\hypertarget{chapter-3-wage}{%
\chapter{Wage}\label{chapter-3-wage}}



\epigraph{``I was privileged to receive audience with a shaman of the Red
Shields clan, who after receiving gifts was willing to indulge a few of
my questions. My attempts to understand the lay of her people's
statecraft, however, were met with a simple laugh and the quote of a
Kharsum proverb that translates as such: `throw meat or be meat'.''}{Extract from ``Horrors and Wonders'', famed travelogue of Anabas the
Ashuran}



Jinon fell to the Army of Callow at the price of twelve dead and five
wounded.

Three wounded and two dead were of ours. One of the former was, I'd been
told, a legionary from the regulars cohort who'd tripped going uphill
and broken his foot. He was now being mercilessly mocked by the rest of
his tenth, who had tried to get him officially commended for `heroic
injuries sustained in the line of duty'. I was giving it serious thought
-- laugh aside, playing along with this sort of thing tended to be good
for morale. Most the corpses and wounds had taken place when my goblins
infiltrated the fortress, silencing witnesses and taking the gatehouse.
That left me to handle the two hundred and forty-three members of the
Jinon garrison that had surrendered, a number that included seven minor
nobles sworn to Wolof.

One of them was a branch Sahelian, their head mage, and she'd been
trying to barricade herself in a fortified room when Hierophant came and
stomped out the notion by casually wresting her sorcery away from her.
I'd left him to interrogate her and gone to supervise the movement of
the prisoners instead. We'd made a gate into Twilight right outside the
walls and we were herding the disarmed prisoners across by groups of
twenty, into the tender waiting embrace of legionaries waiting on the
other side. We'd be marching them straight into a warded prison pit that
Juniper had ordered dug inside our camp, where the Jacks and the
phalanges would begin interrogating them for news about the state of the
city.

I was now leaning against stone on the same parapet Lady Semira had
stood on when we'd talked, watching it unfold as I chatted with Captain
Diara.

``- moved them to a freehold in the Green Stretch as soon as I could
afford it,'' she told me, speaking of her parents. ``My brother's still
out east in one of the Bassa towns, I think, but we haven't talked in
years.''

``I hear it's good land down in the Stretch, so long as the levees don't
break,'' I said.

``It is, but there are dangers. People were worried it was going to be
trouble when you first took the throne, Your Majesty,'' Captain Diara
admitted. ``That's passed, of course. Now they know that even if comes
to steel there won't be paladins knocking at the doors for `tithes' and
pointed questions about troop movements.''

The Order of the White Hand were still considered heroes, back home,
tragically destroyed by my father in the first stroke of the Conquest.
The freeholders of the Green Stretch had been significantly less
convinced of the heroism of said paladins, not without reason. Callow
had been occupied by the Dread Empire for so long it was easy to forget
that the Old Kingdom hadn't been saints. It'd not been worse than most
nations out there, but it'd not been any better either.

``It's the Tower my dispute is with,'' I said. ``It's the Tower I'll
settle it with.''

The captain slowly nodded, expression hard to read. Whatever she might
have said was not to be, as Masego strode out of the stairway with his
robes sweeping behind him. He looked in a fine mood, and I could smell
the scent of power still on him. He was holding magic.

``Time for me to check on my sergeants,'' Captain Diara tactfully said.
``It was an honour, Your Majesty.''

``It was \emph{my} honour to hear you harangue those poor bastards for
half an hour,'' I replied with a smile. ``See you around, captain.''

She offered a salute to Hierophant as he passed, which he returned with
an absent-minded nod before coming to stand at my side.

``Got anything good?'' I asked.

``Several of the ciphers the Sahelians use when scrying,'' Masego said.
``It will be of use when intercepting their communications.''

``Cutting High Lord Sargon off from Malicia would be ideal,'' I
admitted. ``It'll be easier to force his hand that way.''

Malicia had soulboxed him when she'd put him on the High Seat, which
meant she could effectively torture him with impunity and at will, but
that was the kind of tool she wouldn't use blindly. If he wasn't
contradicting an explicit order from the Tower when he surrendered his
granaries to us, the ruler of Wolof was a lot more likely to fold. There
wasn't a lot I could threaten him that would be worse than what Malicia
could do with half an hour and an incantation.

