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\hypertarget{heroic-interlude-appellant}{%
\chapter*{Heroic Interlude: Appellant}\label{heroic-interlude-appellant}}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{\nameref{heroic-interlude-appellant}} \chaptermark{Heroic Interlude: Appellant}

\epigraph{``One hundred and twelve: always be kind to any monster held in a
cage by your nemesis. When it inevitably gets loose, it will remember
the kindness and attempt to destroy the villain instead.''}{``Two Hundred Heroic Axioms'', author unknown}



A series of explosions rocked the machine and the enormous drill ceased
spinning.

Though the Lowest Plaza still had a massive gaping hole in its centre,
Helikean soldiers were no longer pouring out of the tunnel: when the
Tyrant had fled, swearing `eternal and unholy revenge', they'd begun
retreating in good order. Hanno let out a sigh of relief. He'd not
needed to tap into any of his aspects to turn back the breach, but after
unleashing his Name so many times he was starting to tire. Ash was
already making her way through the Delosi soldiers, curing anything
short of death with a touch and that semi-permanent frown. The Ashen
Priestess was admittedly one of the more combative healing Names: it
should perhaps be expected that her bedside manner was rougher than that
of the average priest. The White Knight wasn't exactly displeased. His
memories told him that the all-loving types often had difficulty dealing
with the realities of war, especially those sworn to Compassion. Their
inability to reconcile the way Creation was and the way it should be
could lead to some very ugly breakdowns.

The Champion was currently collecting ``trophies'', hacking off the tip
of swords so she could make rings out of them to add to her necklace.
There were already enough of those that the thing could be considered an
additional layer of mail around her neck. A somewhat grisly ritual by
heroic standards, but that was always the way with Levantines. The
heroes that had founded their nation had been rebels fighting the
Proceran occupation, after all, and they'd been much more willing to
bloody their hands than the average Named on the side of Good. Hanno
sheathed his sword and took off his helmet to wipe his brow. Hedge
crawled out of the wreckage of the machine moments later, covered in
soot from head to toe. She'd gone in there to blow the runic array
powering the drill while he held the line, and one again gotten off
essentially untouched. Hanno wasn't surprised: there was a reason he
kept sending her on the riskiest ventures.

As long as the Hedge Wizard and the Champion kept bickering `amusingly',
they were essentially untouchable. Their heroic band would be much too
grim if they died, too dark for the amount of absurdity the Tyrant kept
injecting into this siege. The White Knight eyed the giant drilling
machine belching smoke and sighed again. Well, the flying towers had
been a wash so he supposed it made sense for the Tyrant to try
underground afterwards. Usually even villains hesitated before trying
that route, since there was always the risk of running into a dwarven
tunnel, but this particular monster was a reckless one. Almost too
reckless, he'd begun thinking of late. Every assault that had been made
on Delos so far did have a decent chance of succeeding, but they were
also all half-baked enterprises. It was like victory and defeat didn't
particularly matter to the man planning the operations, which was
somewhat worrying. If taking Delos wasn't the way the Tyrant got what he
wanted, \emph{what} was?

Delosi officers began arranging crews to drag away the broken machine
and cordoning off the hole in the ground until it could be properly
filled. The Secretariat's armed forces were not particularly strong, in
his opinion, but they were well-organized and had superb morale. Delosi
believed that the decrees of their Secretariat were the will of the
Heavens, so whenever they were deployed they would not break regardless
of casualty rates. It had not been unusual for half a battalion to be
wiped out on their first deployment, in the first skirmishes of the war,
and yet the same men and women who'd been through that grinder did not
hesitate going back to it the following day. He could respect that, the
act of putting your faith in something larger than yourself. In this
case it was somewhat misplaced, of course. The Secretariat was an
institution made my men, and so held the flaws of those men. To find
infallible judgement, one had to look higher. Hedge made her way to him,
patting away the soot with a lack of method that spread the
unsightliness more than got rid of it.

``That should be it for a fortnight, at least,'' she said. ``Unless he
thinks up another machine.''

``He's tried above and below,'' Hanno noted. ``We should expect a
dimensional shortcut next.''

The Hedge Wizard snorted, her mismatched eyes shining with anticipation.

``If he's going to meddle in Arcadia that problem might just fix
itself,'' she said. ``The Courts are on war footing; they'll be shooting
everything that moves.''

``The first step always works, Hedge,'' he reminded her. ``It may
backfire later but it's a virtual certainty he'll make it into the
city.''

The dark-haired woman grimaced.

``That sounds like you're asking me to do ward work,'' she said.
``Breaking those I can manage, White, but \emph{making} them? That stuff
is hellishly complicated and it blows up if you get even one number
wrong.''

Hanno had been about to suggest a mere alarm measure instead of
something more taxing when he saw Delosi troops coming down from the
upper levels. The White Knight felt curiosity rise when the officers
among them ignored the efforts of the other soldiers and headed straight
for him. The highest-ranked among them, a weedy woman with a commander's
insignia branded on her breastplate, came forward and saluted sharply.

