\hypertarget{chapter-75-desolation}{%
\section{Chapter 75: Desolation}\label{chapter-75-desolation}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``My dear Chancellor, I am most disappointed in you. If she
escapes the crocodiles before the rope snaps, then of course she will go
free. What does it matter, that she will oppose us again? Only the
fearful insist on winning every game of shatranj they play.''}

-- Dread Emperor Malevolent I, the Unhallowed
\end{quote}

I didn't know which part should rightfully be considered the miracle:
that we'd managed to cram this many Named into one hall, or that a brawl
had yet to ensue.

``Some among us call them the Scourges,'' the White Knight said.

The tone had been calm, unhurried, but the words alone were enough to
kill every whisper in the ruined basilica where we'd gathered. There
were nearly thirty Named were here -- twenty-seven, if you counted my
own coalescing claim -- but Hanno had the undivided attention of every
last one. Revenants were never pleasant surprises on the battlefield,
but most people here had run into one of the Scourges at some point.
Some had walked away with scars or dead friends, and even those who'd
gotten lucky to be spared either now knew better than to believe the
Dead King was without champions of his own.

``That is not without meaning,'' Hanno of Arwad said. ``You all
understand, as few ever do, that names have power. That they bind us to
Creation and bind it in return.''

The dead had not been kind to the Basilica of Perceval Martyred.
Neshamah had made sure that no holy grounds remained in the capital
after taking it, and it would take long before the priests were able to
consecrate this place again. The defilement had been\ldots{} thorough.
Dust, soot and ash now painted once-pale walls, and there was hardly a
single pane of tainted glass that'd not been shattered. An entire hunk
of wall had been ripped out to the side, reduced to rubble, and the
front gates were unusable from the bell tower that'd been smashed down
against them. Even the ceiling had not been spared, some kind of great
horn piercing at it, and so sunlight came down in dusty rays on the tall
terrace where the White Knight stood.

Below the rest of our Named were gathered in small gaggles in gangs,
keeping to circles of their owns even within the greater allegiance to
Above or Below -- however loose it might be -- and seated on the same
ornate stone benches where the mighty and wealthy of the city of Hainaut
had once sat to be lectured by priests now long dead. I stood above on
the terrace as well, leaning against a sloping arch with my staff of
dead yew resting against my shoulder, but I liked the coolness of the
shade better. I'd looked like a right idiot if I had to pull down my
hood because the sun was getting in my eyes, and I could only be amazed
by the way that the White Knight could stand in a sunbeam and apparently
not mind in the slightest.

Truly, his powers were beyond the reckoning of mere mortal such as
myself. Hanno glanced at me, either smelling out the sarcasm or to
indicate I should pick up where he'd left off. We'd not planned this out
in great detail, but it was true in a way I had more experience with
this part than he did. I pushed off from the arch, limping to the edge
of the terrace.

``Naming them gave them weight,'' I said. ``Part of that was in your
minds, holding up as something to be dreaded or fought, but what truly
matters is the weight it gave them on Creation. A Revenant belonging to
their number is no longer simply one of the Dead King's stolen corpses,
it is now a \emph{Scourge}.''

I let the word ripple out, enjoying the way it reverberated in the hall
even now that there was a gaping hole in the wall. Say what you would
about Alamans, they knew how to build temples.

``That story will be as wind in their sail,'' I said. ``They'll be
harder to destroy because of it, a little luckier and a little sharper.
More than that, they'll find it easier to kill \emph{you}.''

No one argued with what I'd said but I found some faces growing blank
or, for the less practiced, outright skeptical. Mostly on the heroic
side, as my lot rarely needed much convincing that the world was out to
get them, but the Berserker and the Headhunter stood out in their
almost-derision. Irritated, I struck at the stone with my staff once and
let the clap jolt half of them.

``Don't be fools,'' I said, tone grown sharp. ``You think you survive
falling off cliffs and make it through blood-curling curses because
you're just \emph{that good}? As Named we are not only subject to the
common rules of Creation, but those of our kind as well. Sometimes that
is a shield, but if you act like a strutting boy it will bury you.''

