\hypertarget{chapter-72-omen}{%
\section{Chapter 72: Omen}\label{chapter-72-omen}}

The city of Hainaut was a beautiful sight.

When I'd first laid eyes on it, last summer, the majesty of it had
startled me. The capital had been built atop a tall and precipitously
steep plateau -- at its highest point it must have been at least three
hundred feet going down in a straight line -- that jutted out of the
valley in more or less the shape of a hand laid flat, with the fingers
in that description representing a gradually declining slope headed down
towards the valley floor. A butte, which was the Proceran name for a
hill so tall and narrow it was almost as a pillar of rock, jutted out
slightly to the left of where the `fingers' began, almost like the point
of thumb. The most eye-catching part aside from the height, though, was
the pale white wall circling around the city occupying the plateau
heights. From closer up the ramparts of pale granite were revealed to be
more of a pale grey with impurities, but at a distance and in the
morning light it looked like the capital was crowned by walls of white
stone.

``It is grand city, this Hainaut,'' the Apprentice said in a hushed
tone. ``I studied among the schools in the high hills of Ashur, yet even
their splendour pales in comparison.''

``It's pretty enough,'' the Squire conceded. ``Seems like a lot of
trouble, though. I hope they have good wells, or it's going to be a
bloody walk down and back up that slope every morning with full
buckets.''

I swallowed a grin and Hakram gave me a rather droll look. I'd made a
comment not too dissimilar after having my first look at it. I suspected
the shared of experience of having had the water chore -- fetching
buckets for baths or cleaning -- had led to a shared skepticism of
living anywhere water would need to be brought uphill.

``There is not a speck of romance in you,'' the Ashuran mage reproached
him.

``Romance I want out of a lover,'' Arthur Foundling snorted, ``but out
of a city, I much prefer functioning sewers. Gods, just imagine if it
doesn't rain up there for a month and the drains go dry. The
\emph{stink}.''

I cocked an eyebrow at Hakram. Boy had a point. Mind you, the Vaudrii --
the Alamans tribe that'd first settled here -- had not been idiots.
They'd not just picked the place because it'd look nice from a distance.

``Almost a fourth of the plateau, like a teardrop at the centre, is
taken up by a great pool that the locals call \emph{le Bassin Gris},''
Adjutant informed both the young heroes. ``It is fed by rain, which is
frequent in these parts, but also by several great underground aquifers.
Though you cannot see it from where we stand, near the back of the city
there is a waterfall going over the edge of the cliff.''

``See?'' the Apprentice triumphantly said. ``It was a sound notion, and
soundly executed. You simply cannot stand to seen anyone spending coin
anything but a good horse or sordidly unseasoned meat stew.''

``If I seasoned it the way you do, Sapan, my skin might just turn
permanently red,'' the Squire drily replied. ``And a good horse is a
sounder investment than white walls by any reasonable measure. The
wall's stuck in the same place, and you can't ride it.''

Hakram cleared his throat and both youngbloods immediately went silent,
looking somewhat guilty at having bickered into front of us even if it'd
been amicably. The orc was only amused, though. He'd been in a good mood
all morning. Some of that no doubt had to do with the way that he wasn't
sitting in a chair and instead standing on his own, though he was
leaning heavily against iron-bound crutches. Even the leg he'd not lost
had become weak in the time he'd spent without using it, so standing for
more than a few moments at a time was both tiring and painful to him.
Leaning on the crutches took the edge off that, though Masego had
ordered me not to let him do it for too long. Orc musculature was
different from that of humans, so doing this would actually begin
pinching a muscle in his armpit that humans didn't have.

``Princess Beatrice told me that about a century back they had to make
laws about not throwing filth and detritus into the Bassin Gris,'' I
idly added. ``It'd gotten so tainted the locals were calling it the
Brown Basin instead, so now there's a designated point for that near the
waterfall. All the sewer drains lead there as well.''

