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\hypertarget{chapter-24-archer}{%
\chapter{Archer}\label{chapter-24-archer}}



\epigraph{``My mother used to tell me it gets worse before it gets better,
but I've found it's usually the other way around.''}{Eudokia the Oft-Abducted, Basilea of Nicae}



``Two bells,'' Hakram complained. ``I leave you alone for \emph{two
bells} and you get into a fistfight with a giant devil snake.''

``In my defence,'' I croaked. ``It started it.''

Countess Elizabeth's former solar had once again been commandeered for
my purposes, though this time I was seated mostly because I was unable
to stand. I'd been half-tempted to ride into the room on Zombie but had
ultimately allowed Adjutant to prop me up on my way here. The trouser
leg over my broken bone had been cut off, the same for the sleeve on my
bad arm. Hakram had been visibly uncomfortable at the hint of my
smallclothes that could be seen on my upper thigh, much to my amusement.
For someone who supposedly slept around so much he could be rather
prudish. Apprentice felt up the muscles on my leg a little too hard and
I cursed him out loudly.

``Why do you always involve goats when you insult someone's ancestry?''
the Soninke mused, and I had to resist the urge to kick him in the chin.

Oh it would have hurt like a bitch, but feeling his chin give in would
have been so very satisfying. The mage frowned, not having noticed any
of the debate raging through my mind.

``Catherine, did you use necromancy on yourself?'' he asked.

I cleared my throat. ``I've been known to dabble.''

``That shouldn't be possible,'' he noted. ``While broken, the limb
wasn't technically \emph{dead}. That does explain, however, why the
inside of half your limbs is in the early stages of necrosis.''

``That sounds bad,'' I said. ``Hakram, doesn't that sound bad?''

``I'm still at the part of this story where you punched a snake the size
of a carrack in the head and it \emph{died},'' Adjutant replied.

``It mouthed off,'' I defended myself.

``Cat, if you punch everyone who mouths off to you we'll be down half
our officer corps,'' the tall orc sighed.

``The surviving half would be very polite, though,'' Apprentice
commented drily.

I wasn't sure whether it was having to men I rather liked fussing over
me or because the banter was a reassuringly familiar feeling, but
sitting here in relative safety the fresh horror of the battlefield I`d
barely escaped was starting to fade. Knowing Hakram, he'd probably done
the latter on purpose.

``So what's the damage, doc?'' I asked Masego.

``I can fix most of this, but I'm not a priest,'' the mage said a green
halo wreathing his hand as he sunk his magic into my leg. ``Broken bones
will take a least three days to stop being brittle. I've already begun
reversing the necrosis, but if you move the limbs too much the tissue
won't heal.''

``Not sure priestly healing would work on me at this point,'' I said.
``Took the wrong career path for that.''

``Squire isn't a fundamentally villainous Name,'' Apprentice replied.
``It's also the transitional Name leading into being the White Knight.''

``Necromancy's a bit of a hint that this isn't heading into White Knight
territory,'' Hakram snorted.

Masego scoffed.

``There's nothing inherently villainous about necromancy, Adjutant,'' he
spoke peevishly. ``Or any kind of magic, for that matter. Cultural
taboos are just that.''

``I've reached deep into my Name, Masego,'' I murmured. ``It's not a
pleasant thing.''

The chubby mage smiled thinly. ``Spoken like someone who has never seen
the aftermath of an angelic intervention. Angels are just as dangerous
to mortals as devils, Catherine. Both are driven by absolutes. You only
need to look at your nemesis' sword to know that.''

I frowned. ``That thing is related to angels?''

``A shard of one, if I'm not mistaken,'' the dark-skinned man said.

``I've seen it slice into \emph{stone},'' I replied dubiously.

``To embrace contrition is to feel the bite of regret,'' he quoted.
``The Hashmallim are not known for subtlety, or their understanding of
metaphor.''

I raised an eyebrow. That was verbatim from the Book of All Things, and
not one of the better-known passages either.

``The only other Praesi I've ever heard speak the Book is Kilian, and
she's Duni,'' I said.

The Green Stretch had been through regular infusions of Callowan blood
and culture from periods where Imperial power had waned and the
Kingdom's waxed, not to mention the era where most of Praes has been
separated into crusader states.