I swept the crowd with a look and this time found a more receptive
audience. Good. I wasn't going to tolerate our losing Named just because
the world had not yet gotten around to beating some measure of humility
into their bones.

``If we raise the Scourges above our other foes, as we have, then
Creation will follow,'' I said. ``And the least of the ways they'll be
raised is in the way that all those little fortunate turns, all those
coincidences in your favours? They're gone. `The Scourges can kill
Named'. That is the very bedrock of the story we made about them.''

I flicked a glance at Hanno, who took back the torch, and retreated back
to my more comfortable nook as he stepped into the light again.

``Yet we can kill them as well,'' the White Knight calmly said. ``Names,
Bestowals, Choosings -- however you would call what we are, it is a
nature that thrives when overcoming adversity. All that the Scourges
represent is an adversity to overcome.''

I almost cursed, since that kind of `life is a trial we are destined to
win' attitude being reinforced by the fucking Sword of Judgement was the
last thing we needed before this scrap, but I was pleasantly surprised
after a moment.

``Make no mistake,'' Hanno continued, ``the Black Queen did not
misspeak. Fail to heed her warnings not only at your own peril but at
that of everyone here, and millions more across Calernia. Yet in raising
our opposition higher, we have also given ourselves deeds to strive
for.''

He smiled, face serene.

``Great foes are overcome,'' the White Knight told them. ``That is the
shape of such stories.''

Well, that or you died. I could see how that wouldn't be the greatest
speech to give on the eve of battle, though, so I'd let it slide. I
stayed back and let him keep at it a while longer. We'd already tended
to the few complaints under the Terms there'd been, which for once
hadn't mostly been backbiting between his folk and mine. My armies
hadn't been the only one to enjoy a night of drinking and festivities,
after the Fourth arrived, and in the drunken celebration that'd ensued a
great deal of\ldots{} indecorous behaviour had ensued. It was worth
hearing them out just for the petty pleasure I'd felt at Hanno making
the Page admit that the `desecration of his affairs' he was talking
about was some drunk Volignac trooper taking a piss on his saddlebags.
The mood had been pretty lighthearted, even through the inevitable
amount of sniping that ensued when Named were forced to sit in the same
hall, but moving on to the meat of the reason we were here had doused
that. Revenants were rarely a laughing matter, and the Scourges never.

``- by joining the combat and eyesight reports, we have determined which
of them are likely to be participate in the coming battle for Hainaut,''
Hanno said, then paused. ``Our thanks to the Adjutant for this work, as
it was him who saw to the work and found signs of the Tumult having
operated on the outskirts of Prince Klaus' column.''

There were some murmurs of appreciation, several grudging, and stone
silence from others. I drummed my fingers against the side of my staff,
committing those faces to memory. One of them had me sneering: like I'd
needed \emph{more} of a reason to dislike the Valiant Champion.

``So how many are we in for?'' Roland asked.

``Eight,'' the White Knight calmly said.

Yeah, that did little to raise spirits. Each of those Revenants were
dangerous on their own, but several became significantly worse when they
were paired with proper allies -- the Hawk and the Mantle in particular.
The Berserker let out a low whistle and grinned.

``Eight out of ten,'' she said. ``Keter \emph{really} wants us dead,
looks like.''

``Eight out of nine,'' I corrected, pushing off the arch. ``The
Firstborn got the Stitcher up north.''

That was well received. The Tumult was more of a danger, practically
speaking, but the Stitcher's tendency to turn up in a dragon's worth of
animated dead bodies was more of a horror to behold than the Tumult's
own preference for tossing storms at soldiers.

``The Seelie is missing,'' the White Knight said, ``but we believe her
to out east, leading the assault against Princess Rozala Malanza. Every
other known Scourge has been encountered by one of our columns as they
advanced, and they should all be within marching of when we believe the
battle in Hainaut will happen.''