``Lord White,'' she greeted him. ``There's been an accident.''

``A large one, for a commander to come inform me personally,'' he said.

``There was a fire in the House of Ink and Parchment,'' the commander
said. ``An entire wing collapsed. Casualties involve several members of
the Secretariat.''

Hanno's eyes sharpened.

``Which ones?'' he asked.

The commander didn't know since she was not high-ranking enough to be
cleared for the information, as it turned out, but she'd been provided
with a list. For once Delos' obsession with records was saving time
instead of costing it. The olive-skinned hero scanned the scroll,
skipping the names of anyone not ranked Secretary -- anyone below that
had no real influence in the city. \emph{Secretary Colchis, Secretary
Mante, Secretary Theolian. Secretary of War Euphemia.} Every single
high-ranked member of the Secretariat who'd at any point spoken in
favour of Delos continuing to intervene in the war past the siege.

``That fire was not an accident,'' he said quietly. ``It was enemy
action.''

Hedge looked at him grimly.

``You think the Tyrant used the assault as a distraction?'' she asked.

``Wasn't our Kairos who did this,'' Aoede said.

Hanno released the handle of his sword. The Bard had not been there a
moment ago, but in between a single blink of his eyelids she had\ldots{}
filled the space. Arm slung over Hedge's shoulder, the Wandering Bard
for once wasn't smiling.

``You should have some memories about this,'' Aoede told him. ``This
is-``

She never got to finish. Of the twenty-odd officers that surrounded
them, over half had weapons in hand: the Bard vanished before a knife
could take her in the belly, wielded by the very commander who'd brought
him news.

``\emph{Stand down},'' Hanno barked, blade in hand.

In the span of a single heartbeat the hero noticed three things. First,
all the officers with their weapons out looked horrified. Second, there
was the faintest trickle of power inside them. And third, they were now
turning their weapons on themselves. The White Knight dropped his sword
and wrestled down the commander before she could slit her own throat,
but Hedge was not so quick. The others dropped to the ground, dying or
dead, before anything else could be done. The commander stopped fighting
back after a moment and he only just managed to keep her from biting off
her tongue. Name pulsing, Hanno focused on the power he'd glimpsed. He
managed to feel five layers of something before it was gone, washed away
before he even tried to make it disappear.

``Commander,'' he said calmly, releasing her mouth. ``Are you with me?''

The woman blinked.

``Lord White?'' she croaked. ``Why am I on the ground?''

Hanno got back to his feet, helped her up.

``Can you remember anything unusual that happened to you today?'' he
said.

The officer paled.

``No,'' she admitted.

``She wouldn't,'' Hedge said quietly. ``Someone Spoke to her.''

The Ashuran glanced at his companion.

``You've seen this before?'' he asked.

``I know the theory,'' the Wizard replied. ``Five orders. One to wipe
the memory, one trigger, one act and two contingencies.''

This\ldots{} he'd seen this before. Fought this before. The White Knight
closed his eyes, breathed in and out until his heartbeat slowed and then
ceased entirely. In that moment, his mind filled. A thousand lifetimes
he had lived yet not lived, spread across centuries. Hanno focused,
filtered through two points: compromised officers, high-tier leadership
crippled. Seventh Crusade, White Knight. No, opponent was the Dead King.
First Proceran War, Good King. No, this wasn't bribery. \emph{The
Paladin, fall of the Blessed Isle. Conquest.} Commander of the vanguard
and the western flank assassinated, had to be replaced by officers less
seasoned. Every outpost off the Isle gone dark. Sentries made unable to
see the placement of goblinfire at the base of the walls. His heartbeat
returned.

``Calamities,'' Hanno spoke. ``We're fighting the Calamities, and
they're about to attack.''

There was a sensation in the back of his head, like a lever being
pulled, and a ward covering the Lower Plaza awoke.

A faint smell hit his nostrils and soldiers began dropping like flies.

---

Alkmene wasted a good two heartbeats looking at Hanno like he'd just
murdered her puppy. The Calamities, as in those scary Praesi fuckers up
north with a graveyard full of heroes behind their lair? Shit.
\emph{Shit}. Words stronger than shit, which were not coming at the
moment because oh Gods they were all about to die\emph{. Productive
panic, Hedge,} she reminded herself. \emph{Productive panic is how we
survive.} They were now inside a ward, which had been remotely triggered
and until now had been hidden behind the much larger magical emanations
coming from that godsdamned drill from the Hells. Alkmene tested the
strength of said ward with her mind and found she might as well be
trying to bring down a wall by pelting it with pastries. Modify it? And
now the back of her eye was itching, just from a light probe. Whoever
had designed that pattern was a vicious bastard and a half. All that was
left was alleviating the effects, then. Her teachers had always taught
that that a Gifted faced with a ward could only do three things: break,
modify or alleviate. By the looks of it, this one was a straight
translocation ward that was bringing in some kind of gas at a fixed
rate.