``Father insisted I familiarize myself with the dominant theological
movement on the continent,'' the mage shrugged. ``Dreadfully tedious
stuff, by large, though its take on villainy was most amusing.''

``Organized religion,'' Hakram scorned. ``And you call us strange. Why
would you ever want a middleman between yourself and the Gods? They're
bound to screw you over.''

``To be honest, Masego probably knows more about the theology of it than
I do,'' I admitted. ``I skipped services as often as I could get away
with.''

``Is this the part where we pretend to be surprised?'' Apprentice asked,
the green glow around his hand winking out.

He patted my bare leg, eyeing me for any sign of pain. When I showed no
reaction he gave a satisfied nod.

``We're done for now,'' he said. ``I'll want to check on that necrosis
in the morning, though.''

``Probably a good idea,'' I agreed. ``You should probably explain to me
what that is when you do.''

I could see in his eyes that he knew I was yanking his chain, prompting
a grin on my part, but he was already puffing up like an angry pedantic
peacock when someone rapped their knuckles against the door.

``Come in,'' I called out.

Juniper came into the room, Aisha and Nauk trailing close behind.

``Squire,'' my legate grunted. ``You look like shit.''

``If you keep sweet talking me like this, Kilian will get jealous,'' I
replied.

``Gods forbid,'' the Hellhound spoke, rolling her eyes.

Nauk looked like he was about to burst, so I gestured vaguely in his
direction.

``Out with it,'' I ordered.

``Is it true you punched a giant snake until it died?'' he asked
eagerly.

``That's\ldots{} relatively true?'' I admitted.

``Hah,'' the large orc exclaimed, and Aisha cursed.

The Taghreb girl flipped Nauk a golden aurelius that the orc caught with
a smug, sharp-toothed grin.

``Told you it was true. Remember when she punched out that ogre?'' the
commander reminded his colleague.

``Ogres aren't the size of a small fortress,'' the staff tribune
muttered.

For a moment I debated stating, once again, that I'd never punched out
an ogre. Or castrated one, for that matter, no matter what filthy lies
Robber kept spreading. With a sigh I let it go: there was no killing the
tale, at this point.

``I have the casualty reports, if you're in a state to hear them,''
Juniper broke in, silencing our common minions with a glare.

The shadow of a smile that had been stretching my lips disappeared at
the words.

``How bad was it?'' I asked soberly.

``No survivors from our wounded, as you already know,'' the grim-faced
legate said. ``Out of the cohort you took we've got forty dead.''

That put our final numbers at a little above one thousand and one
hundred. Less than one thousand in fighting shape.

``We can't afford to keep taking fatalities like this,'' I said.

``We weren't significantly weakened by the battle,'' Aisha noted. ``Most
of the dead were too wounded to be able to fight.''

``Defeat, Aisha,'' I grunted. ``Weakened by the defeat. Call it what it
was.''

She lowered her head in concession.

``No point in wallowing either, Squire,'' the Hellhound said. ``I've had
reports on the number of the devils, but I want your take. How many did
you see?''

``My guess is around a hundred total,'' I said. ``We killed maybe
twenty, likely less.''

``Devils aren't technically killed, just dispersed beyond coherence. And
necrosis is when flesh begins to die because of internal humours,''
Masego burst out suddenly.

I raised an eyebrow. ``Yes, we all knew that second one. Why mention
it?'' I asked earnestly, as if I'd had no idea what prompted the
outburst.

``I hate you so much right now,'' he muttered.

Still, that had been interesting. Had he literally not been able to help
himself? Warlock's son did have a tendency to want to be exact in all
things, but did it really run this deep? \emph{Aspect-driven}, I
realized with a start. There must have been something about his Name
that pushed him to be excruciatingly precise. That was a dangerous
weakness, the kind of exploitable flaw that made you reveal your master
plan because the hero bantered a little too close to home. There were
more unfortunate implications, tough. Was I similarly affected by my
Role? I'd wondered, once or twice, whether I'd gotten Struggle because I
so often got in over my head -- or whether it was the other way around.
\emph{Does my Name push me to get into trouble?}

``Anyhow, there will have been one hundred devils to start with,''
Apprentice continued. ``One hundred is a magically significant number,
and ``that one Empress'' was known to field companies of them.''