I smiled, beginning to methodically stuff my dragonbone pipe with a
packet of wakeleaf.

``So now we talk about the pleasant end of the business,'' I idly said.
``Namely, how we're going to destroy them all.''

Even coming from the -- former, thank you Cordelia -- Arch-heretic of
the East, that won some cheers both sides of the gallery. Hanno picked
up the thread as I passed my palm over the bowl, lighting the leaf with
a small flicker of flame, and I breathed in the smoke with a small
pleased sigh.

``We have some knowledge of the abilities of all eight, and will speak
of them in order,'' the White Knight said. ``Beginning with the
Wolfhound.''

There was a beat of silence, then I cleared my throat.

``Hierophant,'' I prompted.

Masego started, as if surprised. My eyes narrowed and I threaded small
tendrils of shadows along the arches going up the ceiling. He'd not had
an open book in hand, no, but looking at it from above\ldots{} that
sneaky little shit. Three rows back there was an open book in Mthethwa,
which I was pretty sure he'd been turning the pages of discreetly with
wrested magic. He'd been using the clairvoyance of the glass eyes to
look through the back his own head and the rest of the things in the
way, reading without even giving a visible hint. I gave him a look
making it clear we'd be having words about this later even as Indrani,
seated at his side, snickered in amusement at his expense. She did deign
to tell him whose likeness had been asked for, at least, and Zeze had an
illusion of the Wolfhound up in the blink of an eye.

It was pretty obvious why the Revenant had earned that sobriquet: a
sculpted helmet of iron in the shape of that animals head had been its
signature since its first appearance, though he also seemed to prefer
using a sword a board when it had the choice. Armoured from head to toe,
the Wolfhound's face had never been seen, though he'd spoken with Named
on occasion.

``Most of you will have encountered the Wolfhound at some point,'' Hanno
said. ``He is, by our reckoning, the Scourge with the fewest deaths --
Named or not -- to his name. That is because he is rarely out alone.''

``He's a bodyguard,'' I bluntly said. ``And one of the better Revenants
when it comes at taking a blow. He seems able to see through illusions
and able to partly shrug off aspects. As I understand it, the Mirror
Knight experience this firsthand.''

Christophe the Pavanie, seated near the back of the heroic side and with
only Tariq sharing his bench, looked surprised to have been called on.

``I did,'' he replied. ``We've clashed\ldots{} six times, now? One of my
aspects allows me to reflect the blows of my enemies, to turn them back,
but it did not affect him the way it should have. The strength was
weakened before it touched him.''

``It has been the same with magic,'' the White Knight added. ``He is not
immune to spells, but they do seem to weaken when turned on him.''

``Weaknesses?'' Roland called out.

``We haven't found any,'' I admitted. ``He doesn't seem to have any
great offensive talents, but when it comes to the defensive he doesn't
seem to have any great flaw. It's why we usually see him partnered with
another Scourge, they're expected to be handling that aspect.''

``The Twilight Ways would destroy him,'' the Grey Pilgrim said.

I nodded.

``They would,'' Hanno agreed. ``For those of you who are able to open
gates, it is a valid tactic. Still, as with all Revenants I would warn
you of mobility -- even the slow are quicker than they seem, and they
appear to be able to feel the forming of a gate into Twilight.''

Which did make an unfortunate amount of sense. Creation liked balance:
the Ways were deadly to Revenants, so the Revenants could smell them
out. I would have appreciated the Gods suspending that rule until the
lives of everyone on Calernia were no longer on the line, but deities
did tend to be inconsiderate shits. Except for my own splendid and
flawless patronesses, of course. I felt Andronike's unamused touch brush
against my mind, the divine equivalent of a half-hearted glare.

``We do have some other talents we believe would go through his
defences,'' I said. ``Among them, the Rapacious Bard is capable of
affecting souls. That should ignore the protection.''

``Overwhelming physical strength works as well,'' Hanno said, a tad
drily.

Between the Berserker, the Champion and the Mirror Knight we had that
covered.