Hedge pulled up a scarf from under her robes and covered her mouth. Most
poisons could be outright ignored by Named and the rest could be burned
out with a trick, but quantity ingested did influence how well that
worked. From the way all the Delosi were stiffening and falling to the
ground so quickly, this was not a weak brew. Not magical in nature
though. That made things easier. Muttering a word of power, Alkmene
created a ball of air in the middle of the plaza. The translucent sphere
began spinning, sucking in the gas as fast as it could. She kept
murmuring and it kept expanding, devouring more and more. Wouldn't save
many of the soldiers, but it would at least make sure their band didn't
go into the fight with enough paralysis poison in their lungs to kill a
dozen oxen. Ash, in the middle of the incapacitated men, slammed her
staff against the paving stones. There was a pulse of power and the
people on the ground began breathing again, turning this from a massacre
to a crippling blow. On the other hand, by doing that she'd\ldots{}
Hanno was running towards her sister faster than anyone in plate should
be able to, but he wouldn't get there in time.

A red wedge immediately opened up in the sky above Irene and a burning
rock the size of a house fell through.

Alkmene cursed, flicked her wrist and sent the ball of air straight at
the projectile. For a heartbeat it seemed like it would push it back,
but then with a pop the spell gave. It was just enough of a delay that
her sister was able to prepare herself, thank the Gods. Before the
pocket meteorite could smash her into paste Irene was swallowed by a
cloud of ash that swirled around her before spearing upwards. The rock
itself turned into ash when it made contact, hitting the ground and
obscuring the entire plaza in a thick cloud. Alkmene sharpened her eyes
just before visibility went and winced at what she saw. Irene's eyes
were already grey, which was a bad sign. She'd already used too much
power. The Hedge Wizard set that aside the moment she began to feel
another spell being crafted, and looked upwards. There was a ball of
opaque blue light hovering in the sky above the city, a stable shielding
ward. The Warlock, she realized with a dry swallow. She was going to
have to fight that. What had her teachers called getting into a mage's
duel with Praesi again? \emph{Death by stupidity}, she remembered. But
godsdamnit, she'd have to anyway. If the Warlock was busy with her he
wasn't smashing everything down here to bloody chunks. Alkmene cursed
again and fished out three tiles from her pockets.

She threw them ahead of her, watched them form three steps hovering in
the air.

``You don't have to win, Hedge,'' she encouraged herself. ``Just, you
know, not get horribly killed. It's all about the standards.''

Nervously laughing, she began the climb up.

---

Even as the ash billowed past him, Hanno replayed the sequence of events
of the last sixty heartbeats in his mind. Nonlethal but dangerous ward
that affected mundane soldiers, triggered as the opening move. Their
spellcaster moved to mitigate the damage, taking herself out of the
equation. Their healer then attempted to heal the affected, leaving
herself wide open for retaliation while the other two fighters in their
band were too far away to intervene.

Had the Ashen Priestess been a common healing Named, that projectile
would have killed her instantly.

They'd almost lost a fourth of their fighting strength before the first
exchange was over, and that realization sent a shiver up his spine.
These were not military tactics, they were \emph{hero-killing} tactics.
Targeting people in their charge to make them expend effort, then
immediately striking their weak point with overwhelming force. Their
opponents were not only used to fighting heroes, they were used to
fighting \emph{bands} of heroes. The White Knight calmed his mind. There
would be three of them. The Warlock was in the sky, and Hedge was moving
to distract him. Now he needed to find the Captain and the Black Knight
before they could take one of his companions out.

``Ash,'' he called out. ``Champion.''

``We here,'' the Champion yelled back.

``One, five,'' a man's voice calmly said. ``Brazier.''

Magic flared in the distance and the place where the Champion's voice
had come from burst into flames. The light was enough for Hanno to make
out a lone silhouette to his left. A man. Short, in plate with a heater
shield and a longsword. The White Knight, without making a sound, headed
in that direction. With a burst of speed he emerged behind the man and
rammed his blade in this back -- only to pierce through shadows that
collapsed into a pool before snaking away along the ground. There was a
faint whistle and he ducked under a crossbow bolt, almost missing the
second one aimed at his knee. He managed to parry that one at the last
moment, though it marked his armour. The hero could still feel the
presences of Ash and the Champion, dimmed. They were still alive, though
the fire had hurt. Gritting his teeth, he made his choice and followed
the shadows.

They were swift, but not swift enough to outpace a hero on foot. After a
few moments it became glaringly obvious he was being led away from the
plaza, towards the second level of the city. The sound of fighting
erupted behind him, the Champion hooting in joy, but he'd have to trust
they could handle themselves. Leaving the Black Knight unattended with
an ash cloud as cover was just asking for one of them to die. Hanno
found steps under his feet, a sure sign he was leaving the plaza, and
shortly afterwards fell the pressure over his shoulders vanish: he'd
left the bounds of the ward. The ash cloud behind him, the hero looked
for his opponent and found him almost instantly. In the middle of the
avenue stood a man, in a bare suit of plate that had the marks of
frequent use. His shield had no heraldry painted on it, his sword went
without decoration. The only splash of colour was those unsettlingly
pale green eyes that could be seen through the slits of the helm.