``\emph{See},'' Arthur Foundling smugly grinned at the other Named. ``I
told you-''

Adjutant cleared his throat again, which killed that in the crib, and
glanced at me reproachfully. I shrugged, unrepentant. Laure rats stuck
together, at least to the extent that wasn't going to get me killed. The
White Knight had rather frankly told me that there simply was no one in
a position to take the Squire as even an informal apprentice, at the
moment, so he saw no need to move the boy form his current placement.
For the moment at least. That'd been with the understanding that I
wasn't just going to put Arthur in a padded box somewhere into total
isolation from other Named, though, so I'd arranged to have him
introduced to a few people. Apprentice, whose given name I had recently
learned was Sapan, was one of them. On the heroic side, I'd also
presented him to both Roland and the Silver Huntress.

I wasn't going to pretend I'd not chosen those names and Names carefully
-- Apprentice both young and based far away, the Silver Huntress raised
by Ranger and uninterested in power games, the Rogue Sorcerer both
charismatic and opposed to certain aspects of traditional heroics -- but
I'd been careful never to actually hinder him in any way. I was well
aware of how badly that story could turn on me if I dipped my toe in it.
Apprentice was a peer in age and power, Roland was highly distinguished
as both a researcher and a combat mage as well as one of the most
broadly travelled of the heroes, the Silver Huntress was a frequent
leader of bands of five. All of these connections might one day be of
use, to a young man with ambitions to make a name for himself.

That they were also unlikely to be connections that came around to bite
either myself or my legacy in the ass was, of course, a mere fortunate
coincidence.

In the distance there were sudden flashes of light that caught
everyone's attention. They were coming from atop the butte on the side
of the plateau, a thick pillar of stone topped by a tall watchtower that
was best known by Hainaut folk as \emph{la Veilleuse.} The prelude to
our retaking of the capital had begun. A small mixed force led by Named
-- the White Knight, the Silent Guardian and the Vagrant Spear -- would
come out of the Twilight Ways, a frontline of Osena slayers brutally
scything through whatever dead held the place. In small, tight places
like the halls and stairs of a watchtower I'd seen few warriors more
deadly than Lady Aquiline's nimble pack of killers. Robber, who'd
skirmished at their side more than once, had admitted to me that even
goblins were wary of getting in close with that lot. The slayers were
unusually quick, for humans, and years of monster-hunting meant that
those with bad habits had already been thinned from the herd.

``Can I ask,'' the Squire hesitantly began, ``why we are bothering to
take the watchtower?''

I hesitated. Teaching that one anything would always carry risks, and as
long as he didn't have a formal mentor the risks were even sharper.

``I am curious as well,'' the Apprentice admitted. ``There are barely
any dead in there, I was made to understand. Should our efforts not be
concentrated on the gates?''

I decided, after a heartbeat, that shared curiosity diluted this to an
acceptable level.

``The gates are what we're aiming at by taking the \emph{Veilleuse},'' I
said. ``It's because of the way Hainaut was built.''

``There is only one way in and out of the city,'' Adjutant told them.
``The Ivory Gates, a set of seven great gates. When the city was still
inhabited they were each dedicated to allowing certain people in our out
-- one of the gates, the one in the middle, was even dedicated to solely
the Volignacs and those they favoured.''

``Very orderly,'' the Apprentice said, sounding pleasantly surprised.
``I'd heard of the Ivory Gates in my lessons, but the Rogue Sorcerer
never mentioned this.''

\emph{Ashurans}, I thought with distaste. I expected they wouldn't even
mind the Hells too much, if they were set up with proper citizenship
tiers and open for trade.

``The city was built with the expectation it would have to be held
against raids and armies,'' I said. ``So beyond the natural defences the
ancient Volignacs laboured on the land some. It used to be that the
slope going up to the walls and the gates was relatively even all
around, but over the years they dug a much steeper slope and left just a
broad ramp going up to the gates. Actually taking this city, when it's
being defended, is bloody work. I'm told the last time the Princes of
Arans tried to storm this place, the Volignacs just pushed great round
boulders over the walls and let Creation do the rest.''

Both young heroes winced at the thought. Yeah, even I had been impressed
by that particular historical anecdote. It was typical of the line,
apparently. House Volignac was noticeably poorer in coin and manpower
than all three of its neighbouring royal rivals, but it'd not lost a
significant amount of land to any of them in about a century. As far as
I could tell, they'd remained in power largely by being utterly savage
at anyone who crossed their borders while simultaneously marrying into
the royal houses that were enemies to their enemies.