``It will do Sapan some good to study higher order mathematics,''
Hierophant mused. ``I'll make her work on the ciphers with me.''

``Surprised she doesn't know about those already,'' I said. ``Ashurans
are famous sailors and navigation's all about numbers and stars, way I
hear it.''

``She meant to be a healer, so what they taught her of mathematics at
that academy in Ashur was insultingly limited,'' Masego said, sounding
peeved. ``Sabrathan sorcery encourages specialization, Catherine, as the
knowledge overlap between its different disciplines is supposedly very
limited.''

I hummed in understanding. For all that Hierophant had always rather
looked down on the sorcery the Thalassocracy of Ashur practiced, what
I'd heard of it was rather impressive. They had finer healing mages than
the Praesi and they could whip up winds and storms out of blue sky.
Sabrathan magic did seem to have pretty stark limits on what could be
done \emph{well} with it, though, so I wasn't surprised Masego held it
in such low esteem. He'd been raised to treat magic as something more
than just a tool, a philosophical quest for the truth of Creation. There
was little chance of him respecting people who, in his eyes, willingly
chose to cripple themselves before even beginning that quest.

``Tell me how it pans out,'' I shrugged. ``I'm curious how much she'll
take to your teachings.''

I was more curious if she was going to end up a long-term threat to
people or places I cared about, to be honest, but Zeze enjoyed talking
about his pupil and I enjoyed indulging him. While Masego cordially
disliked teaching large groups, the way he had when I'd asked him to
make my Legion and later Army cadres into mages capable of battlefield
ritual magic, he seemed to be relishing teaching a single highly skilled
pupil. It was the kind of teaching he was likely most familiar with, I'd
eventually realized. Just like Warlock had done with him.

``I will,'' he assured me. ``Though none of this is why I came. You
earlier mentioned intending to scry Juniper for news of how her warring
went. Shall we, before I must release the magic I wrested?''

I'd actually figured it would be one of our mages I relied on for that,
but if Zeze was volunteering I wasn't going to complain. And if this
marked yet another instance of him keeping someone's magic in his hands
just a little longer than was strictly necessary, well, part of loving
someone was knowing when you needed to avert your eye.

``Please do,'' I replied.

It didn't take long to get a hold of my marshal even though the night's
action was far from over, as she'd been expecting me. After the fortress
was invested one of our mages had sent word that things had gone well,
but not gotten much in exchange: the offensive had still been happening.
After a few moments Aisha's face appeared in the mirror-like circle of
magic that Masego had drawn in the air, offering me a smile before
disappearing and being replaced with the Hellhound's thicker features.

``Warlord,'' she greeted me.

``Marshal,'' I replied. ``How did the attack go?''

``We hold Sinka,'' Juniper said. ``The garrison in the villages began to
retreat after skirmishing against our vanguard and we caught fewer than
fifty of them. We didn't get any trouble out of the people themselves,
the seneschal fled after leaving orders to surrender without violence.''

Huh. That was unusually caring, by Praesi standards. Most Wasteland
nobles would have sent their people into the grinder without a second
thought, thinking a few of my soldiers killed a fair trade for bleeding
the populace of a port they no longer held. High Lord Sargon's orders,
or the small rebellion of a decent man in a bad position? Hard to know.

``Any moves from Wolof?''

``They tried a sortie,'' Juniper acknowledged. ``Two thousand household
troops, with mage support and about a hundred \emph{walin-falme} for
vanguard. They hit our screening force head on and withdrew when the
Order flanked them. They sacrificed the devils to eat the charge and
retreated into the city.''

``That looks like a straightforward blunder,'' I frowned. ``Only two
thousand? It's a large chunk of their forces, but they have to know we'd
eat that on the field. Especially when we have cavalry and they don't.''

My marshal looked pleased, licking her fangs in approbation.

``It was a pin,'' Juniper said. ``They were tying down our screening
force while they hit the men I sent to take Sinka. They waited until
after the surrender, when we'd begun to split the force into the smaller
garrisons we'll be leaving.''

My brow rose. That implied they'd managed a night ambush on open grounds
while we fielded goblins.

``They had illusions good enough we couldn't see through them?'' I
asked.

``The attackers were in the river,'' Juniper grimaced. ``Deep enough our
first sweep with mages didn't catch them. They had boats hidden on the
far side of the Wasaliti under illusions and some kind of half-fish
devil in the-''

She turned a moment, leaning towards someone I only dimly heard speak
before nodding thanks.