``You're a long way from home, Black Knight,'' Hanno said.

The man did not reply. He moved forward, shield raised. The White Knight
felt the Light flood his veins, scouring his insides, and with hard eyes
met the enemy.

---

The enemy had made a mistake when they'd chosen poison as their means of
attack. The method had been clever enough, Irene would concede, as the
sheer quantity of poison had made it hard to counteract. Now that she
had this much ash to work with, however, it was child's play to
neutralize the effects. After absorbing the airborne toxin with it she'd
directly targeted the enemy ward with her power, since Alkmene was
apparently incapable of doing as much. Hammering blindly at sorcery with
miracles tended to lead to unpredictable side effects, so instead of
destroying the ward she'd erased the part that was bringing in the gas.
Or at least she'd begun doing that, before nine feet of plate and muscle
with a giant hammer had come for her head. How they'd not seen or heard
the behemoth approach, given that the ash cloud had settled on the
ground by then, was beyond her. Likely the woman's Name was involved.
Regardless, the Champion had stepped in before her earthly body could be
made an earthly corpse.

``You not just big girl,'' said heroine enthused, narrowly avoiding a
swing. ``You \emph{biggest} girl.''

``I'm flattered,'' the Captain replied politely. ``But also thrice your
age and married.''

The Ashen Priestess had never thought much of fighting banter. If you
had breath for it, you weren't trying to kill your opponent hard enough.
The Champion was more or less holding the enemy at bay for now, so she
focused on the ward again. She could see why her sister had found the
structure troublesome: there were little patterns that would make even
looking at it dangerous for a mage. Doing so through the lens of a
miracle, however, meant it could not touch her. Irene began sharpening
her power into a chisel again, breaking one rune after another. Her soul
was only loosely attached to her body by a chord, high in the sky as she
continued chipping away at the ward. The Priestess smiled as she wiped
another cluster, then felt the chord being tugged. Looking downwards she
saw the Champion's shield getting caved in by a hammer blow, quickly
followed by the heroine getting punched in the face. Both hits she had
gotten by standing between the villain and Priestess' immobile body.
Irene had seen the Champion laugh off a horse's kick, but after that
punch she spat blood before forcing the Captain back. She then unkindly
slapped Irene's body in the face a second time, the chord forcefully
dragging the heroine back inside at the impact.

``Ashy,'' Champion grunted as the Priestess blearily opened her eyes.
``Get your \emph{miera} joint. This no stroll in park.''

Irene eyed her companion in confusion before she caught the meaning.
\emph{Get your shit together}, Rafaella had meant.

``The ward's out of play,'' she said. ``I'm back.''

``Good,'' the Champion said. ``Two-time big girl now.''

Said `girl' was not currently attacking them, Priestess could not help
but notice. The Captain was not wearing a helmet so the studded earring
in her left ear was quite visible. And currently glinting with sorcery.

``Confirmed,'' the Captain said. ``Going full tilt.''

``I no like sound of this,'' the Champion admitted, throwing away her
crumpled shield and hoisting her axe.

``It's nothing personal,'' the villain said. ``I was given an order, and
now I \textbf{Obey}.''

The moment she spoke the word, her presence in Creation became
\emph{heavier}. Aspect. Well, that was going to be troublesome. The
Ashen Priestess reached for her miracles as the Captain blurred into
motion.

---

Hanno's sword slid off the shield and he backpedalled to avoid the
blades that would have scythed through his knees. At least now he knew
how the villain had shot two crossbows at him earlier: the Black
Knight's shadow extended into two tendrils behind his back, the two of
them wielding swords simultaneously to the villain's own movements. The
sheer amount of fine control that had to go in that was staggering, not
that the hero had time to stop and stare: even with the Light sharpening
his reflexes beyond human capacity he was having trouble coming close
without taking a hit. The first time the villain had revealed the
tendrils he'd waited until their blades were locked before plunging two
blades straight into the White Knight's neck: they'd gone through the
gorget and would have gone on to his spine under it if he hadn't
detonated the Light beneath his skin to blow them back. The burns from
that were painful, and unlike other wounds wouldn't start healing given
enough time.

Hanno breathed out, having a little space, and timed his advance. The
first shadow-wielded sword skimmed his shoulder as he shot forward,
trailing sparks. The second came down in a swing but he rolled forward,
landing on his feet just in time to parry a lunge that would have gone
straight through his eye. The White Knight slapped away the shield,
flicked his wrist, and with wide eyes saw the fuse on a clay ball
reaching the bottom. It exploded in his face, throwing him back. Before
he even landed on the ground the Black Knight was behind him, shadow
tendrils swinging swords at the height of his neck and torso. Gritting
his teeth, Hanno detonated the Light on his side to stop his momentum --
it blew straight through his plate. He took a shield bash to the face,
blinding him, and then felt a blade go straight through the elbow joint
of his sword arm. Biting down on a scream, he reached for his Name and
let out a pulse of blinding light. By the time he was steady again, the
Black Knight was twenty feet away and the shadow limbs were aiming
crossbows at him.