``That's almost in the same league as Summerholm,'' the Squire said,
visibly impressed.

``No,'' I replied, shaking my head. ``It's significantly inferior, and
that's actually what got Princess Julienne Volignac -- Princess
Beatrice's sister and predecessor -- killed. Those gates and that path
are the \emph{only} way in and out of the city. So when the dead broke
the Iron Prince's defensive line up north and poured into the central
valley, the city was a nightmare to evacuate.''

Hainaut city wasn't that large by Proceran standards, maybe sixty to
seventy thousand people, but that was a \emph{lot} of scared civilians
wanting to keep their earthly possessions going through the same cramped
streets to reach the same seven measly gates. The way Klaus Papenheim
told it, at the height of the panic it had taken literal days to get a
cart from the centre of the city to the Ivory Gates. People had slept in
the streets instead of their homes so no one would take their place
while they were gone.

``Julienne Volignac rode out with most of her mounted retinue to buy
enough time for her people to flee,'' Adjutant soberly said. ``Not a
single horseman from that charge returned.''

That put a bit of pall on the mood, so I moved on quickly.

``Essentially, going up that ramp and taking the gates from Keter would
be a messy business,'' I said. ``The moment our presence was revealed,
the dead moved most of their garrison to defend those gates and the
plaza behind them. While we \emph{could} use the Ways to enter the city
directly, the Dead King has proved in the past that he's capable of
putting a temporary lock on gating in the region so it'd be a risk -- it
could close after our vanguard got through and then the troops would be
stuck in the middle of an enemy-held city.''

``I still do not see the use of taking the watchtower,'' the Apprentice
admitted.

``The upper half of the tower,'' I told her, ``is significantly higher
than the rest of the capital.''

Arthur Foundling started.

``Engines,'' he said. ``You had siege engines moved in through the Ways
as well as the soldiers.''

I smiled. Clever boy.

``Before long our sappers will have them in place and we will be able to
begin firing,'' I confirmed. ``Straight into the undead so very tightly
packed into the plaza right behind the gates.''

The enemy had meant to make that place into a meat grinder that it would
cost us dearly to clear, focusing on causing damage to our army rather
than defending the city properly since the garrison the Dead King had
left in here was simply too small to hold it against us. We'd been
disinclined to allow that, though the watchtower tactic had actually
been suggested by Lady Aquiline. Girl had a knack for sliding the knife
in where it hurt, couldn't deny that. Dominion leadership was coming
along nicely in some ways, and I suspected that after all this should
some Arlesite princes try their hand at a border war with Levant they
would be in for a rude awakening. The Blood hadn't stayed in charge of
Levant as long as it had by being slow to learn lessons.

``What happens if they then retreat into the city itself?'' the
Apprentice asked. ``Would it not be hard fighting to clear the capital
street by street?''

``To some extent, but less than you believe,'' Hakram told her. ``If
they abandon the Ivory Gates then we will take them, and the moment we
do sending soldiers into the city through gates is no longer as risky.''

``Ah,'' the Apprentice murmured. ``Because even if the ritual lock is
deployed, the forces in the city will be able to reinforce the vanguard
by foot.''

I nodded in approval. That was pretty much it. If the enemy dug in
further into the city, using street barricades and ambushes, we could
essentially overturn that entire set of tactic by gating in soldier
behind the chokepoints they were trying to hold against us and striking
at them from the back.

``It seems like a flawless strategy,'' the Squire admitted.

I winced.

``Don't say that,'' I said, and he jumped in surprise. ``\emph{Never}
say that.''

``I\ldots{} apologize, Your Majesty?'' he tried.

``There's no surer way to get Fate to piss on your plans than calling
them infallible,'' I sharply said. ``I once saw the Tyrant of Helike tip
a winning fight the other way just by boasting about how godsdamned
invincible he was.''

The little bastard had done it on purpose, but the point stood.

``Same goes for you,'' I told the Apprentice, tone softening. ``You lot
won't get your knuckles rapped as immediately as a villain making the
same boast would, but there's a reason that most heroes are intimately
familiar with the concept of tragic irony.''