``Would have been useful to know that beforehand,'' Juniper growled.

The mage huffed.

``I would have mentioned it if I'd known it was relevant,'' he replied.
``I already told you most records from back then were destroyed.''

I raised a hand.

``We know now, that's what matters,'' I intervened. ``And it changes
things.''

``Evacuation is no longer a viable plan,'' Juniper agreed. ``Not even
for the Fifteenth alone. You don't fight devils on ground they picked.''

``How defensible is the city?'' I asked.

``We have no walls,'' Aisha said flatly. ``And even if we did, we
wouldn't have the numbers to cover everywhere we need.''

``One of those I can fix,'' the Hellhound spoke calmly. ``Marchford is
built in stone, thankfully. Pickler is currently collapsing the outer
ring of houses. I've drafted from all companies for additional manpower.
We should have at least a rudimentary fortification before the city is
hit.''

I nodded in approval, then hesitated. ``The people owning those houses
can't have been particularly pleased,'' I mentioned.

``We've had a riot,'' my legate acknowledged. ``Adjutant dispersed the
crowd before it turned too bad.''

I cast a surprised look at Hakram, who shrugged.

``I pointed out they could either let us tear down the houses or share
them with a demon,'' he informed me. ``Funny how that word sobers up
even angry young men. I've also committed the Fifteenth to rebuilding
them when the battle is done.''

``That won't work twice, Deadhand. City's a pot about to boil over,''
Nauk gravelled. ``As soon as the light of day comes and word spreads
there'll be more rioting, mark my words.''

I passed a tired hand through my hair.

``Bulk up our patrols, and forbid legionaries to wander off alone,'' I
ordered. ``If the city rises, this is over. We can't allow that to
happen.''

``They're not making protecting their ungrateful hides very easy,''
Aisha spoke disdainfully.

``They're panicking,'' I retorted sharply. ``Civilians do that.''

There was a pregnant pause in the room.

``I didn't mean it as a comment on Callowans in general,'' the Taghreb
said carefully. ``My apologies if offence was taken, Lady Squire.''

I felt a spark of guilt at the wariness on her face. I already knew
Aisha wasn't the kind of Praesi aristocrat that thought of my people
like cattle. She was, if anything, roughly egalitarian in her distrust
of individuals of every background. I gestured half-heartedly at her.

``It's been a long night,'' I apologized. ``My temper is finding targets
unworthy of it.''

``Think no more of it, my lady,'' the brown-skinned girl replied
politely.

``Manpower's going to be an issue,'' Hakram broke in, thankfully
changing the subject.

``More than you think,'' I grimaced. ``Some of the devils can take the
shape of a firefly, and others can dig underground. We can't leave the
city itself undefended and look only after the outer parts.''

Masego started.

``Fireflies?'' he repeated. ``\emph{Shit.}''

I frowned. ``They're actually the easiest breed to deal with.''

``For you, sure,'' he said. ``You're not what they're born for. They're
mage-takers.''

``I have a feeling,'' Juniper gravelled, ``that I'm not going to like
what follows.''

``They bury in the back of a mage's neck and take over the body,''
Apprentice explained. ``The practitioner's ability to use magic is
significantly improved, so there's rituals where diabolists bind them to
themselves, but if we're not the ones who summoned them\ldots{}''

``Well, let's take checking all our mages to the top of our priority
list,'' I said. ``And get the word out to the civilians -- there aren't
as many mages born in Callow as in the Wasteland, but there's bound to
be a few left in a city this size.''

``Here's a thought,'' Nauk said. ``Conscript those. We need the
firepower and we're asking them to fight for their own bloody home.''

``I'd conscript everyone in fighting shape in the city, if I could,''
Juniper said. ``But it's pointless if we don't have weapons for them to
use. Our stocks don't have that many extra supplies, and most of those
were with our wounded.''

I blinked. Sometimes I forgot they hadn't been born here, hadn't been
raised to the culture. That they didn't really understand the people the
Empire was ruling over.

``This is \emph{Callow},'' I told them. ``Half the houses in the city
will have swords and spears stashed under the floorboard or hidden away
in the attic.''

Surprised faces all around, with quite a bit of confusion.

