. An ornate
affectation, given only a single royal had died instead of abdicated,
yet the Alamans fondness for grand appellations was not do be denied.
The League's audacious -- foolish, some would call it -- march through
the Waning Woods to take the Principate by surprise had meant it would
need to live off the land after the supplies it brought began to run
out, given the lack of supply train. The situation for them was not yet
dire, yet the Circle of Thorns had learned that they had perhaps two
months left before their grain ran out. Which was something of an issue
for the invaders, given that the Carrion Lord had already stolen or
torched every granary in the heartlands of the Principate: there was
nothing left for them to steal in turn. Offering just enough supplies to
fend off starvation in exchange for a retreat south had been a gamble,
but a necessary one. She could not let more than a hundred thousand
foreigners camp in Iserre while talks took place here in Salia. For one,
it was much too close to the capital. More importantly, if the League's
armies stayed in Iserre so much enough of a force to check it even if
truce was currently being had.

Oh, Kairos Theodosian would no doubt turn on her as soon as the
conference came at an end and he'd secured whatever prize he now sought.
Yet by that time the armies of the League would be much further south,
perhaps as far as Tenerife, and the military situation would have
changed. The Black Queen had, after all, admitted to making bargain with
the Kingdom Under concerning sale of armaments and implied to Arnaud
that arrangement could be had there between herself and the Principate.
That meant delaying resumption of hostilities with the League a valid
tactic, for by the time the blades came out again the massed levies
Cordelia had ordered in all southern and western principalities would be
furnished with fresh dwarven weaponry and be ready to hold the line
against the League's treachery. It would have ruinous costs in both
lives and gold, but it was either that or allowing the Tyrant of Helike
to dictate the course of the war on Keter however he wished. The Prince
of Rhenia had sent her own people to die and abandoned her kinsmen to
the Dead -- she could and \emph{would} stomach Arlesite conscripts
bleeding to defend their own lands. Louis of Satrons' pause was smoothly
filled by the other spymaster a heartbeat later.

``My people in Iserre had a look at the delegations when the Black Queen
opened the fairy gate for them,'' Balthazar said. ``Getting too close
was judged risky -- the Jacks are sharp-eyed and there's goblins
skulking around everywhere -- but we believe the agreements were
honoured when it comes to soldier strength.''

Cordelia's brow did not rise, for she was better bred than that, yet she
politely expressed surprise.

``Even the Carrion Lord?'' she asked.

The offer extended had been an escort of four thousand for every
representative attending the conference, which Cordelia had intended to
mean the Hierarch and the Queen of Callow. Now instead there was a
certain `General Rumena' representing the interests of the Empire Ever
Dark and requiring their own escort, which was unfortunate confirmation
the drow were on the move once more. The suggestion the Carrion Lord
would attend as representative for the Dread Empire of Praes had been
like ash in Cordelia's mouth, given the man's cold-blooded scheme for
the death of thousands and thousands of innocents. In all fairness,
Foundling seemed to have understood the\ldots{} delicacy of that
situation and offered a compromise: she'd be responsible for the man's
actions while in Procer, and as her dependent he would be allowed only a
thousand men in escort to be deducted from her own four thousand. The
blonde Lycaonese suspected the hand of Vivienne Dartwick in those terms,
whose diplomatic acumen had proven greater than one would expect of a
former Chosen.

``He seems to have brought only four hundred legionaries,'' Balthazar
said. ``Though given how popular he remains with parts of the Army of
Callow, he's hardly vulnerable.''

Not that Cordelia was fool enough to entertain assassination at the
moment. Not with his apprentice -- who, it seemed, still remained fond
enough of him to seek his release regardless of reports of their
quarrelling after the Doom of Liesse -- having become so crucial to the
survival of the Principate and perhaps even the continent itself. The
amount of forces coming close to Salia made her uneasy, in truth. Four
thousand drow, possessed of strange eldritch powers at night by all
reports, four thousand eastern legionaries and a mixed force of four
thousand from the League whose finest were from Helike. The Dominion
would bring four thousand of their own, though they'd proved unreliable
allies in many ways, and the First Prince had provided four thousand of
her own soldiery to stand for the Thalassocracy of Ashur under thin
pretence. Salia was hardly undefended, of course, and Princess Rozala
Malanza would be bringing ten thousand soldiers besides as a guarantee.
Yet sixteen thousand foreign soldiers within a day's march of the
capital was not something to take lightly in any circumstances, much
less these. Countries grown weak often found their allies had grown
hungry.

