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\epigraph{``Civilized men disapprove of murder, of course. Unless it
involves banners and great numbers: then it becomes one's patriotic
duty.''}{King Edmund of Callow, the Inkhand}



We knew Thief had succeeded days before she returned. The crusader host
had begun a hard march south, at a harder pace than they'd ever taken
before. Malanza was working her soldiers to exhaustion, and we knew
exactly why: Vivienne had emptied their stores. Larat had gated General
Hune and her army at their back once since then, to break the supply
lines again, but they'd not even bothered to send an army to chase the
ogre's soldiers away. The implication was that the foodstuffs coming
from Procer were too few and infrequent to feed the number of hungry
mouths she now had to deal with, and Thief confirmed as much when she
stumbled back into camp.

``Heroes were busy with you or your minions,'' Vivienne said. ``I had
almost a full hour before someone noticed the stores were emptying.''

``They didn't pursue?'' I asked.

``They tried,'' she shrugged. ``But they had nothing that could see
through my aspect, apparently. Or at least no Named that \emph{could}
and came close to me.''

And with that, the preparations for our battle were done. We had
Princess Rozala Malanza's army exactly where we wanted it: tired,
undersupplied, and forced to march on Hedges or starve. There was
serious debate among the general staff about retreating even further
south to stretch those advantages out, but in the end we decided against
it. Any further and we were entering the heartlands of the Barony of
Hedges. Assuming we won the battle, some defeated soldiers would flee
into the countryside and the last thing I wanted was a few thousand
deserters ravaging the region out of desperation. The Army of Callow
folded back into a single entity, with the addition of a thousand
members of the Watch. That brought us to slightly over twenty-two
thousand soldiers, in whole. Against over fifty thousand crusaders,
twelve -- perhaps eleven if I'd mangled Two Knives enough, but I wasn't
relying on that when they had healers -- heroes and who the Hells knew
how many priests. Enough that scrying the crusader host directly had
been a wash for months, anyway, and given the sprawling stretch of their
war camps it had to be a least a few hundreds. My side boasted a few
sharp knives as well, at least: Hierophant, well-trained mage lines,
five thousand of the finest heavy cavalry on Calernia and Pickler's
vicious war engines.

The first enemy banners came in sight midmorning.

Yellow striped across red, with three white lions. That was the Prince
of Orne's own, if memory served, and the lesser banners beneath it kept
to those same three colours. In the Principate, the heraldry of lesser
nobles beneath a prince had use of only that's prince's palette. That
led to an orgy of improvisation, most of it patently absurd to look at
-- like the red lion with a yellow pig in its mouth set on white I first
saw not a half-hour later. The vanguard was pure Alamans. First came the
horse, with rich armour and richer pennants, then a mass of five
thousand fantassins. I'd not forgotten the lecture had given me on
Proceran soldiery. Most their armies were levies raised and kept only
for the length of the latest war, poorly equipped and barely trained.
Vulnerable to shock tactics, why was why Procerans tended to put such an
emphasis on light cavalry. Peasants with shitty spears tended run when a
wedge of glittering charged at them. The second kind of soldiery was the
one before me: fantassins. Former levies who'd lost everything in the
wars or gained a taste for the soldier's life, and now served in
companies of their own making -- though usually on the take from one
prince or another. Leather and mail armour, wooden shields and
longswords. Most of them were also carrying javelins, though, and that
was more worrying. A well-thrown javelin would punch through a Legion
regular's mail if it came from close enough.

The last was principality troops, the personal armies of the many royals
of Procer. Heavy infantry, mostly sword and board soldiers though their
shields were lighter and smaller than Legion standard issue. They also
had archer companies, which might get nasty. Legion crossbowmen tended
to shoot further and stronger than any archer not using longbows, but I
had relatively few of them and the rate of fire for a properly-trained
archer was better. Juniper had raised crossbow companies when forging
the Army of Callow, but in skirmished like that numbers often carried
the day and those wouldn't be on our side. The last principality
soldiers were the cavalry. Light horse, most of them, since only the
Lycaonese relied on heavy charges and there were none among the
opposition. Our last count had the opposing cavalry at almost eleven
thousand, more than double the Order of Broken Bells. Baroness Ainsley's
two hundred knights did little to even the odds, though they were still
welcome.