The hero moved his blade to the hand with a functioning elbow behind it.
He wasn't as good with his left as his right, but it was a near thing.
At the moment he could only see two shadow tendrils, but Hanno wasn't
falling for that again. He'd seen a third one hiding those goblin
munitions behind the shield, after knocking it aside. The crossbows drew
back, however, when both Named heard the sound of marching troops coming
down the avenue leading up to the third level. Reinforcements, the
Ashuran thought. Alone against the villain they would be wheat waiting
for the sickle, but with him too? No matter how many limbs the Black
Knight had, he only had one torso. The Delosians spread across the
length of the avenue in a shield wall, bowmen setting up behind them.
The villain's limbs retracted and he patiently waited for the soldiers
to approach. What was he\ldots{} \emph{No}.

``Retreat,'' the White Knight bellowed.

``Two, five through eight,'' the green-eyed man spoke calmly. ``Half.''

Hanno felt magic flare in the distance and saw the villain flatten
himself against the ground. He followed suit, and a heartbeat late felt
the warmth of a spell pass above him. He got back on his feet as soon as
his senses told him the danger was past, jaw tightening when he saw the
aftermath of the sorcery. Every soldier in the avenue had been cut
through at the waist as if by a giant blade. Blood and viscera stained
the stone even as the men twitched away the last of their lives.

``Warlock, you have bleed,'' the Black Knight said. ``Walls were
damaged. Recalibrate.''

Some of the houses had been sliced through as well, Hanno saw, but he
was far past caring. He'd just seen two hundred men butchered like
animals quicker than you could fill a glass. The White Knight breathed
out, mastering his fury. \emph{I do not judge.} To take justice in his
own hands was surrendering his blade to chaos. Only the judgement of the
Heavens was not limited by the shackles of mortal perspective.

``\textbf{Ride},'' Hanno hissed, running.

Light howled into existence, sharping itself into a steed that the White
Knight mounted without missing a beat. His sword returned to its sheath
as he devoured the distance, a blinding lance of light forming in his
extended hand. The Black Knight cocked his head to the side and the
shadow tendrils extended from his back. Hanno waited for the swords, but
instead they extended even further and pushed the villain off the ground
like giant spider legs, tossing him towards a rooftop to the left. By
the time the Ashuran got to where the villain had stood there was
nothing left to charge. The mount disappeared a heartbeat later and the
lance with it, Hanno landing on his feet. His gaze turned to the
rooftop, where the Black Knight was studying him.

``Two, six,'' the man said. ``Pitch.''

Everything went dark just as the tiredness from using the aspect hit
him.

---

``Oh, \emph{come on},'' Hedge yelled as she started falling.

It had been bad enough when little dots of red light that burned
straight through everything began pursuing her, but now this? There was
no way using giant snakes made of flames as a mobile semi-sentient
defence could be considered reasonable. Mages used those as a fancy
knockout-punch, not \emph{decoration}. She only had two tiles left --
that little dot surprise had punched straight through one before she
learned what they did -- which meant she wasn't so much ascending as
leaping from one stair to another. While at least a league up in the
sky, pursued by killer lights and \emph{very insistent giant fire
snakes}. Normally the absolute sheer terror knotting up her guts would
have been crippling, but having come within an inch of death seven times
within the last few moments she'd punched straight through that ceiling
of fear into another realm of fresh and previously unexplored horror.
She was never going use a staircase again, and anyone who tried to make
her was going to spend the rest of their life as the ugliest frog she
could manage.

The Hedge Wizard summoned the two tiles back to her, shoving one under
her feet hastily so she'd stop freefalling. The dots were slow enough
they'd take a bit to catch up, but she was now officially back in snake
trouble territory. The odd-eyed woman winced as she saw the spell
construct's jaw unhinge. Just before it closed on her she muttered a
word of power and both she and everything she touched turned into flame,
just long enough for the snake to pass through her. She came out of it
wearing fuming robes and knowing she was running out of tricks to
survive that. Her Name allowed her to use and understand sorceries so
wide in scope and different in nature that it was effectively impossible
for anyone else to know them all, but it did have one glaring flaw: she
could never use the same trick twice the same day. Her bag wasn't
running low, at the moment, but it was certainly running low with things
she could use to avoid giant flaming snake death. This was, she
reflected, a bit of a problem.

She wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer, while the Warlock did
not even seem to be running his actual defences. Could he even, from
inside that bubble ward? He'd been casting area-wide magic sporadically,
but she wasn't actually getting any spikes in magic from in there when
he did. There was actually a non-negligible chance he was just
triggering distant wards while overseeing the battlefield. The most
direct action he'd taken so far was the pocket meteor, and that was
before she'd found him in the sky. \emph{So if I break that bubble, I
might be disrupting their entire plan}. That was the kind of risk she
had to take, horrifying as that notion was. Alkmene did not think they
were going to pull through this otherwise, not with how dim she could
feel the others getting. Hanno was getting the worst of it, she sensed,
but whoever Champion was scrapping with was delivering a hell of a
beating. Hedge gingerly rolled her shoulders, watching the swarm of
light dots approaching.

