webcrawl/APGTE/Book-4/out/Ch-091.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-67-breakthrough}{%
\chapter{Breakthrough}\label{chapter-67-breakthrough}}



\epigraph{``With great madness comes great possibility.''}{Dread Emperor Malevolent I, the Unhallowed}



It took three hours before the first envoy showed up, requesting the
name of the sigil that had displaced the Urulan and politely inquiring
as to its intentions. Some poor dzulu bastard who'd obviously been sent
because it was expendable. It wasn't allowed entrance into the
Crossroads, not that it was eager, and I sent Ivah to meet it halfway
through one of the bridges instead. Our diplomatic approach, if it could
be called that, was rather simple: I wanted a meeting with the nine
remaining sigil-holders in Great Lotow. In exchange I would provide
information about a great common threat approaching, which Ivah had been
instructed to make sound properly dire while remaining light on the
details. Given the scope of the dwarven invasion, that was hardly
difficult. Decapitating Mighty Urulan had earned me the attention of the
city's power-brokers, but I hadn't made enough of an impression I could
simply browbeat them into following me. To get an audience, I needed a
gift.

A warning about the dwarves invading ought to do the trick.

The sigil that first approached us was the Slaus, who held the territory
directly below the Crossroads. They'd been on decent terms with the
Urulan, who usually had higher priorities than raiding their downstairs
neighbours, but their envoy made it clear they weren't all that broken
up about a replacement having taken up residence. A stronger cork atop
the bottle that was Great Lotow was a good thing, in their eyes, since
weak Crossroads meant an open door for raids into their own territory.
The dzulu provided names along a bare -- and probably highly biased --
lay of the land to my Lord of Silent Steps even as Akua and I settled
the auction. The report I was given afterwards was illuminating, though
I'd already known some parts of it from earlier interrogations. Aside
from my own sigil, there were nine others in Lotow. The Slaus Sigil, my
new `friends', were fighting to rule the upper levels against the Kanya
and Losle. Along with the Urulan, those three sigils had made up the
`weaker' tribes forced closer to the top of the city and denied the room
and resources of better districts.

There were two sigils at the very bottom, the Orelik and the Vasyl, who
were the largest of the city and had tacitly been allowed to monopolize
the larger farms and lakes so long as they kept trading with the others:
the balance there was a delicate one, where other sigils kept them weak
enough they couldn't refuse but didn't want to damage them so badly the
food would stop coming. That left four sigils to squabble over what had
once been the core districts of Great Lotow: Sagas, Nodoi, Soln and
Zarkan. From what I understood they'd been at war for the better part of
a millennium and played out enough heroic alliances and wicked betrayals
to fill a dozen epics, taking and losing territory to each other with
every passing year. All four raided other sigils, but usually only to
strengthen themselves against their adversaries in the centre. The rest
of the city enabled the centuries-old feuds cheerfully, well aware that
if one ever became strong enough to devour the others the remainder of
Lotow would follow in short order.

Mighty Soln was a name I'd heard before, actually. It was the same drow
who'd famously beaten the now-dead Kodrog so bad it had fled into the
outer ring, where it'd had the misfortune of running into the dwarves
and then myself. Soln was the most promising of the city's Mighty, in my
eyes, as it had a reputation for fair dealings. Which mostly meant it
formally broke alliances before turning on its former allies, but that
was already a cut above the rest. Willingness to make bargains in the
first place was what I needed the most.

``I believe a cabal is the way to unite these Mighty under your banner,
my queen,'' Ivah said. ``Outright subjugation would be long and costly
enterprise, given our current strength.''

It had changed again, I thought. There was no trace of the original
green or the grown silver in its deep blue eyes, but that was the least
of the changes. My Lord of Silent Steps was still tall and blade-thin,
but there was a sense of strength to its frame that'd previously been
absent. Fae could be skinny as a goblin and still be strong enough to
wrestle down an ox, and the bestowal of the title had brought that power
to Ivah. That unspoken impression that its body was a disguise, that
physical abilities were estranged from its flesh. It walked upon
Creation like something not born of it, a transient guest. Its presence
had bloomed to my senses, though I'd expected nothing less when I'd
offered it the harvesting of Mighty Urulan. I had need of a strong right
hand among the drow, and it had proved useful enough to deserve the
reward. There were risks to that, but benefits as well.

If it came to a fight again, it'd be my side that fielded Urulan's
tricks.

``A cabal,'' I repeated. ``Those are a kind of warrior honour societies,
no?''

``It is a nuanced matter,'' the Lord of Silent Steps said. ``In olden
days cabals were formed along the twelve purposes and three duties, but
this practice has been abandoned by all save the most traditional of my
kind. There are cabals that, as you say, are honour and recognition.
Only Mighty of renown are invited to them, and their name swells from
the joining. Yet this is no longer the accepted custom.''