``Sahelian sends word the devils are called \emph{nikyana}, and that
Wolof usually keeps a few contracts but nowhere as many as we saw
tonight,'' the tall orc growled. ``At least seven hundred of the
bastards popped out of the river on our flanks and they would have
caught us entirely by surprise without the Silver Huntress giving alarm
They don't use weapons but they're quick and strong, we lost almost a
full cohort before we realized what was happening.''

I winced. Caught out of formation, my legionaries would have had a hard
time handling devils. Like with heavy horse, you needed thick ranks and
spellfire to handle a charge of those.

``And bleeding us wasn't even the point of the attack,'' Juniper
revealed.

My brow rose.

``They infiltrated a mage cadre with escorts to try to grab Vivienne in
the chaos,'' Juniper said. ``The Squire and the Apprentice drove them
off, but apparently it was a close thing. The moment the grab failed the
entire attack was called off and they retreated into the river.''

I let out a low whistle. That'd actually been a sharp play from Sargon,
assuming it really was the young lord's plan. Vivienne was one of the
few people in my army I couldn't afford not to bargain for, if she were
taken prisoner. Should Sargon threaten to put her head on a pike unless
I retreated, he would have me in a very tricky position.

``Total casualties?'' I asked.

``Between Sinka and the plain, we lost three hundred and twelve,'' she
said. ``Cost them at least two hundred where Tanja held command on top
of the forty and so we captured, so there's that, but they're keeping to
standard Praesi tactics when it comes to soaking up casualties with
devils.''

Forty years ago, before the Reforms, orcs and goblins would have been
right with the devils eating those Callowan blades, I thought. Bleeding
so that their \emph{betters} wouldn't. Looking at the hard cast of my
marshal's face, I suspected I wasn't the only one who'd thought that. I
quickly went over the fall of Jinon for her and concluded with the
prisoners now headed her way.

``Good news,'' Juniper said. ``I have mages and the Huntress following
the diabolists on the river. We'll try to hit them before they can
retreat to Wolof.''

``Take prisoners if you can,'' I said, ``but our people come first.''

I wanted diabolists, but I didn't need them \emph{that} badly. A handful
grabbed off the field weren't going to be enough to handle the
Hellgates, I was going to need a genuine diplomatic concession to secure
that many. Juniper nodded, offering me a crisp Legion salute before the
spell died and the magic displaying her face dissipated. I rolled my
shoulder, sighing. It was already a long night and it was still far from
over. I turned to Masego.

``Assuming the prisoners are out, I'll need to help establish our own
garrison here,'' I said. ``Do you think you could check the wards for
nasty surprises?''

The Concocter would be coming along later too, to see if my idea about
how get into the city was feasible.

``I will,'' Hierophant said, burning eyes swivelling lazily in their
sockets, ``but I expect you'll have more pressing matters to attend
to.''

``Like?''

``Aunt Eudokia just walked through the gates,'' Masego said, ``and she
looks in a hurry.''

---

Scribe looked both healthier than when I'd last seen her and deeply
exhausted. It was the good kind of exhausted, though, the kind you got
from putting all of yourself into something you loved. Her back was
straight and though as always my attention slid right off her -- save
for the same detail, the perennially ink-stained hands -- I got a sense
of vitality from her that she'd lacked when she had first reached out to
me in Hainaut. I had come to believe that, more than anything, Scribe
thrived on being useful. The cause didn't matter much, it was about
stretching her abilities to the limit. In a way it was like Ranger's
thirst for worthy fights, though neither woman would thank me for the
comparison.

``Queen Catherine,'' she greeted me, shortly bowing.

``Scribe,'' I replied. ``Pleasure to have you back with us, though I
expected it would be back at the camp.''

``There has been a change of plans,'' she said. ``The envoys heard there
would be an assault on Jinon, and they insisted on speaking with you
here.''

I cocked an eyebrow.

``They want to see if I'm strong enough to beard the Sahelians in their
own backyard,'' I said.

Which was fair enough. Nobody liked backing a losing horse. Besides,
orcs respected strength above all and this bunch was more opportunistic
than most.

``How long until they're here?'' I asked.