The wizard summoned her free tile to her hand and tapped the one she was
standing on three times. It broke her heart to destroy an artefact she'd
made so recently -- because of their equally recent flying tower fiasco,
as it happened -- but it was marginally better than getting destroyed
herself. The tile began lengthening and she ran down the length, feeling
it becoming more and more brittle the longer it spread. Halfway to the
bubble it shattered under her feet. She managed to get the second on in
place before beginning to fall, angling it so it served as a sloped
ramp. Immediately she began sliding off but another word of power had
her soles sticking to the surface, allowing her to start running
upwards. Not, unfortunately, fast enough to lose the dots. Hedge
muttered under breath and flicked her wrist: a ghost image of her,
reproducing her magical signature, began running away across thin air.
The dots weren't sentient at all, unlike the snakes, so it would be
enough to fool them.

One of said snakes managed to loop back to her right before she got to
the bubble, though, leaving her only an instant to make her decision.
She went with the risk, since her last tile was already beginning to
break. She leapt on top of the bubble and pressed herself against the
ward, hoping to all the Gods the snakes had been designed not to collide
with the bubble. The fire construct veered away at the last moment and
she clenched her fist in triumph. Not dying, her favourite kind of
victory. Immediately she began tinkering with the ward beneath her.
Unlike the first one they'd been hit with, this one had been designed to
weather a beating instead of being hard to modify. Small favours. No
doubt the Warlock already knew she was there, so her window would be
very, \emph{very} small. Huh, this was actually massively strong. She
could have unloaded her entire arsenal at this and barely scratched it.
Were the villains under the impression she was a slugger kind of mage?

With a smile of triumph, she switched the last two runes, preparing the
fae flame even as a circular hole in the bubble opened.

There was no Warlock inside.

There \emph{was}, however, an unstable elemental matrix that had only
been kept from exploding by the containment ward.

``You utter \emph{asshole},'' she managed to say before it blew up.

---

The warhammer came down and shattered Champion's shoulder, then spun to
turn her left kneecap into powder. The Captain did not even attempt to
kill the downed heroine this time, going directly for Irene. She'd
learned from that initial mistake.

``\textbf{Heal},'' the Ashen Priestess murmured.

The shoulder snapped back into place, the knee yanked itself up and the
Levantine woman got back on her feet. Irene had been tapping into her
aspect for over half the fight and it was starting to take a toll. The
wounds healed themselves more slowly now, and not as fully. Given how
absurdly tough the Champion was she was able to walk it off anyway, but
it was a game of diminishing returns. In more ways than one: the
Captain's hammer came down on the box of light surrounding the Priestess
three times before Rafaella was able to engage her again. After the
third blow the box thinned, and Irene was certain if the villain had
time for a fourth it would outright break. If it did, she gave it half
and half odds she survived the experience. Unfortunately the Champion
now got back into the fight a little slower every time while Captain
showed no sign of tiring. Whatever aspect she'd used earlier wasn't
empowering her by much, but it \emph{wasn't running out}. This had
effectively become an endurance match, which villains weren't supposed
to be able to win. They would this time, though, because the Calamities
had hit when their band was fresh from turning back an enemy assault.

That did not feel like a coincidence.

``Champion,'' Irene called out.

``Small busy right now,'' the Levantine replied, ducking under a hammer
blow.

The mere force of the swing was enough to kick up a cloud of ash behind
them.

``I need you to buy me sixty heartbeats,'' she said.

``Also want moon and stars?'' Champion complained.

``It's that or we die,'' the Priestess frankly replied.

Rafaella smashed her battle axe into the behemoth's plate, driving her
back a step and cracking the metal.

``Dying not good,'' the Levantine conceded.

The Captain leapt back.

``I need Burden in, um,'' she said. ``Big square in the middle.''

There was a pause.

``I'm not Black, Wekesa,'' she retorted irritably. ``I don't keep track
of where everyone goes all the time.''

Thirty heartbeats left. She could make it. Her aspect continued ebbing
as she pushed another one to the surface. That was the limitation on
Heal -- she could keep it going, but making it \emph{stop} took time.
There was a flare of magic in the distance and suddenly the box flared
into existence above her head. A moment later it broke and massive
pressure forced her to her knees. Champion was still on her feet even if
she was buckling, she saw, but Captain seemed almost unaffected. The
hammer rose and she blurred again.

``\textbf{Oppose},'' the Champion laughed.

There was a sound like a crack made in the weave of Creation and the
pressure lifted. Rafaella's axe smashed into the head of the hammer that
would have split open the Priestess' head, the impacts perfectly
matched. Both weapons flew back and Captain warily stepped away.

``\textbf{Ignite},'' Irene croaked out.

