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\hypertarget{chapter-9-rematch}{%
\chapter{Rematch}\label{chapter-9-rematch}}



\epigraph{``I never keep grudges. Not for long, anyway.''}{Dread Empress Maleficent II}



We might still make it in time, if we hurried.

That was the unspoken thought ringing through our minds as we ran
through dark streets, the Comital Palace cutting a dark silhouette in
the distance. Our gambit was that William wouldn't want to risk taking
on a Calamity without his entire band of heroes being present, which
meant that if we caught up with Hunter and Conjurer we'd hit them right
before they assaulted Warlock. There were only three of us now, Hakram
and I following close behind Apprentice as he guided us through
unfamiliar territory. Waiting for all of my legionaries to shimmy down
the rope would have taken too long, especially given the equipment some
of them carried. Better to have them catch up whenever they could.
Commander Hune should have set up road blocks around the palace anyway,
I could grab some backup when we ran into one.

While I had no personal affection for Warlock, I could recognize it
would be a very bad thing if the heroes managed to kill him -- or even
seriously wound him. Black hadn't been kidding when he'd told me that
order in Praes rested on the myth of Imperial invincibility. The old
defeats had been washed away by the unbroken string of victories that
had flowed since the first days of the Conquest, but if the Swordsman
managed to kill a Calamity\ldots{} Word would spread slowly at first,
but it would spread. Retired soldiers all over Callow would reach for
their swords and wonder if, perhaps, now was not the time to settle the
old score. Maybe once that thought would have brought a smile to my
face, the prospect of the land of my birth fighting tooth and nail to
gain back its independence, but I knew better.

I had seen the Imperial war machine up close, learned its ways and
commanded its soldiers. Any war of liberation would turn into a
bloodbath and, worst of all, Callow would \emph{lose}. Half the country
would be turned to ashes before the last of the resistance was put down,
and when the Tower's authority finally went unchallenged then the
Procerans would strike. Like they were doing now, through their puppet
Liesse. The knowledge that the First Prince was funding the rebellion
had not come as a surprise to me, but even now it left a foul taste in
my mouth. Once again Callow was the battleground where the continent
attempted to keep Praes in check, and it would be my compatriots who'd
see their lands ravaged for that ``holy'' purpose. The awareness that I
was anything but blameless in this made it even worse.

I'd let the Lone Swordsman go knowing he would set Callow aflame,
knowing that thousands would die in a calculated gambit on my part to
rise to prominence in the Empire. Once, when I'd had my perspective
\emph{nudged} by my encounter with William, I'd been disgusted at the
idea of Black sacrificing my countrymen like cattle to see me healed.
Every day since I'd wondered at that particular bit of hypocrisy. Was I
not doing the same, by letting a hero go free for my own purposes? That
I had benefitted directly from the ritual sacrifice of the death row
inmates instead of in an abstract sense had seemed important, back then,
but now I wondered. I'd put on a villain's cloak for the sake of Callow,
telling myself it was for a greater good, but at the first given
occasion I'd pushed the same country into civil war.

I still believed, deep down, that the ends justified the means. That by
bleeding away a few thousand lives now I was securing a better future
for Callow, one where the Imperial yoke held the Old Kingdom without
strangling it. And yet how could I not be worried, when the monsters I
rubbed elbows with lived by the same ideology? Malicia, Black, Captain,
even Warlock -- they all seemed so \emph{reasonable}. They were Evil,
certainly, but in a world where Evil would always exist having such a
rational form of it in charge seemed like the best possible outcome. I
had arrived at that conclusion just as rationally, but on an instinctive
level I found it deeply repugnant that the best outcome in anything
could be the subjugation of my people to foreign nobility that openly
considered Callowans little better than cattle. There were no easy
solutions for me, no magical fixes that would see everything end happily
ever after.

How strange, that I had turned from a girl who didn't believe in stories
into a villain living through one.

It didn't matter, in the end. I was committed. My choices had been made.
I'd sold what little soul I had to barter with for a sword and the right
to use it to hack Creation into something that suited me better. The
Lone Swordsman thought he was freeing Callow, but all he'd accomplished
was the making of a few corpses and the waving of old banners. Change,
real change, had to be carved into the very institutions that held
nations together. Anything else would just crumble in the span of a
lifespan, when the individual who'd managed it by sheer force of
personality died. I had studied the defeats and triumphs of the Empire
and learned this: to change Creation, it was not enough to simply kill
the parts of it that oppose you. You could rage at the tide for your
whole life, the way so many Dread Emperors and Empresses had, but no
amount of flying fortresses and ancient ascension rituals were going to
earn a lasting victory.