``The partner is usually the trouble,'' the Barrow Sword pointed out.
``Whoever runs into him needs to expect a hard knifing.''

``Colourfully put,'' Hanno said, ``but essentially true. So far we have
seen him paired with the Hawk-''

I saw the Mirror Knight winced, as if still hurting, and Archer smile
unpleasantly. She'd not liked that the Hawk had gotten to escape from
their duel in the slightest.

``- the Mantle and the Varlet,'' Hanno finished. ``We should not dismiss
other possibilities, but Keter does tend to favour certain sets of
tactics.''

I pulled at my pipe, blowing smoke upwards. The White Knight was right.
It was, I suspected, because Neshamah was undead. He couldn't really
\emph{learn} anymore, even when infusing himself with the knowledge of
his latest acquisitions. So instead he let his Revenants find approaches
that work and then used his wits to make openings for that knife instead
-- a skill he'd mastered while still alive.

``We burned two aspects of the Varlet's at Maillac's Boot,'' I
announced. ``So I won't count them out, but they're got a lot less of a
bite now.''

``It's the sneaking aspect that's left,'' Indrani said. ``So watch for
daggers in the back, it's what it has left.''

It was a spirited decision that ensued, moving through one Scourge after
another. The Hawk, deadly at range and harbouring an aspect we believed
have her the simple ability to `kill'. It was why her arrows, even
though often made up of mundane material, could wound even someone like
the Mirror Knight: there was nothing that she could not, in principle,
kill. She was weak up close, though, and tended to leg it when Named
closed range. The Drake, though very difficult to kill by most
villainous means, fared poorly against Light and Tariq had teased out of
him at Maillac's Boot what we believed to be his last survival trick.
The Mantle shared the weakness against Light, at least great quantities
of it, but was capable of hamstringing practitioners the same way she
did me.

The Tumult -- or Archmage, as heroes insisted -- was a spellcaster on
par with both Masego and the Witch of the Woods, meaning if we didn't
want casualties to start shooting up the moment it showed up we needed
to field either against it immediately. Its fondness for using storms
and weather meant most of our fighters struggled to close range. Indrani
couldn't do shit to him even using \textbf{See} to aim. The Axeman, as
they called the Pale Knight, hadn't been encountered frequently save by
those who'd served in the Cleves front. While he was just as
frustratingly hard to scratch for everyone as I'd found him, the
Headhunter pointed out that the way he'd always avoided the Myrmidon and
the Red Knight in fights meant he must have some weakness to his armour.
The Mirror Knight noted he seemed to often serve as leader among not
only Revenants but the lesser dead, a tactician as much as champion.
There was little to say on the Varlet, save that not even our finest
wards seemed entirely capable of stopping its sneaking about, which left
us with only one left.

The Prince of Bones.

``Light can make a dent,'' Hanno said. ``Though only so much.''

His stance had loosened over the length of the conversation, first going
from calm to easy and then all the way to him sitting at the edge of the
terrasse. I was, myself, leaning against a half-broken stone pulpit and
pulling at my second packet of wakeleaf.

``He can close Twilight Gate, if they are still forming,'' the Witch of
the Woods flatly said.

I cocked a brow. She'd not taken off her painted clay mask, but I
gathered that under it she was frowning.

``Mine as well,'' the Pilgrim agreed. ``Though not quickly, and it can
be fought.''

``Sorcery doesn't work either,'' the Harrowed Witch volunteered. ``Mine,
anyways. I can dent if I put my full strength into the spell, but think
we'd have to strip him layer by layer to get anywhere.''

I didn't seen an obvious solution to the Prince of Bones either, to be
honest. The illusion of him Masego was providing made it clear why: we
were dealing with, essentially a corpse encased in what had to be a few
hundred pounds of steel. It looked like armour, but it wasn't. Just
layers upon layers of metal, moved by the necromancy buried safely deep
within. Worse, that steel was layered with enchantments and whatever
devilries the Dead King could muster. Running away wasn't usually an
issue, the Prince was slow on the move, but when you \emph{couldn't}
run? Even the Pilgrim hadn't been able to put him down, and the man had
a Choir whispering tricks in his ear.