The enemy vanguard stayed a mile away, not even remotely inviting an
engagement. I wasn't surprised. We'd waited for the crusader here for a
day, and Juniper had my army at work the entire time. Field
fortifications had been raised, trenches dug and siege engines set over
low hills of beaten earth. Attacking us in our entrenchments without
numerical superiority was suicide. Not that it prevented a few hundred
enemy horse from parading out of crossbow range, banners waving in the
breeze. Juniper sent out the Watch to clear them out, and they retreated
after the first volley -- which, sadly, killed no more than a dozen.

``Trying to gauge longbow range, you think?'' I mused, eyes flicking to
the Hellhound.

I was astride Zombie while the stood by her command table, surrounded by
her staff. Easy for \emph{her} to do, I thought bitterly. If I was on
the ground, I wouldn't even see beyond our reserves. Everyone was so
fucking tall, it was really unacceptable.

``They should already have a notion,'' the orc growled. ``Not like it's
changed much in the last few hundred years. No, they were just arrogant
little pups out to posture.''

And they'd lost half a line of their buddies for it. \emph{And that's
why you don't let nobles run an army}, I thought. Or at least not
Proceran nobles. The Old Kingdom had done fairly well relying on its
own.

``I dislike just leaving them out there,'' I noted, gesturing at the
five thousand infantry in the distance.

``Bait,'' Juniper said. ``There'll be heroes, I bet. And if we sent
enough soldiers to swat them away, we'll weaken the fortifications for
when the real army arrives. Let them come.''

I sighed. She was probably right. It didn't make any more pleasant to
stew in the sun while the crusaders lumbered towards our battle. By
noon, the amount of cavalry in the distance had doubled. The spread of
colours among banners had expanded. Blue, black, green. Wyverns and
dragons and horses. Our own were less\ldots{} exotic. The Fifteenth's
banner still flew, with my own personal heraldry besides it: scales,
with the sword and the crown. The Order of Broken Bells had its own as
well, but aside from that the only departure was the flock of starlings
on blue that belonged to House Morley of Harrow. The infantry swelled as
the hours passed, and before Noon Bell was at an end the enemy had fully
arrived. I puffed at my pipe, watching the mass of shining steel ahead.
There weren't as many on the field today as there'd been at Second
Liesse, but there were more \emph{soldiers}. It was going to be a very
different kind of battle.

``You think they'll open with Named?'' Juniper asked.

I shook my head.

``They've got veterans on the other side,'' I said. ``Heroes that have
been around for long enough to know you don't open with Named. The first
will come out the moment we start winning on one side of the field.''

It would take careful managing, we both knew. Heroes could not be left
alone. Most of them would scythe straight through even hardened infantry
and their mere presence could turn a rout into a stubborn line of
defence. On the other hand, my side didn't have the \emph{numbers} to
hammer down every hero that popped up. In a contest of Named, I was
short more than a few. And Thief hardly counted, considering she wasn't
a fighter. Hierophant and I could punch pretty hard, but on the other
hand if our army started \emph{needing} us to win then it became
essentially guaranteed that some hero would cut us down. Best case, we'd
be driven off the field, but best case wasn't something to count on when
there was the Saint and the Pilgrim on the other side.

``Priority's teasing out whatever they intended to use as the northern
passage if we blocked them,'' I said. ``That's too dangerous an unknown
to allow Malanza to keep sitting on it.''