For over a millennium Praes had unsuccessfully attempted to invade the
Kingdom through mad and vainglorious plans but they had all come to
naught, because the reality had been that Callow's armies were stronger
than the Empire's.

My teacher had won because he'd recognized that fact and then changed
the Legions into something reflecting the outcome he'd desired. No
armada of gargoyles, no child sacrifice-powered landships, just the
patient labour of true reform. If I wanted Callow safe and prosperous,
it was that same kind of work I needed to get done. Anything else and
I'd just be William's villainous mirror, raging at a status quo and
uselessly attempting to topple it one corpse at a time. Just thinking of
it was enough to send a fresh wave of rage through me. What did the
Swordsman think he would accomplish by this? Holding an entire city
hostage to kill a single man. Over fifty thousand lives risked on a
gambit that wouldn't even win the war, just broaden it. I'd not turned a
hero loose so much as a plague.

I continued to stew in my thoughts as we turned a corner, but the sound
of fighting up ahead brought me sharply back to the there and now. The
street in front of us narrowed near the head and my legionaries had put
up a barricade there, sharp wooden sudis and requisitioned chariots
blocking it all but for a slim way in. There should have been
legionaries with crossbows posted right behind it, but there was no sign
of them. It was easy to see why: someone had forced their way through a
chariot with brute force, splitting it in half and engaging the soldiers
up close. Without a word I unsheathed my sword and brought up my shield,
picking up the pace until I overtook Masego.

``Names up ahead,'' Apprentice spoke, tone relieved. Understandable: if
they were here, killing my men, they weren't going after his father's
head. ``Two of them. Our friends from earlier, if we're lucky.''

Luck was for people without Roles, I thought. Our lives were signed away
to coincidence the moment we claimed our power.

``Focus on the Conjurer,'' I ordered. ``Hakram, we're taking out Hunter.
Fast, before he can do more damage.''

``Aye,'' my adjutant growled. ``Let's even the score a little further.''

We made through the destroyed barricade at a run, passing a handful of
legionary corpses as we did -- most of them had spear wounds, though at
least one had been partly incinerated. Funny how the aftermath of combat
magic was horrifying no matter whether it was a hero or a villain who'd
used it. There was no good way to die, but I'd always thought that mage
fire was a particularly bad way to go. What must have been two full
lines had been whittled down to a little above twenty legionaries when
we interrupted the melee. Hunter was whirling among them, deftly
slapping down shields and puncturing throats, while the four remaining
Callowan soldiers had formed a loose wedge around Conjurer to protect
him while he casted. The mage hero was the closest to us, and the first
to notice we'd arrived.

``\emph{Hunter},'' he screamed, voice going up several octaves in panic.
``The Squire caught up!''

Masego hissed out an incantation and stomped the ground, the street's
pavestones rippling like water until they turned into a wave that
toppled the Conjurer and scattered his escort like rag dolls. Someone
was done fucking around, apparently. My soldiers yelled triumphantly at
the sight of my arrival, a few cries of ``Fifteenth, Fifteenth!''
ringing as they threw themselves at Hunter with renewed vigour. Hakram
and I pushed forward, ignoring the Conjurer -- my adjutant slowed to
calmly plunge his sword through the eye socket of a fallen enemy soldier
before catching up, the two of us impacting the hero at the same time.
Taking two shields to the chest wasn't enough to knock him down: he
rolled with the force, flipping and landing on his feet as he slapped
down the shaft towards my neck.

My shield forced back the spear but it didn't slow him down. Hunter took
a quick bound to the side, circling around Hakram and ramming his weapon
into my adjutant's foot. Whatever his spear's head was made of, though,
it wasn't sharp enough to punch through steel plate: all the hero got to
show for his strike was the grinding sound of metal on metal. A
legionary came from behind and forced him towards us with a strike aimed
at his back, failing to draw blood but succeeding in putting him off
balance. Just the kind of opening I'd been hoping for. Hunter ducked
under my arming sword's swing but I came back to slam the pommel of my
sword on the top of his head. He groaned in pain and for his troubles I
landed an armoured kick straight onto his abdomen, feeling a rib give.