``The Firstborn tell me it's essentially the same with Night,'' I
offered up, having never fought him myself. ``And he usually sticks with
the Grey Legion, so he won't be easy to pick off.''

``We just need to crush him head on,'' the Berserker insisted.

``Crush what, solid steel?'' the Barrow Sword mocked. ``No, what we need
is the right blade.''

A few looks were flicked the Mirror Knight's way. The Severance hadn't
been a secret since the incident at the Arsenal.

``We mean to use it for the Dead King alone,'' the White Knight said,
``lest he find a way to overcome its edge.''

``If it comes to that, we've been able to bury him before,'' I said.
``The Witch of the Woods has done it. It's not a killing stroke, but we
can keep him out of our hair long enough for enough Named to gather
\emph{something} will stick.''

It wasn't the most confidence-instilling of suggestions, but at the
moment it might genuinely be the best we got. And, to be honest, if we
could deal with the Grey Legion for good the Prince would be much less
of a threat. I pointed out as much, which Tariq backed to the hilt.

``Alone he is a slow, lumbering monster,'' the Grey Pilgrim said. ``Much
of his power comes from his legion -- the Hashmallim believe some of his
Bestowal is invested in his soldiers, and that they in turn empower
him.''

``If it comes to that,'' I finally said, ``I'll authorize the last of
our goblinfire to be used.''

That cheered some but other less. Not only because the green flames were
notoriously prone to spreading out of control but also, I realized in a
startling moment, because some of the people here believed the Prince
would actually survive the fires. Most of them had never encountered the
substance, I reminded myself, but I still found myself shaken by the
skepticism. The conversation stretched out for another hour, mostly when
Named were willing to share particular talents that made them
well-fitted to fighting one of the Scourges, but eventually we called
the council at an end. I kept Ishaq back, as the Barrow Sword had
essentially been confirmed as my lieutenant among villains when I kept
bringing him to war councils, while Hanno was instead accompanied by the
Pilgrim.

``Some bands seem like natural fits,'' the White Knight said.

``Agreed,'' I grunted. ``Troubadour, Summoner and Guardian?''

The Silent Guardian had signed that she believed she'd be able to handle
the Wolfhound, due to an aspect of hers, so the Summoner for mobility
and the Troubadour for the killing stroke were the obvious additions.

``Either Huntress or Sidonia with them,'' Hanno replied, nodding in
assent.

``Huntress,'' I said. ``I know for a fact she's not only competent at
range but trained herself in tactics against archers.''

By which I really meant Archer, but it'd work against the Hawk as well
and she could imbue her arrows with Light so that'd be trouble for
Mantle too.

``The Young Slayer with them,'' Tariq suggested.

I cocked a brow, but Ishaq was stroking his beard in agreement.

``As a spotter and a skirmisher both, the boy has talent,'' the Barrow
Sword said. ``If you desire the Huntress to be one of the strikers, then
you need a replacement.''

I glanced at Hanno, who after a moment nodded.

``Sold,'' I said. ``Mirror Knight for the Prince of Bones?''

``There's no one else who would be able to take a hit from him,'' the
White Knight replied. ``Who to pair him with is the issue. I would argue
against a full band here.''

The Barrow Sword, I saw, was watching us both like a starving hound
being shown into a larder. \emph{Why?} After a moment I realized that
even as I thought the question, Ishaq had asked it out loud.

``Because Hanno doesn't think we can kill the Prince of Bones,'' I said,
``which means investing a full band there would be a waste. A partner,
though, is pretty much a precaution to keep the Mirror Knight alive.''

``I do not understand what makes him different from the Wolfhound,'' the
Barrow Sword slowly said, ``save perhaps greater strength.''

``The Prince of Bones is a hammer,'' Tariq calmly said. ``We can dull
the blow, but it will fall. The Wolfhound, and whoever will accompany
him, are blades we can break.''