I'd gotten an oath about the opposition not calling on angels, but the
Pilgrim would never have agreed to that if his crew didn't have other
weapons to wield. With Praesi, it was the sorcerers you had to worry
about. With the Procerans, though? My money was on the priests. I leaned
forward, watching the crusaders in the distance, and frowned. Was that?
Yeah, no two ways about it. They were moving carts and pitching tents.

``They're making camp,'' I told Juniper.

The orc snorted.

``How prudent of them,'' she said. ``Malanza must think there'd a decent
chance it'll take more than a day to exterminate us. I doubt she'll be
going for attrition with her boys' stomachs going empty, but she'll be
generous in trading soldiers.''

``\emph{Our} camp is the largest concentration of foodstuffs between
here and Hedges,'' I said. ``If she's desperate\ldots{}''

``She knows we can gate out if it gets to that,'' Juniper replied,
shaking her head. ``No, this is just her hedging her bets. We'll see the
first skirmishers moving out within the hour, mark my words.''

The Hellhound, for once, was proved wrong. She'd not misread the
military, as it happened, but the political. A party of four riders
under truce banner rode out, stopping halfway between our camps. I went
to meet them. I could have brought Juniper and Hierophant, or even
Baroness Ainsley as the ranking noble with the army, but that would just
be posturing. On this field, I was the one making decisions for my side.
Zombie trotted out cheerfully, the sun pounding down at us until I sat
in the saddle across from the crusader delegation. There were some
familiar faces there. The Saint and the Pilgrim, though they were at the
back. The old woman discreetly sliced her finger across her throat when
I glanced at her. Charming. The Grey Pilgrim inclined his head in
greeting and I did the same, before taking in the other two. The man was
much older than the woman, at least late forties. Prince Amadis Milenan,
at a guess. To my surprise, he was good-looking. I'd expected some
caricature of a Chancellor, but instead what I got was very well-groomed
older man with fair hair and a chiselled jaw. The other -- Princess
Rozala Manlanza, most likely -- was maybe a few years older than me.
Dark eyes and darker curls, with the kind of wicked easy smile that
belonged more on Laure tavern girl than foreign royalty.

``Afternoon,'' I said. ``I'd say welcome to Callow, but I see you've
already made yourself at home.''

I punctuated with a nod at the army behind them.

``Queen Catherine,'' the older man said, bowing ever so slightly. ``I am
Prince Amadis Milenan of Iserre.''

``So I'd guessed,'' I said. ``I already know the two greyhairs in the
back. Should I assume the curvy one measuring me up is Princess
Malanza?''

``Are you trying to seduce your way out of this, Black Queen?'' the
woman in question asked, sounding amused.

``Unfortunately I have a strict non-invading Callow clause for people I
let into my bed,'' I said. ``I'll take that as a yes, by the way. You
took your sweet time getting here, Malanza.''

``My supplies inexplicably disappeared into thin air,'' the princess
drawled. ``Slowed us down some. I don't suppose you'd happen to know
where they went?''

``Must have been rats,'' I said sympathetically. ``Callow's had a vermin
problem, these last few months.''

``What a coincidence,'' Malanza said. ``We've come to remedy that very
issue.''

Shit. Now I kind of liked her. I'd probably feel a least a little bad
about putting her head on a pike down the line. Prince Amadis cleared
his throat.

``I must implore you to excuse the uncouthness of my general,'' he said.
``The prospect of battle wearies her, as it does all of us.''

``I'm not a stickler on etiquette,'' I smiled. ``Trying to sell chunks
of Callow, though? That does get on my nerves a bit.''

Not a trace of dismay passed on the princes' face, though I knew he
couldn't be pleased about the Watch turning on him. Duchess Kegan had
been less than impressed by the man, as it happened. He'd promised her
both Laure and Denier when she'd pushed, which she'd taken as meaning he
would have double-crossed her the moment he could.

``Preparing for peace is hardly treachery,'' Amadis said. ``You are
outnumbered in both Named and men, Queen Catherine. Let us not spill
blood unreasonably. I have terms of surrender to offer, should you be
willing.''