On a regular opponent that would have earned me the time to place a
killing blow, but heroes were made of sterner stuff -- he twirled on
himself, the bottom of his spear landing a blow on my leg that knocked
me off balance. With a curse I dropped to one knee, but my countless
hours of training had not been wasted. When the tip of the spear came
for my throat my shield was already up. Hakram growled and pushed him
back, following the shield bash with a quick thrust to the exposed
stomach. He scored blood but the wound was shallow and the hero's
retaliation brutal: both hands gripping the spear, he rammed the wood
into my officer's nose. Hakram rocked back with a roar and the smooth
thrust that came a moment later would have passed through the roof of
his mouth if I hadn't slapped it down with my sword at the last moment.
\emph{When you back a hero into a corner}, Black's voice reminded me,
\emph{do not under any circumstances} \emph{let the fight drag on. The
more desperate the situation, the more dangerous they become.}

``Steady, adjutant,'' I spoke. ``Steady and careful.''

``It's like trying to strange an eel,'' the orc cursed, but he backed
away and moved to flank our opponent.

``Cohm a' me, foos,'' Hunter laughed, twirling his spear flashily.

There was a joke in there, but this was neither the time nor the place.
Before I could get back on the offensive, Masego yelled out a warning
from behind us -- I ducked just in time to avoid the Conjurer floating
through the air and screaming at the top of his lungs, the pale hairy
legs revealed by the earlier cut robes twitching like a dying spider's.
Less amusingly, one of his eyes and the same cheek had turned into a
black, shrivelled mess. \emph{Yeah, Apprentice isn't pulling his punches
anymore.} He landed right in the middle of my legionaries and then
whatever spell was holding him blew, a blast of transparent sorcery
smacking them away with a sound like a thunderclap. Unfortunately for
Hunter, the edge of that detonation caught him. He took a half-step
forward, somehow managing to stay on his feet, but I was already moving.

My blade flashed as it came for his neck, and though he brought up his
hand to shield it I cut straight through the bone. Blood sprayed
everywhere as it flopped lifelessly to the ground, splashing my face,
but through squinting eyes I adjusted my aim and prepared to finish the
job. There were only so many hands he could sacrifice to save his neck,
and his stock was fast running out.

The only warning I got was an itch between my shoulder blades.

I hesitated for a heartbeat, almost deciding to finish Hunter anyway,
and then began to turn. It saved my life: the arrow punched through the
plate less than an inch away from the spine. I bit down on a scream as a
cloaked figure on a rooftop across the street calmly notched another
arrow.

``APPRENTICE,'' I howled. ``ARCHER ON THE ROOF.''

A heartbeat later a fireball exploded just short of the newcomer but it
wasn't Masego's work: my legionaries had finally caught up to us and
Kilian's mages deployed behind the shields of half her line with grim
professionalism, the Senior Mage herself flinging a bolt of lightning
that knocked the archer off the roof and into an alley. Out of sight for
now, but I wouldn't bet on that being the last I'd see of them. There
was, I noted, no sign of Robber and his sappers. Had they taken another
route? \emph{Weeping Heavens, Robber, now isn't the time to get fancy on
me.} I pushed down the surge of relief I felt at the appearance of my
reinforcements. The Swordsman wouldn't have sent only one person to pick
up his waylaid lackeys. I was proved unpleasantly right when a
short-haired woman in leather armour jumped off another roof onto
Hakram's back. The tall orc managed to catch her hand before she placed
a dagger into his neck, but he had to drop his sword for it.

I'd barely taken a step in their direction when two dozen soldiers armed
with swords and shields of the same make as those we'd fought inside the
palace charged out of cover, taking the barricade legionaries
flatfooted. They were facing the other way and some of them had just
gotten back on their feet from the Conjurer's aggressively harmful brand
of failure. \emph{Shit.} I just needed to kill Hunter and -- I swung for
the hero's head, but it was already too late. A longsword parried the
blow effortlessly and vivid green eyes stared me down.

``Squire,'' the Lone Swordsman smiled unpleasantly. ``I was hoping I'd
run into you.''

I had something properly scathing on the tip of my tongue but before I
could spit it out I was interrupted by the sound of a badly-strung lute
going \emph{dun-dun-DUN}. Both the Swordsman and I turned towards the
source of it: on the same rooftop the leather girl had jumped from, the
Wayward Bard was sitting dangling her feet off the ledge. She shrugged
at our incredulous looks.

``I will not apologize for \emph{art}, you Callowan hicks,'' she
declared proudly.

``Do you even have a weapon?'' I asked in a pained voice.

She fished out a bottle of a bag at her side and popped the cork off
without ever taking her other hand off the lute.

``I can dish out some pretty brutal putdowns if I feel like it,'' she
mused. ``Does that count?''