``The Royal Guard was never as large as the Legions, even at its peak,''
I reminded them. ``Whenever Procer came through the Vale, whenever
Emperors marched on Summerholm, the bulk of the Kingdom's host was
always volunteers. Families keep arms and pass them from generation to
generation.''

I half-smiled, drawing on those nights I'd spent serving drinks in
Laure.

``\emph{So pick up your sword, boy}

\emph{Here they come again}

\emph{And down here in the mud,}

\emph{It's us who holds the line},'' I sang, the refrain of a song as
old as the Kingdom.

``I've heard that tune before,'' Hakram said.

``Here They Come Again,'' I told him. ``It was never officially banned
but Imperial authorities frown on people singing it. A little too
rebellious for the Tower's tastes, I imagine.''

``Having weapons is one thing,'' Juniper grunted. ``Do they know how to
use them?''

``I'm less optimistic about that,'' I admitted. ``The men and women with
martial training, however slight, will have been taken with the Countess
when she left for Vale.''

``Disorganized rabble can hold a chokepoint, given sufficient
motivation,'' Aisha spoke flatly. ``I imagine not wanting their homes
become a demon-infested wasteland might do the trick in that regard.''

Hakram cleared his throat.

``That's not something that can be assessed from this room, so arguing
over the subject is pointless,'' he reminded everyone. ``I wouldn't
discount the possibility that Countess Marchford left with most of those
weapons, either.''

Damn, I hadn't thought of that. The aristocrat was one of the richest
women in Callow, but having too many arms and armour forged at once
would have rung alarms with the Empire. It wasn't even worth considering
that Black \emph{didn't} have agents embed in every major blacksmithing
guild in the country.

``I'll get started on the organization for all this, then,'' Juniper
sighed.

``I'll put a pot of tea on the fire,'' Aisha told her, almost getting a
smile out of my grim-faced legate.

They both looked at me and I nodded my dismissal, already discussing
logistics as they left the room. Nauk lingered a little longer.

``Kinda wished you'd brought me along for that last fight, boss,'' he
gravelled.

``Hells, so do I,'' I muttered. ``If I'd had a pair of cohorts instead
of the one we would have swept through the bastards and gotten our
people out.''

``We'll get a second round soon enough,'' the large orc conceded, then
paused to choose his words.

That was unusual enough he got my full attention immediately.

``When the Silver Spears come back, after they've had a nice moonlit
stroll with the demon\ldots{} I'd like for my kabili to be the one
facing them.''

``We won't know where they attack for sure,'' I frowned.

``Between you and the Hellhound, I'm sure a good guess will be made,''
he grunted.

I clenched my fingers, then unclenched them. His reasons were obvious
enough, though I didn't like them. A commander focused on getting
payback instead of his actual tactical objectives might make mistakes.
On the other hand, a commander with strong personal motivation to carry
a fight might perform better than one less\ldots{} driven.

``Will you lose your shit, if I put you in front of them?'' I asked
bluntly.

Nauk's brutish face hardened, though not out of anger at me. He knew the
question was not undeserved, and that him going into the Red Rage in the
middle of a battle would fuck up his kabili's entire chain of command.

``I swear to you I will not,'' he gravelled. ``On my father's blood, I
make that oath. May my Clan bury me unmarked if I lie.''

Hakram took in a sharp breath, so that wasn't an oath lightly made.

``Done,'' I finally said.

Selling that to Juniper was going to be a pain and a half, but there was
a debt there to settle. He might not see it that way, but I did. The
image of our friend wreathed in green flames, looking so damnably
peaceful, was not one I would soon forget.

``I knew you'd understand,'' the large greenskin said. ``Rest well,
Callow. Tomorrow the real war starts.''

And with that ominous bit of talk, he left the three of us behind.
Apprentice was the first to stir.

``I'll leave you to your sleep, then,'' he said.

``Not yet,'' I replied. ``Conscripts and bastard walls aren't going to
get us through this, Masego. All of us know that. I need alternatives.
How good are you with wards?''

He shrugged. ``I could prevent anything from outside of Creation from
entering this room, given a bell and the right tools.''

``I don't mean for you to ward a room,'' I replied. ``How hard would it
be to cover the entire city?''

``That's\ldots{}'' he began, then stopped. ``Insane, yes. But not
impossible.''