``Then it seems we had survived the crucible,'' First Prince Cordelia
calmly said, ``and must now begin preparing for the one waiting beyond
the horizon.''

``If I may, Your Most Serene Highness?'' Louis of Sartons asked, and she
moved her had in concession. ``Our allies in Ashur are becoming
increasingly desperate, and when word of the bargain struck for the
retreat of the League that despair will turn to fury.''

It would, Cordelia privately agreed, for every step that took the armies
of the League further from Procer took them closer to the shores of the
Thalassocracy. All the while the fleets of Nicae kept blockading the
island-nation and sinking even fishing boats, very clearly aiming to
starve Ashur into submission. The bargain would be seen as a betrayal,
not entirely without reason, and Cordelia's assurances that this was
maneuvering would ring hollow so long as they were not paired with some
manner of relief for Ashur. Which she could not provide so long as the
League's fleets had the run of the Samite Gulf, given that no Arlesite
principality had a considerable military fleet to call on. Largely
because of Ashuran bribes and threats, one might uncharitably add.

``We will have to exert pressure on the League during the conference,''
Cordelia agreed. ``Lest we lose Ashur entirely to spite or surrender. If
a common front is put forward to at least allow for grain barges to be
allowed through, there would be hope to offer.''

``That would require Callow to back us against the Free Cities,''
Balthazar grunted. ``They're trying to get a foot in the Grand Alliance
so it's not impossible, but the Black Queen's no fool. She'll not let
herself be brought into the fold before she squeezed us dry of every
concession she can prior to alliance.''

``I am not so certain,'' Louis disagreed, bony face gone pensive. ``No
force under her command has ever resorted to looting or foraging while
campaigning in our lands. Though I would agree she has distaste for the
well-bred, I would venture she'd be rather sympathetic to the plight of
starving Ashurans. It is not an uncommon trait, in tyrants who have
popular support.''

Cordelia was, in fact, inclined to agree with the leader of the Circle
of Thorns. Catherine Foundling had a record of trying to spare commoners
the worst of war even when it was inconvenient to her armies, and the
Army of Callow's regulations were perhaps the strictest on the continent
when it came to civilians. Unfortunately, the First Prince found it
dubious that the Back Queen would antagonize the League of Free Cities
on behalf of the Grand Alliance without some manner of concession. Which
was not unreasonable, given that she would be taking on risks for
nations that had warred on her own, but \emph{was} most definitely
unfortunate. The fair-haired First Prince only had so many concessions
she could make and was reluctant to begin doling them out too early in
negotiations. She might have to regardless, Cordelia grimly conceded.
Choices were the privilege of those mighty enough to afford choosing.

``There will be a need to approach her in private after she arrives,''
the First Prince finally said.

That much had never been in doubt, truth be told, though the extent of
matters in need of discussion sometimes felt like to Cordelia like it
increased by the day. The First Prince found herself in the unpleasant
diplomatic quagmire of having to negotiate with a need to preserve an
empire's dignity without having an empire's might to ensure it. Whatever
alliances she might have once been able to call on were now stretched
thin, the Chosen so unreliable as to be worthless and to add one more
complication the Silver Letters were adamant that the Black Queen had
become somewhat \emph{popular} with Alliance armies that'd been on the
field. The entire host had been plagued with dreams, allegedly the work
of the Choir of Mercy, that had shown a span of the `heroics' that'd
taken place in these Twilight Ways. The result had been flattering to
the Queen of Callow's reputation, to say the least, though the
transcripts of some of these dreams had been disturbing to read. The
cunning that Foundling had shown that night was more dangerous than the
power, in Cordelia's eyes, though the power was the stuff of nightmares
as well.