``A quarter hour at most,'' Scribe said. ``I requested of Archer that
she slow their passage through the Ways, but there are limits.''

``She'll do what she can,'' I muttered.

My mind was already racing ahead, putting the pieces in place. I would
have preferred having Vivienne here for this, since any deals made would
be inherited by her, but that'd be hard to arrange. This wouldn't end
with a single conversation anyway.

``Indeed,'' Scribe said. ``A stark improvement on her predecessor in
every regard, Archer.''

I eyed the villainess amusedly. She'd been less than fond of Ranger even
\emph{before} the Lady of the Lake had put an arrow an inch away from
her heart.

``Thanks for the heads up,'' I said.

``There is more,'' Scribe said. ``I received word from my agents in the
northeast: the fortress of Chagoro has fallen.''

I took me a moment to place that name in my mental map of Praes. It was
one of the main fortresses north of the High Seat of Okoro, an important
strategic position since it was close to the two easiest passes into the
Northern Steppes. It was the keystone of Okoro's northern defences, and
supposedly one of the thornier fortresses in the region.

``Who holds it?'' I frowned. ``It is one of the Clans?''

High Lord Jaheem Niri was one of Malicia's supporters and his domain has
been largely spared the depredations that most of Praes had suffered, so
this was something of a surprise. The Niri could still field one of the
largest private fighting forces in the Empire, and they wouldn't skimp
on their northern defences when there was trouble in the Steppes. A
surprise attack by supporters of Sepulchral, maybe?

``No one holds it,'' Scribe evenly said. ``It is full of corpses.''

My thoughts ground to a halt. What?

``My agents confirmed that the killing was done by blade, over the span
of less than an hour, and that the assailants took no casualties,'' she
continued.

``That's absurd,'' I bit out. ``How many soldiers were there in that
fortress, Scribe?''

``A little over a thousand,'' she replied.

``It can't be the Dead King,'' I frowned, ``he's bound by oath to attack
neither Praes nor Callow. Who could-''

I closed my eyes, abandoning the train of thought. It was a dead end,
there were too many monsters out there in the wilds that I knew little
about. Capacity for destruction, for killing, was not that uncommon. It
would instead be much more useful to figure out who gained from Chagoro
falling. I did, since it made Okoro a lot more vulnerable to attacks by
the Clans, but this hadn't been a scheme of mine. Sepulchral benefitted
as well, arguably, since anything weakening a backer of Malicia's helped
her cause. She shouldn't have assets capable of something this flashy,
though. Could the Empress herself have done it? She certainly had the
ruthlessness, but I wasn't seeing a gain for her to make. Even of Jaheem
Niri had been about to turn on her and she wanted him kept busy, there
were better ways.

And this timing, I thought, it was \emph{too} good.

I wanted to bring the Clans into the war, specifically for them to fall
on the back of Malicia's northern allies, and the High Lord of Okoro had
been a major obstacle in that regard. With a major gap in his defences,
however, there were now chances that orc clans would go raiding even if
it had nothing to do with me whatsoever. And it was coming at a
precisely the right time, while I was mauling Wolof with the Army of
Callow and Malica's armies were still making their way up from down
south. Okoro stood alone and with its pants down. That wasn't a
coincidence, it was too precise for that, and-

``Black,'' I murmured. ``\emph{Black} did this.''

``Ranger is powerful, but not so powerful as that,'' Scribe objected.

He shouldn't have the resources to pull off something like this, that
much was true. It was pretty much just him and the Lady of the Lake out
there, wasn't it? He'd not even picked up that nice army of deserters
waiting for him in the Green Stretch -- though I had my doubts about
that, it seemed a little too convenient -- and taken them in hand.
Archer and Akua had believed, I recalled from the last time we'd
discussed the matter in council, that he \emph{couldn't} take up such a
position. It would be a death trap to be visible, since Ranger was being
hunted by the Emerald Swords. My thoughts stalled for a moment after
that, as the realization sunk in, because surely he hadn't.

It was the kind of reckless play I would have made, nothing like the
calculating and cold-blooded man who'd taught me. And yet.

``Eudokia,'' I quietly said. ``Your agents, they said it was done with
blades. Did they get a read on the number of assailants?''

``No,'' Scribe admitted. ``All they could give me was that it looked
like halfway through the fight soldiers began fleeing and they were run
down to the last.''