I glanced at the Grey Pilgrim, whose serenity was unruffled by this. Did
they seriously expect to fold \emph{now}?

``You would have to abdicate, naturally,'' the Prince of Iserre said.
``But I would title you Princess of the Blessed Isle, and grant you the
eastern half of the lands currently in the rule of the governorship of
Summerholm.''

``Huh,'' I said. ``And you heroes would respect those terms?''

``We would,'' the Grey Pilgrim said, sending the Saint a quelling look
when it looked like she'd speak up.

``It this the part,'' I mused, ``where I'm supposed to be thankful about
you trying to make me your marcher lord at the frontier with
\emph{Praes}? Let's not even touch the part where you're carving up
Callow between your supporters, because then I'll lose my fucking temper
and we're under a truce banner.''

``You cannot win this war,'' Prince Amadis sharply said. ``This must be
obvious by now.''

``Malanza's face is blank,'' I said, pointing at the princess. ``That's
because she's trying not to smile. That should tell you more or less
what I think of your offer. Now, here's mine.''

I let out a long breath.

``Go home,'' I said. ``I'll even provide enough supplies you don't
starve on the way out, though you'll have to pay for them and there'll
be a `I shouldn't have fucking invaded another country' markup. You'll
find nothing here but death, so just go home and settle your pissing
match with Hasenbach out of my homeland. If you cross the passage, I
will not pursue.''

I glanced at the princess of Aequitan.

``That holds for after someone runs him through,'' I told her. ``Leave,
and you will not be harassed on the way out. I don't particularly want
to fight this war, Malanza. It ends the moment you \emph{let} it.''

``Are you threatening me under peace banner?'' Prince Amadis Milenan
calmly said.

``I'm telling you I'm about to stop being nice about this,'' I told him.
``I've bent over backwards to limit the damage, but if it comes to a
battle a lot of people are going to die for very stupid reasons. And to
be blunt, they'll be yours more than mine. We could avoid that entirely
and both be better off.''

``This is a crusade, Catherine Foundling,'' the Saint of Swords said.
``Not a petty invasion. You do not make \emph{truce} with holy war.''

``There's no point in talking to you, Saint,'' I sighed. ``You're Ranger
with a shiny coat of paint and a socially acceptable pretext for
killing.''

The old woman's face darkened.

``You're going to lose a hand for that,'' she said.

``Amateur,'' I dismissed. ``I've spent years dealing with Wastelanders,
you second-rate bully. You think you've got a single threat that can
shake me? I used to answer to a woman who uses a fucking demon as a
gatekeeper has an entire hallway of forever screaming heads. Your notion
is bad is her \emph{starting point}.''

I barrelled on before she could reply.

``I'll keep to the terms I agreed on with the Grey Pilgrim,'' I said.
``Where are we falling on prisoner exchanges?''

``No guarantees,'' Malanza said. ``Should there be worthwhile trades to
make, you will be approached under banner.''

Translation: she was sitting on any men of mine she caught unless I got
my hands on someone high up enough the ladder it would be politically
inconvenient to leave there.

``There doesn't have to be a battle,'' the Saint said. ``You and me,
girl. Here and now. We settle it the old way.''

I glanced at her skeptically.

``Last time we scrapped you beat me like a rented mule,'' I said. ``I'm
not getting anywhere near you without a mage company and half a dozen
ballistas. Pass.''

``Cowardice is an ugly thing,'' the old woman smiled.

``The chorus of the side with the bigger swords,'' I shrugged. ``If
that's all, I have an army to lead.''

``Such generous terms of surrender will not be offered again,'' Prince
Amadis warned.

``I'm feeling generous too, Proceran,'' I smiled. ``So when I sent your
head on a pike back to Salia, your soul won't be bound to it.''

And on this particularly diplomatic note, I spurred Zombie away and
returned to my host.

Within the hour, skirmishers on both sides advanced.