``It's going to go the usual,'' I explained. ``You know, the beats -- we
win, we lose, we win again. Only with Wolfhound and partner, like Tariq
said we have a good change of rolling those two Scourges up outright.
Kill them clean. We don't have that with the Prince. Instead we use
those beats to pull out the Mirror Knight when this goes south on him,
and we just need a partner for that. Not a full band.''

The Barrow Sword looked at us, smiling in glee and yet somehow almost
frightened.

``Is it always like this?'' Ishaq asked. ``Battles between Bestowed.
Like\ldots{} shatranj for the mad, with half the rules unknown and the
rest shifting?''

I cocked my head to the side. In my experience?

``Yeah, pretty much,'' I shrugged.

I turned when the heroes chuckled, met with almost fond looks.

``The Black Queen has sharpened herself against exceptional opponents,''
the Pilgrim said. ``I have known few Bestowed, either by Above or Below,
whose knack for stratagems was stronger.''

The Barrow Sword had the gall to look kind of relieved, the shit.

``If this practice is to be considered an art,'' the White Knight said,
``in all humility you might be considered to stand before some of its
finest living practitioners.''

Compared to the Intercessor we were all rather lacking, but then I
supposed that was rather his point. I cleared my throat.

``I was thinking Stalwart Apostle,'' I said. ``I'm told she's worked
with him before, and though she's hardly a veteran-''

``I must disagree,'' Hanno said.

``Indeed,'' the Pilgrim said. ``Christophe is a remarkably enduring
young man, but the foe is not one to underestimate. The Forsworn Healer
would be a more appropriate partner.''

``That leaves \emph{you} as our primary healer, Tariq,'' I said. ``Which
is a fucking waste, considering your striking power.''

``More lives will be saved by your hand red than pale, Peregrine,'' the
Barrow Sword said.

There was a challenge in the tone, but Tariq seemed disinclined to
address it.

``We can revisit,'' the White Knight said, correctly ascertaining I
wasn't convinced. ``For the Axeman -- the Pale Knight, if you insist,
though we seem to have a profusion of knighthoods these days -- the
Headhunter and Vagrant Spear seem like our finest foot forward.''

I mulled that. The Headhunter knew their way around fighting the Pale
Knight, and Sidonia had a knack for killing things she shouldn't be able
to. Neither were good at taking hits though.

``Needs muscle,'' I said. ``Berserker?''

``I had thought to leave them a pair,'' Hanno admitted. ``If we use
bands to go aggressively after the weaker elements at first\ldots{}''

``That's a recipe for bodies on the floor,'' I grunted. ``Two pair
against two of the Dead King's heavies? We're losing at least one of
those for sure.''

``The Hierophant against the Archmage seems a match all can agree on, at
least,'' Tariq stepped in.

I inclined my head to the side.

``I was considering going after them with the full Woe, actually,'' I
said.

``Not Lady Dartwick, surely?'' the Pilgrim asked.

``No,'' I said, ``we'd need muscle instead. I have candidates.''

One was by my side, but the downside to taking Ishaq was that he was a
natural captain: he'd be a lot more useful as the head of a band of
five. That left two other options, each hard to swallow for different
reasons. The Valiant Champion was honestly probably the finest shield
left, with both the Guardian and the Mirror Knight already assigned. I
just happened to despise her. And the other was, well, the Squire.
Between Arthur and Indrani we'd be able to hold a line up close if we
had to, while Zeze and I could slug it out with the likes of the
Archmage without missing a step. The issue, though, was that Arthur
Foundling himself might be a threat to our lives. His story was not one
that seemed all that friendly to the continued survival of the Woe.

``I would agree in principle,'' Hanno slowly said. ``The Archmage is the
Scourge I would like dealt with soonest.''