All over the field, the ashes began smouldering. She could feel them
pulse in harmony with heartbeat, as much a part of her as any limb. The
heat rose and the ashes began rising into the air, forming into spears.
The Captain took a look around, then cracked her neck.

``Been a while,'' she said. ``It won't be gentle.''

The villain's eyes turned blood red, her body convulsed and she began
\emph{shifting}. They were, it seemed, not yet out of the woods. Worse,
the woods were starting to look rather hungry.

---

This was not working, Hanno thought as the blade sheared through his
cheek. The wound began to heal almost immediately, but his Name didn't
replace blood. Of which he had lost too much already. The White Knight's
eyes narrowed when he saw his opponent giving ground. He was hearing
something. Was the villain ordering another strike? Hanno sharpened his
hearing, catching only the last words.

``Listen closely.''

Then the munitions detonated. The hero hissed, involuntarily clasping
his free hand to an ear. The man had used the elongated sticks that made
light and noise earlier, but this was different -- it made only noise,
but was \emph{horribly} loud. In that moment where pain filled Hanno's
thoughts, the Black Knight made his move. The olive-skinned hero brought
up his sword in time to parry the first strike and sidestep the
tendril-moved blade that would have sunk straight in his carotid. But he
took the shield bash to the face, and then the other shadow-wielded
blade went through the slight space between his breastplate and the
lower parts of his armour that only mail covered. The sword chipped on
the rings, but it tore through his guts anyway. The sword in the
villain's hand drew back, and in that movement Hanno read his death. It
would take him in the eye, killing him in a way no Name could prevent.
The world slowed. It wasn't about power, the White Knight knew. He'd
gauged how much both their names could throw around, and he trumped his
opponent handily. It was the disparity in skill and experience. Hanno
did not have any tricks his opponents had never seen before, and he had
not seen most of his opponent's.

That had always been going to be the way, he'd known from the start. He
would have to go against villains who'd been around for decades longer
than he, who'd been accumulating power and skill long before he'd even
been born. It was why he'd left for the Titanomachy instead of going
north to die like the others. \emph{I am not enough, but I am more than
me.} The Light flooded his veins again where it had started to ebb and
he silently spoke the word he needed to.

\textbf{Recall.}

They flooded through his mind until he sorted them by height and build.
\emph{Knight Errant}. Hanno's body moved by itself, the reflexes of his
Name replacing his own. He leaned backwards, the tip of the villain's
sword passing just above his nose, and his hand closed around the grip
of the sword in his gut. Ignoring the struggling shadow tendril, he hit
the Black Knight in the chest with the pommel. The impact bought him a
moment he flawlessly used to spin around his opponent. The very instant
they were back to back he slapped away the tendril-moved sword that
would have taken the back of his knee and with two swords in hand
stepped away from his opponent. The villain did not miss a beat,
stepping into a lunge that Hanno turned into a parry that knocked the
sword out of the man's hand. It did not stop him: a tendril caught the
sword and swung for this throat as the other one slapped another blade
into the palm of his armoured hand. No, this wouldn't work either.

He touched the flood again. \emph{Righteous Spear}. Tossing away the
villain's weapon, Hanno felt the sword in his hand flare with light and
turn into the spear he needed. A parting gift from the Gigantes, a
weapon that could be whatever his Name required. The barbed tip of his
spear flicked towards the villain's throat but bounced off the shield.
The Black Knight immediately closed the distance and Hanno spun with the
man's swing, shaft of the spear coming to knock down the side of the
shield before he spun back to -- to have the shaft be caught by a shadow
tendril. Weapon forced out of his hand, Hanno touched the flood again.
\emph{Sage of the West}. His armoured gauntlet expertly caught the side
of the shield and he leveraged his weight to slam it into the villain's
own helm. The man was caught off guard long enough for Hanno to slide
under his guard and flip him over his back. He pivoted smoothly to
hammer his heel into the villain's helmet but the side of his greaves
was caught.

``\textbf{Destroy},'' the Black Knight said.

The life he'd been tapping into\ldots{} disappeared. Like smoke. He was
the White Knight again, standing awkwardly with his foot in his
opponent's grasp. The villain grunted and smashed him into the ground
like rag doll. Tendrils of shadows with two dozen of the clay balls from
earlier wrapped around him, all lit. Hanno touched the flood again.
\emph{Thief of Stars}. He slid out of the bindings, though the edge of
the explosions caught him. He was tossed to the ground, landing in an
ungainly sprawl. It wasn't enough. He'd have to\ldots{} The coin
appeared in one hand as his weapon reformed in a burst of light in the
other.

``Burn,'' an indifferent voice ordered.

The stream of flame caught him in the chest. His plate was of the finest
steel that could be found in the Free Cities and still it \emph{boiled}
in the blink of an eye. The force behind the flames was brutal, driving
him into the pavement as the stone scorched and cracked around him.
Mercifully, it ceased. The time to worry about the state of his body
after the fight was past, Hanno acknowledged. He breathed out and let
the Light fill him. He'd lost hold of the Thief, now the White Knight
once more, and his body hoisted itself back to its feet. Flesh a
tapestry of red and black, he stood to face his enemies. There were two,
now. The Black Knight and his sorcerous accomplice. A tall black man in
burgundy robes, currently eyeing him with distaste.