``Didn't think you had that kind of juice in you,'' Hakram noted,
sounding a little surprised.

``I don't,'' the mage replied. ``I can't think of a practitioner who
would, save perhaps the Dead King. But warding isn't about the power you
can provide, it's about what you can accumulate. The whole point of
ritualistic magic is that the impetus doesn't come from the caster's
personal strength.''

I grimaced. This was going to end up being a blood magic thing, wasn't
it?

``We're not bleeding people, Apprentice,'' I stated. ``We're not that
desperate.''

He blinked, then looked offended.

``I'm not a \emph{hack}, Catherine. I don't need sacrifices to brute
force my way into higher arcana,'' he snapped.

``In her defence,'' Hakram intervened, ``when mages start talking about
grand designs someone usually ends up strapped to an altar.''

``Inferior sorcerers, maybe,'' Masego scorned, but he looked somewhat
mollified. ``What I need is a census of the number and location of
hearths in the city. All of them.''

I was about to ask him why when the window burst into shards of glass. I
wasted a precious heartbeat in pure surprise before my training kicked
in and I reached for my sword. Which, I immediately remembered, wasn't
at my side. It was on the table. By the time I was on my feet, Hakram's
blade was out and Apprentice was casting. My hands closed around the
handle of my sword and I unsheathed it, biting my lip so I wouldn't let
out a scream and the brutal flare of pain that standing suddenly on my
broken leg was causing. I'd expected to be looking at a devil, maybe one
of those mage-takers come for Masego, but what I was looking it was
completely different. Who I was looking at, rather.

A woman, dressed in fine white chainmail going down to her knees in a
skirt. Over it she wore a leather coat that covered her arms up to the
wrist and came up in a hood. Her lower face was covered by dark linen,
but I could still see her dark ochre skin betraying a bloodline from
across the Tyrian Sea and delicate hazelnut eyes. On her back there was
a quiver and almost absurdly large longbow strapped, but the weapon she
had out was the longknife in her hand. Adjutant, true to form, did not
waste time on banter. He took a swing at her without missing a beat but
she caught his wrist and twisted it, using his momentum to spin him
around and have him face the spell Masego had just let loose. The mage's
eyes widened in panic and he barked something in the arcane tongue but
there was still a flash of heat and Hakram went flying.

I made to go around the table, not confident in my ability to flip it
and power through. The stranger moved towards Apprentice but with a
snarl he cast another spell: dark, squid-like flesh grew around his
outstretched hand and a flurry of tentacles spread towards the enemy at
breakneck speed. The woman snorted and stepped out of the way of most of
them, hand snapping out to grab a tentacle and \emph{tugging}. The
bespectacled mage fell forward and she lightly jumped over him, ignoring
the fact he was already halfway through another incantation. She was
coming for me, there were no two ways about it. Assassin? No, the bow
would be out of character and if a Calamity had been after my head I
would never have seen them coming.

``Who are you?'' I asked.

She dashed forward and I grit my teeth. Talking was apparently not an
option. I made as if to take a swing at her, but instead brought up my
free hand: the spear of shadows coalesced almost instantly and tore in
her direction. She sidestepped it with insulting ease, ducked under my
sword stroke and socked me in the stomach. Before I was done wheezing in
pain and surprise, I felt cool steel resting against my throat as she
lightly put up the blade without drawing blood.

``Stop casting that web of lightning, love,'' she spoke in perfect Lower
Miezan. ``We're done here.''

``Are we?'' I said calmly. ``I've walked away from having my chest more
or less split in half. If you think a slit throat is going to do the
trick, I have a surprise for you.''

I was, of course, lying through my teeth. But if I'd learned anything
about having a Name, it was that if you said anything confidently enough
people usually took you seriously.

``Is that so?'' the stranger laughed. ``Good to know.''

She took away the blade from my throat, then sheathed it with flourish.

``I have to say I'm a little disappointed,'' she continued. ``Lady
Ranger always speaks very highly of the Black Knight, but if I'd wanted
everyone in this room dead you would be.''

I started in surprise.

``You're\ldots{}''

The woman lowered the linen covering her face, offering me a dashing
smile.

``Archer,'' she introduced herself. ``As the mandated representative of
the Lady of the Lake, I've come to take custody of Hunter.''