They both mumbled chastened agreements, and for a moment the entire
situation felt like some sort of fever dream I'd stumbled into. Hakram,
ever a prince among men, delivered me from that unsettling sensation.

``We're due for a show soon, so I'd keep your eyes on the sky,''
Adjutant gravelled. ``Our ram is about to strike.''

I cocked my head to the side, taking a sniff from the air, and nodded in
agreement. Yeah, I could feel it too. Like a storm in the making.

``I'd not heard about the Volignac men taking siege weapons with them,''
Arthur said, sounding surprised. ``The opposite, in fact. The sappers
were vocally disapproving.''

Which usually meant insulting deeply limericks, if they were feeling
nice.

``While I mean no insult to the siegecraft of the Army of Callow, rams
and trebuchets won't dent a structure enchanted the way the Ivory Gates
were,'' the Apprentice said. ``I am told the foundational enchantments
were laid by the famous wizard Yvon de Grandpré himself. The gates were
made beyond decay and strength of arms, Your Majesty, so mere engines
could do nothing.''

She paused.

``Unless the Rogue Sorcerer is sent out,'' Sapan added. ``He \emph{is} a
noted spellbreaker.''

``The enchantments don't actually make the gate unbreakable,
Apprentice,'' I noted.

In the abstract, according to Trismegistan principles it was possible to
achieve but the degree of power and precision required would be
impossible. Akua had noted that `physical invincibility', as she had
termed it, would require an empire's worth of sorcery simply to empower
a handkerchief. And that was just the formula itself, never touching the
trickier issue of materials: almost every substance known to us would
shatter under that kind of strain, or some cases be outright
disintegrated. And while Jaquinite magic did work in some wonky and
counter-intuitive ways -- it was godsdamned ridiculous that imitating
the cadence and syllables of certain passages of the Book of All Things
should empower and stabilize a spell -- its fundamental limits weren't
actually too different from those of Trismegistan sorcery.

``There's protections against entropies -- rust, erosion, rot -- and the
centrepiece is the famous `dual enchantment' that made Yvon famous,'' I
said.

Famous mostly to avid scholars of magic, but I did have a distressing
amount of those in my circle of closest friends.

``The strengthening of material and the reflection of force,''
Apprentice admiringly said.

Basically what good ol' Yvon whatshisname had done was he'd made the
gates and surrounding stonework denser than those materials actually
were, which in practice made them much tougher. But that wouldn't be
enough to actually stop something like, say, a wyrm if the construct
decided it \emph{really} wanted to go through those gates. So another
enchantment, bound to the other one -- that was the impressive part,
supposedly, since it ensured that since the magics were linked they'd
never clash and erode at each other -- had been laid that reflected
physical impacts when they struck at the Ivory Gates. There was a hard
limit to how much power could be reflected, but it's still been very
clever: a trebuchet stone tossed at the Ivory Gates would actually lose
a lot of its momentum from the reflection, so it wouldn't be powerful
enough to dense the denser materials.

It also gave a pale sheen to the materials when they were touched by
light at certain angles, which had earned them the eventual name of
`Ivory Gates'.

Masego had noted the pairing to be quite clever, allowing the
enchantments to effectively replicate the effects of much stronger
spells for significantly less power expended -- meaning there'd be a lot
less decay in the magic over the years. The enchantments would have
faded some over the years, of course, that was their nature. It was why
both Praesi and my people usually preferred wards when it came to
permanent defences. Wards were a set boundary forcing certain properties
onto Creation and requiring a physical anchor, but they were also
static. So long as the anchor was undamaged, any idiot with magic could
add magic into the wards to keep them going. Enchantments, on the other
hand, were an investment of sorcery into matter to achieve specific
properties. Eventually that initial investment of sorcery would fade,
and while the enchantment could be restored by another mage it was kind
of like repainting a faded painting.

Unless you had a mage of similar or superior talent who understood
exactly how that initial enchantment worked and what it meant to do,
then there were going to be imprecisions and those were going to keep
accumulating and diluting the original effect.

``Yup,'' I said. ``We figure that since it's been about two hundred
years since those enchantments were laid there's got to be at least six
to ten major imprecisions from patch-up jobs by other wizards. Most of
those are bound to be centred about the `reflection' enchantment, since
it's the most abstract and difficult of the two.''