``Wekesa,'' the Black Knight said. ``The Wizard?''

``Survived the blast,'' the Warlock replied. ``Currently chasing my
second fake.''

``Then why are you here?'' the other villain asked.

``The Tyrant is retreating.''

There was a heartbeat of silence.

``You're certain?'' the Black Knight said.

The sorcerer rolled his eyes.

``No, I confused them with the \emph{othe}r besieging army that's
leaving,'' he deadpanned.

``A backstab I expected, but a retreat?'' the Knight murmured, then
shook his head. ``Are any of them on their third aspect?''

``Sabah's got her two on their second, the Wizard hasn't even used
one,'' the dark-skinned man said.

The Black Knight sighed, then sheathed his sword.

``We can no longer win this,'' he said. ``Full retreat.''

``They're on the ropes, Black,'' the Warlock said.

``Yes,'' the other villain agreed darkly. ``We have them cornered, with
all their trump cards left. That is not a story that ends well for us.''

``You're not getting away,'' Hanno and the Light said.

The Warlock glanced at him then smiled unpleasantly.

``Well, you \emph{say} that, but\ldots{}''

Everything went dark again.

---

It was night out when Irene finally hit her limit.

Hanno would survive, which was what mattered. The magical burns had been
nothing she hadn't seen before, if never quite so severe, but there'd
been some things she could not fix. There were two patches of skin gone
almost stone-like on the side of his neck and a few others on his side
that seemed able to simply ignore her miracles. It was like the Heavens
saw nothing there that needed to be healed. She'd have to ask him about
it, when he woke up. Her sister was sprawled across a chair behind her,
looking exhausted, and the Champion was snoring away loudly on the only
other bed in the room. She didn't begrudge the Levantine that in the
slightest: she'd had most bones in her body broken at least three times,
and Irene had not had the power left to both soothe away the lingering
pains and deal with the White Knight's wounds. Washing away the last of
the peeled-off skin with the wet cloth, Irene dropped the resulting mess
in the water bowl by her side.

``He's rather plain for a hero, isn't he?'' Alkmene said quietly,
studying their leader.

``That speaks well of him,'' Irene replied, dragging herself up. ``Means
he's not vain.''

She brought a short stool next to her sister's seat and with a sigh
dropped her head on Alkmene's arm. The odd-eyed woman stroked her hair
affectionately.

``You know what I mean,'' her sister said. ``Look, we didn't change much
when we became Named but there were \emph{some} changes. I'm a little
thinner. You're taller than me by at least an inch more than before.''

``That's because he's a Judgement boy,'' the Bard said.

Both sisters flinched at the interruption. Aoede was sitting by Hanno's
bedside, pulling at a bottle of rum.

``Where have \emph{you} been all day?'' Irene asked flatly.

``Nowhere,'' the Bard grimaced. ``They've figured out a few things.''

It would have been impolite for either of them to pursue this any
further, unfortunately. One did not simply ask another Named how their
Name affected them. The answers tended to be intensely personal, and
sometimes forcing an answer could have grave consequences for everyone
involved. The olive-skinned woman brushed back her curls, waving her
bottle.

``But like I said, it's because he's a Judgement boy,'' she continued.
``The Seraphim don't have a lot of tolerance for self-delusion. You're
taller `cause in your head you were that much taller than your sister.
Irene is thinner `cause she never thought of herself as going to keep
those pounds.''

``That's fascinating,'' her sister said blandly, reaching for a pitcher
of wine and pouring herself a cup. ``And you didn't warn us the fucking
\emph{Calamities} were coming to town because?''

``Here's a warning, since you want one. Don't drink that,'' the Bard
replied easily

Irene frowned and her sister pulled away her hand from the cup like
she'd been burned.

``Why?'' the Priestess asked.

``There's five Calamities,'' Aoede said. ``You've met three. One's
retired. And the last one is\ldots{}''

``Assassin,'' Irene whispered, eyeing the cup like it was snake. ``It's
poisoned?''

``And just when the both of you are flat out of power to burn,'' the
Bard said admiringly. ``None of us ever saw a whisk of him, and he's
still come closest to killing a hero today.''

Priestess found her hands were shaking.

``They've learned to work around me some,'' Aoede said quietly.
``There's rules. I knew they were coming but not \emph{when}.''

Irene waved away the unspoken recriminations they'd been offering. The
Bard was not the enemy.

``Merciful Gods,'' Alkmene muttered. ``This has not been our day.''

``We've got some time before Hanno is back on his feet,'' Priestess
said. ``We can rest a bit.''

``Seven days and seven nights before he wakes,'' the Bard said. ``Only
one thing to do until then.''

``And what's that?'' Irene asked, raising an eyebrow.

The bottle of rum landed in her lap.

``For once,'' the Ashen Priestess said, bringing the bottle to her lips,
``I think you might actually be right.''