It was a deeply disquieting thing to feel sympathy for the Lone
Swordsman and I did not care for it. A triumphant shout behind me shook
me out of the daze, an invisible force pulling the short-haired woman
off Hakram that was likely Apprentice's work. A sliver of cold went up
my spine. While I'd been bantering my people had been fighting for their
lives, dying. How could I have lost sight of that for even a moment?
\emph{Gods. Just because she doesn't have a sword doesn't mean she's not
dangerous.} All the heroes were accounted for, a voice in the back of my
head noted. The Lone Swordsman, the Hunter, the Conjurer, the Bard and
either the woman who'd shot me or the one who'd almost killed Hakram was
a Thief of some sort\emph{. Well, this whole situation has gone to the
deepest Hells in a hurry}. Five Names to an optimistic two and a half
was going to be butchery, even if my legionaries outnumbered the enemy.

Hunter wasn't even out of the fight, to my dismay. He'd tied some cloth
around his stump and though whatever portion of his body hadn't been
burned earlier was unhealthily pale he still stood, leaning heavily on
his spear. He wouldn't be as much of a threat, crippled as he was, but
handling two heroes simultaneously was bound to be a rough business.
William alone would be pain, though given the brutal fighting drills
Captain had put me through I was confident I could handle him. I took a
deep breath, steadied my stance and brought up my shield. The arrowhead
wiggled painfully in my back but I forced a straight face through the
dagger-like sting. If that bastard thought outmanning me in Names meant
I was going to roll over and take it, he was in for an unpleasant
surprise. I just needed to keep this party going for long enough for
reinforcements to start piling up: Commander Hune was bound to have
noticed one of the barricades had been attacked by now, and she should
be mobilizing massive amounts of legionaries to come overwhelm the
heroes.

``How are we doing, Hakram?'' I called out.

``All my organs are still on the inside,'' my adjutant replied. ``I've
had worse. I, er, don't know if you've noticed, sir, but you got shot.''

``Happens more often than you'd think,'' I replied through gritted
teeth. ``Try not to get yourself killed, Adjutant, I'm sure as Hells not
handling the paperwork for this on my own.''

``Touching,'' William sneered. ``You have a pet. Thief, take care of
that thing.''

``If our walking disaster manages to keep their mage busy, it should be
doable,'' the short-haired woman replied, tone amused. ``You up for
another round, big guy? I've still got an itch to scratch.''

``I'm not really comfortable with the slant you're putting on this
fight,'' Hakram admitted, tone alarmed.

Hunter put an end to the banter by lunging for me. I ducked the spear
thrust and spun around him, sweeping his feet with my own in a move
Black had taught me. I didn't even try to finish him off when he was
down, the memory of the Swordsman's unnatural swiftness still fresh in
my mind even the better part of a year later. William, it seemed, was
not particularly concerned by the Rule of Three: when his abomination of
a sword came at me, it was headed for my neck. I cautiously stepped out
of the blow's path instead of blocking with my shield. The last time
that thing had kissed goblin steel, the steel had been the thing to give
way. It was one of the reasons I'd made such a point out of sparring
with Captain, since only an idiot would try to block the gargantuan
woman's hammer. The reach was different and William was quicker with his
strikes, but the underlying principles remained the same -- I cautiously
gave ground when the Swordsman pushed his attack, circling around to get
a better angle.

``You've gotten better,'' the hero noted. ``But not quite good
\emph{enough}.''

His blade lit up like a star and he swung at me, the very air shrieking
as a wave of blinding power tore in my direction. Too wide to dodge, I
knew, so I hunkered behind my shield and took it head on. It was like
getting kicked by a horse and swallowing a brightstick at the same time.
The impact sent me flying, but that wasn't the worst of it: it felt like
I was\ldots{} burning alive, like in the moment the power had hit me I'd
been dropped in a bonfire that was just sentient enough to despise my
very existence. I rasped out a breath from where I lay on the ground and
scrabbled back to my feet, still half-blind and unsure how long had
passed since I'd been hit.

A flicker at the edge of my vision told me Hunter was back and at it,
clipping the edge of my shoulder pad with his spear but skimming off
when I adjusted my stance. I tried to bash his face in but I couldn't
\emph{aim} like this and struck nothing. Another flicker, this time from
my left, and my shield was the only thing that prevented me losing an
arm: William's blade cut through the metal and nearly reached my fingers
under it before he flicked the blade out with a flourish of the wrist. I
could see them now, the both of them, my vision slowly returning. They
approached me slowly but surely, taking their time in all their cocksure
assurance that this was a done deal. That I was outmatched, hopelessly
out of my league. They were right, of course. But we were far, far from
done.

I smiled a devil's smile and my Name \emph{howled}, raging at the
Struggle ahead of me.

``You wanna go, Swordsman?'' I laughed, veins flooding with power.
``\emph{Let's go, then}.''