``You lost me some time back, Your Majesty,'' the Squire admitted.

Fair enough. At his age I'd not more or less fuck all about magic too.
The wind began to pick up around us, as far away in the distant sky red
eddies of power rippled. Among them I could seen a faint dot around
which the eddies were concentrated.

``There we go,'' I said, pointing at the dot. ``Here's our ram.''

``Nothing that small could break the gates,'' the Apprentice skeptically
said.

The Squire laughed.

``I'd heard about this,'' Arthur Foundling said. ``But I didn't actually
think it was true.''

The heroine shot him an irritated look and I took pity on her.

``It's not a thing,'' I said. ``It's a person.

She started in surprise.

``That's insane, who could actually-''

The eddied of pulsing red contracted, spinning on themselves, and with a
deafening detonation the Mirror Knight was shot down at the Ivory Gates
at a speed that would have been enough to shred most Named to pieces.
Unfortunately we didn't have a great angle from where we stood, so we
didn't get to see him hit the gates, but there was a heartbeat of
silence and then a detonation even louder than the last as all seven of
the Ivory Gates went up in a cloud of stone and smoke and power.

``What?'' Sapan croaked out. ``\emph{What?''}

``The Mirror Knight has an aspect related to reflection,'' I mildly
said. ``So when that nifty little enchantment reflects force outwards,
it just goes right back.''

``That was enough for an explosion?'' the Squire asked, impressed.

``Aspects are finicky creatures, as you will learn,'' Adjutant
gravelled. ``In this case, after study the Grey Pilgrim determined that
not only does the aspect slightly raises force before reflecting it but,
by one of those caprices of Names, it counts every `threat'
individually.''

We'd lost Arthur again, but the young girl gasped.

``Yeah,'' I coldly smiled. ``So each of those patch-up jobs tacked onto
that original reflection enchantment counted like a different `threat'
to reflect, and since they all drew on the same investment of power the
Mirror Knight ended up hitting maybe six seven times harder than he
should have because of that heartbeat of reflection games. Comparable to
being hit by a mountain in the shape of a man, I'm told.''

So Christophe de Pavanie had shredded the enchantment trying to contain
him with that excess of force, which in turn had unwoven the enchantment
that was bound to that reflection enchantment -- the density one. With
that suddenly coming loose, massive force and a bunch of sorcery
bursting out the results were the plume of smoke and gravel going the
better part of a mile upwards.

``That's really neat,'' the Squire said.

``And completely \emph{insane},'' the Apprentice heatedly added.

``Look, over the years a lot of people are going to tell you that
\emph{something} always wins,'' I said. ``Power, cleverness, brute
strength, preparations. And it's all bullshit.''

I jutted a thumb at the desolation we'd dealt in about the time it took
to boil a kettle of water.

``That looks like the work of two Named,'' I said, ``but that's all it
is, a look. It took half a dozen people to achieve that. The Mirror
Knight and the Witch of the Woods went through the fact, but behind
that? It was the Pilgrim that figured out the peculiarities of the
aspect. It was the Rogue Sorcerer that was familiar with the
enchantments, and the Hierophant that ran the numbers so we were sure
that the gates would be smashed without it killing the Mirror Knight.
And it's not just Named, either.''

I leaned forward.

``Princess Beatrice was the one who was able to tell us how many times
the enchantments would have gotten worked on, and how good the wizards
paid for would have been,'' I said. ``Without that, the rest was just
air.''

``So what \emph{does} win?'' Arthur Foundling quietly asked.

``Nothing,'' I said. ``There is no single thing that gets you there,
Squire. No one has the skills to do it all on their own -- even my
teacher, a man who spent his entire life learning how to twist and turn
stories, got his heart ripped out in the Free Cities because he was
facing someone who just\ldots{} knew more. You want to know what the
trick is?''

I shrugged.

``Don't do it alone.''

I gestured at the smoke again.

``See, maybe I could have battered down those gates using Night,'' I
said, ``and maybe the Witch of the Woods could have ripped them off the
ground, tossed them up in the sky. Maybe the White Knight could have
carved his way through with Light, or the Rogue Sorcerer broken the
enchantments and so an assault could follow. All of those answers,
though, would have cost us in some way.''