And that wasn't much, wasn't a confirmation, but it fit.

``Fuck me,'' I said. ``He used Ranger as \emph{bait}, Scribe. The
Emerald Swords did this. He drew them there to clear out the fortress.''

She blinked in surprise, then after a long moment sighed. Tellingly, she
did not disagree. Silly me, how could I not have expected my father
would find a way to turn his sole companion being hunted by ten of the
most dangerous people on Calernia into an \emph{advantage}. I'd come by
my bastardry honestly, I shouldn't have forgot. And against my better
judgement, I found my lips twitching. \emph{Welcome to the war, Black.
Finally making your move, are you?}

``So he wants the Clans going on the offensive too,'' I mused.
``Interesting.''

What exactly my father wanted and how he intended to achieve remained
unclear to me, and likely would for some time. If he'd wanted to speak
with me, he would have by now. I cast a look at Scribe, who had remained
silent as I thought.

``If you offered your services again,'' I said, ``I'm not sure he would
refuse you a second time.''

I was under no illusions that our months of collaboration in any way
trumped decades of close friendship. The Calamities had been tightly
bound, before they began dropping dead.

``You worry of my loyalties,'' Scribe said.

``I don't,'' I said. ``I know exactly where they lie. And it's not empty
words when I say that there would be no rancour, should you-''

``I am not a good or pleasant woman, Catherine Foundling,'' Eudokia the
Scribe said and for a heartbeat I saw brown eyes flashing with anger,
set in a tanned and freckled face. ``I do not pretend otherwise. I have
little use for the morals you espouse or the causes you champion, save
when they intersect with my own diversions.''

``But,'' I said.

``But I am a woman of my word,'' Scribe said. ``I believe in contracts
and the worth of promises. Even should I decide to leave your side --
and if I do it will not be like \emph{this}, like some beaten dog
crawling back to her master's feet -- even then, I would no more reveal
secrets learned in your service than I have revealed you those I learned
in his.''

I clenched my fingers, then unclenched them. How much of that had been
truth and how much of it a lie? It was the proportions that made the
difference between poison and medicine.

I was going to be betrayed at least once before the month was out, but
would Scribe make the second?

``I believe you,'' I lied, and we prepared for our guests.

---

Sometimes diplomacy was about making a point.

That was why, when five orcs passed through the gates of Jinon following
Indrani, they stopped and stared at the sight awaiting them for a beat.
It was not the throne that caught their eye, though shaping it out of
roiling Night had lent it a certain imperious look. It wasn't the
deadwood staff across my knees either, or crow-shaped shadows perched
above my shoulders. It was the piles of arms and armour that filled the
courtyard, glittering and ornate Praesi armaments spread around like a
carpet of steel. Hundreds of swords and shields, of cuirasses and
helmets, and not a corpse anywhere around to be seen. Only steel and
silence, with the moon high above and dark walls around us.

That was my point: \emph{I took this fortress, and I did not even bleed
for it.}

Archer was hiding a smile as she walked to us through the path. I had a
small honour guard around me, a simple line of regulars, and though
Hierophant was somewhere above on a parapet it was Scribe who stood
behind me on my left. There were five seats awaiting, for the five orcs
that the clans I'd reached out to had sent. Scribe whispered the names
into my ear even as they approached, their body language wary. Asny of
the Graven Bone Clan, taller than even Hakram and sister to her clan's
chief. Valborg of the Stag-Crowned Clan, stooped but strong and eldest
raid leader of the Stag-Crowned. Skarod Longaxe, the small but nimble
husband to the chieftain of the Blackspear Clan. The twins Sigvin and
Sigvun of the Split Tree Clan were the last, rumoured to both be shamans
and shapeshifters.

It was the clan I needed on my side the least that'd sent two envoys,
ironically enough. The Blackspears, the Graven Bone and the Stag-Crowned
were the three largest southern clans, but that wasn't actually why I'd
reached out to them. I had decent relations with the Red Shields and the
Howling Wolves -- Juniper and Hakram's clans -- and they were among the
great orc powers too. No, those three were here because Malicia had
raised them over other orcs by ennobling their chiefs as Lords of the
Steppe and empowering them to collect tribute on behalf of the Tower.
The Split Tree twins, on the other hand, were here for slightly more
complicated reasons.