Now it was good as certain that the Callowans would follow their queen
with fanatical devotion into any war she chose to wage -- Gods Above,
even as some kind of priestess of darkness she'd received the tacit
blessing of \emph{angels} -- which would be a great boon if these
negotiations saw fruit but a cataclysm otherwise. More worrisome was the
apparent oath by every great line of the Blood to support her bid for
joining the Grand Alliance, as it'd received the approval of the Grey
Pilgrim. To Levantines, that might carry as much weight as that of the
Choir he was said to be servant of. When Rozala Malanza's soldiers came
to Salia, and the Levantines with them, they would find a city that
still spoke of the Black Queen as the Arch-heretic of the East and a
perfidious enemy. The survivors of the campaign in Iserre would not take
well to being called liars, much less the potentially disastrous epithet
of heretic. It could all turn into an ugly circumstance with frightening
ease if Cordelia was not very, very careful. Merciful Heavens, what had
the world come to when she could expect the Black Queen to be a calming
influence on the proceedings?

The First Prince would not be blinded by relief at a withheld blade or a
sudden surge of sentiment, yet she could not deny that Catherine
Foundling seemed to be trying to claw back the continent from the brink
of they abyss. She was a horribly inconvenient person, it was true, but
she'd also proved she was capable of restraint and a degree of foresight
-- which Cordelia could not truthfully say of all those who had a seat
in the Highest Assembly. That Calernia might end up bound by a set of
treaties even more far-reaching than those of the Grand Alliance had
rankled, at first, but looking upon the content of the Liesse Accords
the First Prince had been forced to concede they might be of genuine
help in stabilizing the continent. That the rules of behaviour they
proposed were elemental meant they were likely to be functional in
practice even when binding such fractious individuals, and that most
Chosen and Damned would be inclined towards enforcing them: a flying
fortress rarely benefited anyone but the one flying it, and so even
another villain might delight in seeing it brought down along with a
rival. And as for the Chosen, Cordelia was far past needing convincing
they too were in need of similar \emph{restraints}. That the same plague
that'd wiped out a detachment of Praesi legionaries had also wiped out
an entire town on the shore of Lake Artoise without a single breakout
elsewhere before or since was a damning hint of who was responsible for
it.

There would be consequences to that, one day.

The dawning truth of the last few days had been that the Black Queen
intended to bring forth an order to Calernia, and that this order was
not too inimical to the order that Cordelia Hasenbach had been trying to
bring forth since she was but a girl. It was not the resounding victory
for Good that the First Prince had wanted, yet it was compromise she was
willing to live with. She fully intended on securing as many gains as
she could for Procer and the Grand Alliance, yet she would do so with
the preservation of the Accords in mind. In truth, there were some
aspects she'd found thrilling. This posited city in the Red Flower
Vales? It was, she hoped, an end to wars between Callow and Procer. With
this Cardinal forbidding the march of armies and the only other
land-route between the two realms the Stairway up north, war would
become highly impractical to wage. Three kittens and a ribbon could
defend the narrow pass of the Stairway against a princely army, if they
had the nerve, and having a great city at the crossroads between the
east and the west of Calernia would allow for trade between adjoining
realms to flourish and make hostility even more costly a prospect. And
there was much to gain, in having such a neutral ground where diplomacy
would be had even on the darkest days. No, Cardinal would have much
greater reach than even the Black Queen seemed to realize.

A sharp rap against the closed door had Cordelia raising her voice to
grant entrance to the servant. A man in livery hurried in at her
invitation and after courtly bows came to whisper in her ear. The First
Prince of Procer's lips slightly thinned and she nodded a dismissal.

``Brother Simon's absence should be excused, it seems,'' Cordelia
Hasenbach crisply said. ``For he has been detained by order of the House
of Light. The Holies are calling the Highest Assembly to session.''

Two of the most skilled spymasters alive looked at her with faces
betraying utter surprise.

``That's madness,'' Balthazar said.

``It's treason,'' Louis said, tone cold. ``In time of war, no less. Your
Most Serene Highness, this cannot be allowed to pass.''

``Nor will it,'' Cordelia Hasenbach said, voice like iron. ``It appears
I have at last found an \emph{end to my patience}.''