It was all haggling after that, were I began to discern different
strategies. Ishaq was fresh to this sort of planning so he tended to
fall back to the Levantine conception of a band of five, the same that'd
founded the Dominion itself: Champion, Slayer, Binder, Brigand and
Pilgrim. Which wasn't a bad instinct, in most circumstances, but he
needed to wean himself off it. When facing the unknown balance was
useful, but when planning the destruction of a known quantity it was
better to tailor the band to the foe. Tariq, on the other hand, was
coming at it from another angle entirely: he was setting things up to
keep Named alive. Not because the old man was a soft touch, although
when he could afford to be he was, but because in the Pilgrim's
experience if heroes fought an enemy for long enough they \emph{won}.

I wasn't going to argue with that too much, but there were risks to that
kind of thinking. Both sides of the fence were playing here, and I'd
proved at the Battle of the Camps that some calibre of foe time wasn't
enough to overcome. Yet theirs, were in away, the old conventions of
Named warfare. Hanno and I had been raised by our teachers to approach
those fights differently. The difference between us, I began to notice,
was that he seemed much more inclined to take risks. I chalked it up to
the habit of having providence on his side, at first, but eventually I
was forced to concede otherwise. I was just used to planning from the
starting position that I was going to lose \emph{something} before it
was all over, while the White Knight \emph{had} known the kind of
full-throated victories that'd been so rare in my career. He'd known
them pretty regularly, too, with the defeats at Black's hands being
pretty severe departures from the norm. We settled what we could for
today, agreed to speak again tomorrow and broke off.

Except he didn't leave and neither did I, because I'd noticed something
and he'd not tried very hard to hide it.

``Witch of the Woods,'' I said. ``Valiant Champion. Stalwart Apostle,
and last of all the Merry Balladeer.''

Names he'd been careful never to let drawn into an assignment, along
with his own. A pretty neat band of five, though the Apostle was young
and Hells if I knew what he wanted out of the Balladeer. No Named was
every truly without strength, but as far as I knew she was a bardic
Named without any standout talents.

``I did not mean to hide it,'' Hanno said. ``It was simply not a
discussion I wanted to have with company.''

My brow raised, as did my wariness. I'd already sworn oath to Tariq that
I'd not meddle with how the White Knight overcame his doubts, and that
meant not letting myself be drawn into too pivotal a conversation.

``It's a band of five,'' I acknowledged. ``I'm simply not sure what you
mean to do with it.''

North, to end the threat of the bridge that was still looming tall in
the distance? Or to lead them here in the city, a blade against the
Scourges. Hanno chuckled, though the days where the sound would have
carried that undertone of serene amusement seemed pass. Whatever
certainties it'd been that'd lain at the heart of the calm, they had
been shaken. \emph{Shit}, I thought, \emph{Tariq's right}. I'd still
half-believed, deep down, that the old man had been exaggerating. Not so
much, looking at the unease on the White Knight's face now.

``I was not so certain myself, when I woke up this morning,'' Hanno
said. ``But it is going north, Catherine. It must be the north.''

I slowly nodded. It was what I'd wanted, only now getting it was making
my fingers twitchy. Unsure if a mistake had been made or not.

``The bridge at Thibault's Wager must be broken,'' I finally said,
choosing my words.

``How carefully you speak around me, these days,'' the White Knight
wanly smiled.

I did not answer. I knew a dead end when I saw one.

``I do not know,'' Hanno finally said, ``how much good I can truly do
here in Hainaut. You are a capable leader and tactician, seasoned in
leading Named.''

``Your departure would be a loss,'' I honestly said. ``And not just
because of your skills in combat. But I still believe it to be a
necessary one.''

``I imagine you do,'' the White Knight said, ``though that is not what
moves me to go.''

He looked up at the ceiling, where the afternoon had turned the lay of
the sun. Shadows gone bright, light swallowed up by the shade.

``There are goods I do not know if I should strive for,'' Hanno of Arwad
said. ``If I can achieve, even if I did.''

He breathed out.

``So I will start, perhaps, with the good of which I am certain,'' the
White Knight said, meeting my eyes. ``It will be north, Catherine
Foundling, and the light that still lies within my grasp.''