Their clan was respected and well-connected, boasting a number of
genuine spellcaster shamans, and it'd made the Split Tree Clan an
important part of the alliance that'd formed around the Lords of the
Steppes. Those three clans had\ldots{} mixed reputations. The Split Tree
being part of the alliance lent it respect it badly needed, considering
when the Howling Wolves -- currently the largest and most well-respected
of the clans -- were at the head of the alliance opposing the Lords of
the Steppe. For me that meant having them on board was much to be
preferred, if a bargain was to happen, but they weren't strictly
required. Archer left their side after offering me a grin, coming to
stand at my right. As the orcs approached a legionary came forward with
a plate holding a large cut of salted pork and a mug of beer.

``I offer you meat and drink from my table,'' I spoke in Kharsum.

They each took a bite and a sip -- I noted that the Blackspear envoy,
Skarod Longaxe, went first -- and only then did the wariness leave them.
I'd just formally given them my hospitality, and though the custom was
not as ironclad with orcs as it was with Taghreb it wasn't something to
lightly cross.

``Good, we're done with the shite then,'' Asny of the Graven Bones
grunted, spitting to the side. ``Hail, Black Queen.''

``Hail, Asny of the Graven Bones,'' I replied, faintly amused. ``And to
you all.''

It got growls in answer, rough acknowledgement.

``You wanted to have talks, Black Queen,'' Skarod Longaxe said. ``Talk,
then. You're not the only one with a war on.''

``That one's her war too, unless she's stopped trading weapons to our
enemies,'' Valborg of the Stag-Crowned peevishly said.

I hadn't. Hakram's revision of the proposal that'd troubled me so much
had proved viable in arming the clans we wanted armed in the Steppes.
We'd taken to buying \emph{dwarven} weapons through Mercantis, which
while relatively low-quality were cheap and came in large crates. We
traded them to friendly clans in the north for amber, furs and raw iron
ore -- which we then traded back to Mercantis at a mark up, making a
small but tidy profit. We could sustain that trade route for years,
considering Callow had nowhere enough trading barges to flood either
market to the extent that prices would lower. The kind of diplomatic
flourishes I'd gotten used to trotting out in Procer would be useless
here, so instead I leaned into my natural instinct.

``You hitched your chariot to a dying horse,'' I bluntly told them.
``It's time to cut loose before it drags you down with it.''

Asny barked out a laugh.

``You've got guts, Queen, I'll give you that,'' she said. ``But it's a
little soon to make that claim, yeah? Tower's still standing.''

``There are many who have fought Dread Empress Malicia, over the
years,'' Sigvin of the Split Tree said, voice soft for all that she was
built like barn door. ``Some even had the better of her, for a time.
None still remain.''

I smiled at them, all teeth and malice.

``If my armies are at the gates of Ater, what use do I have for any of
you?'' I said. ``When the Tower falls -- and it will -- what reason do I
have to care about your enemies butchering every last one of you? If
you're of no use to me, you're meat. Now is when you earn your worth.''

Skarod Longaxe, envoy for the Blackspears, spat to the side on some
soldier's shield.

``So you want us to kneel to your little favourites,'' he said. ``Which
will you crown, Black Queen, the Howling Wolves or the Red Shields?''

He bared his teeth, contemptuous.

``Will you make one of your servants chief first, just to tie it up
neat?'' he mocked. ``Your own little puppet king in the Steppes, ready
to do your bidding.''

``Fuck that,'' Asny of the Graven Bones growled. ``We're too many
corpses deep in this feud to roll over for the Wolves.''

``Little has been offered,'' Sigvun of the Split Tree Clan mildly said.
``Much has been demanded.''

I drummed fingers against the arm of my throne.

``Did I ever speak of surrendering to anyone?'' I asked, irritated.
``The next person to put words in my mouth will be made to swallow
them.''

``We're under hospitality,'' Skarod Longaxe harshly said.

``Hospitality keeps you your life, Longaxe, not your teeth,'' I replied.

Asny and Valborg laughed, though the twins looked unamused.

``Are these talks not meant to broke peace between us and the Howling
Wolves, then?'' Sigvin of the Split Tree asked.

``I'm here to broker a war,'' I said. ``If you want to make peace with
the Wolves, make peace with the Wolves. It's the business of the Clans,
not Callow.''