I forced myself to refocus on the pair instead of simply the orphan
watching me as if spellbound, the Ashuran mage studying me closely as
well.

``So instead half a dozen people sat down, kids,'' I told them, ``and
talked. Shared skills, shared powers, shared knowledge. And then we
smashed those fucking gates without losing a single soldier.''

I let that sink in for a moment.

``It's a big world,'' I said. ``There's more than one pair of shoulders
keeping it from falling. You don't have to do it all alone.''

In the distance, a banner rose. A golden griffin rampant on blue,
crowned by three golden daffodils. And under the ancient banner of House
Volignac boots hit the ground at the bottom of the ramp leading up to
the smoking gates, the men and women who'd fled this place with bitter
tears three years ago returning to the city they had lost.

Swords cleared scabbards, glimmering under the sun, and with a roar the
last soldiers of Hainaut came home.

---

We held the city by midafternoon.

There were still undead in hiding, waiting to serve as spies and inside
forces when the Dead King came to besiege us, but the streets were ours
and we were combing the capital for the infiltrators house by house.
When it'd became clear the fight was over the dead had turned to
sabotage, lighting fires and fouling the Bassin Gris, but it'd been
nothing unexpected. There'd been fires when the capital was first taken,
so the most flammable of the neighbourhoods had already gone up in
flames and the humid summer air meant it was not easy for the arson to
spread. As for the great pool of water, we'd put our mages to purifying
it under Hierophant and already there'd been measurable success. With
constant rotations of mages for the ritual, Zeze was confident that by
dawn the pool would be fully restored.

Princess Beatrice gallantly offered to cede me the right to live in the
ancient palace of her house, as I was the highest ranking noble and
officer in the city, but I declined. I'd rather let her savour the
comeback, and besides the place was too large for my comfort. I'd rather
a smaller, more easily defensible place I could cover in layers of
wards. I put Robber on the task, shaking him loose from Pickler -- who
was designing a replacement for the Ivory Gates with Akua and Roland as
designated magical specialists -- and was rather pleased with what he
found me. It was a large guildhouse for what had been a guild of
cheesemongers, with a small adjoining estate and two side wings.
Well-located, in the southeast of the city but not too close or too far
from the water.

Adjutant had begun rustling up mages to install wards and organizing
guard watches before Robber even told me of the place, so I left it in
his hands and instead headed to the open plaza that Princess Beatrice
had suggested as the most fitting location for a Twilight Gate being
raised. It'd been a good pick, exactly as the princess had described:
Althazac Square was large and about as square-like as the name claimed.
More importantly, it was located at the confluence of four major
avenues, including the great street that circled through most of the
capital like an unfinished ring. Supply wagons would be able to flow in
without getting stuck in sidestreets. I sent a runner to give me
agreement to the location, hoping the Blessed Artificer would be as up
to it as she believed she would be.

I'd wanted Roland to be the one opening a gate, but he'd been quite firm
in declining. Something about his talents being poorly suited to it.
He'd seemed genuinely worried about the outcome, so I'd let it go.
Masego and I had already forged a gate together and the Ways got\ldots{}
snippy when you tried to do it more than once, so like it or not Adanna
of Smyrna was our best bet. I sent for her and we were discussing how
long it would take her to begin the attempt -- apparently a lot less
than anticipated if healing priests and the Pilgrim leant a hand -- when
warning horns were sounded from the very same watchtower we'd taken that
morning. An army approaching, it meant. I left the Artificer to it and
saddled my horse, riding for the closest rampart and intercepting a
report on my way. It was not an enemy army, I learned, but a surprise
nonetheless. The Fourth Army, which should be at the Cigelin Sisters
right now, had emerged from the Twilight Ways and was now approaching at
a brisk pace.

That much was already unexpected, but even more so a particular detail I
picked out after limping my way to the edge of the rampart. There was a
banner flying above the advancing vanguard of the Fourth that I knew
well, for it was my own -- the Sword and Crown. That was not unusual, as
every host within the Army of Callow had received one such standard when
first founded. This wasn't a standard, though, but a formal banner.

Aside from me there was exactly one person alive that had the right to
fly it, and her name was Vivienne Dartwick.

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