I stared them down from my throne, the crows stirring at my shoulders.
The attention of the Sisters was not in the shards, leaving them as
little more than creatures of shadow, but they still made an
intimidating sight.

``What I want to know,'' I said, ``is why you're fighting other orcs for
snow and grass when you could be biting deep in the riches of Okoro
instead.''

``We didn't choose to feud,'' Skarod Longaxe snorted. ``The Wolves
did.''

Bullshit. The Blackspears had wasted no time in using the powers Malicia
granted them to try to extort all their neighbouring clans, they'd known
it would come to war. They'd just figured they were going to win it.

``Okoro's belly is well-guarded,'' Sigvun of the Split Tree pointed out.
``Much of its armies have remained north, its walls are tall and its
devils many.''

``We could take them,'' Asny of the Graven Bones scoffed. ``If we didn't
have to keep half our warriors home to fight off raids, we could smash
through Okoro.''

``The only thing you'd smash in Okoro is your skull on Chagoro's walls,
pup,'' Valborg of the Stag-Crowned dismissed. ``That fortress has broken
more warbands than you've had lays.''

``Chagoro,'' I calmly said, ``has fallen.''

Five pairs of eyes went to me, stillness hanging in the air like haze.

``There is nothing left between those walls save corpses,'' I said. ``Do
I now have your attention?''

``You lie,'' Skarod Longaxe accused.

I glanced at Scribe, who took a single step forward.

``It is the truth,'' she said. ``My agents have confirmed it.''

That took the wind out of Longaxe's sails. The Calamities weren't
necessarily loved by orcs, but they were \emph{respected}. Scribe
putting her weight behind this wasn't something they'd dismiss. Hells,
it was the reason I'd sent her with Archer into the Steppes in the first
place. Indrani wasn't known up there, but the Calamities? That name
still turned heads, even with most of them in the ground. It'd made them
take me seriously enough to send envoys in the first place.

``That changes things,'' Valborg of the Stag-Crowned admitted, clicking
her fangs in hesitation. ``Without Chagoro in the way, we could make it
past the fortress-lands.''

``We can't mount a raid worth a goat's spit with the Wolves up our
asses,'' Asny of the Graven Bones said.

``Okoro's wealth isn't worth kneeling to our enemies,'' Skarod Longaxe
said, but his tone was more careful now.

Less hostile, I decided. He still didn't think much of me or my offer,
but the thought of raiding Okoro's holdings appealed. As I'd thought it
might.

``Offer truce,'' I said. ``If you do, I will back you under threat of
ending sale of arms.''

``Truce isn't peace, but it won't be easy to swallow,'' Asny growled.

``Fight for a thousand years, for all I care,'' I snorted. ``But do it
\emph{rich}. Do it with great herds of cattle, with granaries of grains
and the wealth of a hundred tributes. Do it wielding enchanted blades.
You think you're the only ones who want to sink their teeth there? How
many warriors from the Shields and the Wolves do you think would rather
raid south than fight \emph{you}?''

That was why I was sitting with these five instead of clans I could more
easily have made allies of, in the end. I could back those friendly
clans all I wanted, but it wouldn't \emph{cost} Malicia anything. What
did she care that there was a civil war in the Steppes, so long as it
didn't spill over anywhere that mattered to her? It wouldn't conclude
quickly enough to be a threat. I actually suspected she'd meant her
raising of the Lords of the Steppes to trigger that very civil war,
since if the orcs were fighting each other they weren't making trouble
for her. She'd picked clans with badreputations to raise, too, and that
didn't look like a coincidence to me. They were the same clans that were
almost guaranteed to have gone raiding at her unprotected back, were
they not busy defending their noble titles.

If I turned these, though, not only would the betrayal be a public slap
in her face but close to the full might of the Clans would come into
play in the greater Praesi civil war.

``And if this truce was sought by your alliance,'' Sigvun of the Split
Tree said, ``you would support it?''

``I'll even send an envoy at the talks,'' I smiled, hiding my triumph.

I said it like it was a concession. Like it wasn't what I'd been after
from the start. Like the moment the rest of them began to agree, as they
hesitantly did, I'd not gotten exactly what I wanted: an army that,
though it didn't know it yet, was going to march on Keter with the rest
of us.

Now I just needed to figure out why my father had wanted this too, and
if the two of us were at war too.