``Which is?'' I prompted.

Ivah hesitated. I'd give it a pass on that, I thought, since I was
pretty much asking it to summarize what was beginning to sound like a
fairly complex matter simply enough an outsider like me could understand
it

``One might say a cabal is a compact of Mighty who share a single
desire,'' the drow finally said. ``This desire can be near anything, my
queen. The legendary Red Hunt formed when Mighty undertook the
annihilation of the Fagran Sigil. The Hour of Twilight was raised when
the strongest of Great Albenrak desired the conquest of Great Telarun --
and a hundred cabals were born to sow the seeds of the Hour's own
destruction. The Old Vigil guards the temples and libraries that once
belonged to the Sages, while the Wayfarers still keep the northern
Hylian ways open for all who would travel them.''

``Mighty but not sigils,'' I slowly said. ``It's on an individual basis.
If a sigil-holder's part of a cabal, it doesn't meant the entire sigil
is.''

Ivah nodded.

``A cabal may hold individuals of many different sigils, some at war
with each other, and so long as they act in the fulfilling of the
compact they will not turn on each other,'' the drow said. ``It is a
separate matter, not to be spoken of.''

Which did explain, at least in part, why the Everdark didn't currently
consist of half a dozen lesser gods sitting in their own city with the
rest of the race long gone. If a sigil started pissing off all its
neighbours, half the region's Mighty would form a cabal and put it down
together. Gains had to be weighed against the risk of backlash.

``It would not surprise me, for example, if many of Lotow's Mighty were
part of a cabal ensuring the farms of the bottom levels remain
unspoiled,'' Ivah elaborated.

``So we make our own cabal,'' I said. ``One that desires evacuation in
the face of the dwarves.''

``Mighty are proud creatures,'' Ivah said without a hint of irony.
``Stating it differently would be more palatable.''

I snorted.

``I suppose calling ourselves the Get Out Ahead Of The Dwarves Cabal
wouldn't be all that impressive,'' I said. ``We are, let's say\ldots{}
seeking out Sve Noc for instructions on how to answer the nerezim
threat.''

``That would be acceptable,'' Ivah noted. ``The Sve speaks only when it
wishes, but this is a great crisis. Custom can be bent.''

``And you think that'll be good enough an offer they'll take it?'' I
asked.

``The upper sigils, perhaps,'' the drow said. ``They will know that if a
cabal is formed for the defence of Lotow against nerezim encroachment,
its first act will be to devour them to strengthen ahead of the battle.
I do not believe the others will enter your service.''

``And if I make the taking of oaths a requirement to entering the
cabal?''

``None will bend,'' the Lord bluntly said. ``Exile would be more
acceptable an alternative. Cabals to answer the threat can be formed
without us, regardless. We will be seen as useful addition yet no
requirement.''

Yeah, about what I'd expected. Even with a bearded apocalypse at their
doorstep the drow would have issues with my rules. My sigil was just a
droplet in the sea of the Everdark, and even in a border city like Great
Lotow we weren't the biggest stallion in the pen.

``We'll try anyway,'' I said.

Ivah's blue eyes watched me closely.

``And if we fail?'' the Lord of Silent Steps asked.

``Then I beat them with a stick,'' I said. ``And ask again, much less
politely.''

---

It was not an auspicious beginning that I couldn't even get every
sigil-holder in the city to attend. The Losle refused to show if the
Nodoi did, and the Zarkan boldly required both a tithe of dzulu from my
ranks and an alliance against the Soln if they were to deign attending.
Both the bottom sigils suggested in strong terms that the meeting should
be held near their territory, at the lowest level of the Column, which
essentially everyone else made clear was unacceptable. I chose the Nodoi
over the Losle -- the latter were angry they kept being raided by the
former, which was reasonable, but the Nodoi were stronger and I needed
them more -- while Archer returned the Zarkan envoy to its sigil by
throwing off the bridge in their territory's direction after it got
unruly. Seven out of nine would have to do, and I'd never seriously
considered following the suggestion of the bottom sigils. Aside from how
unpalatable that'd be to everyone else, it would screw with my
contingency. Not make it impossible, no, but it would mean a significant
increase in collateral damage if things went south.

Envoys went back and forth for most of a day until the cats were finally
herded. It might not have taken as long if the spurned sigils hadn't
started ambushing them, but Mighty Soln seized the central levels of the
Column for a few hours and guaranteed safe passage. I sent a polite
message of thanks, it replied with a hint that the courtesy could be
returned more materially and so I sent it back a single word:
\emph{nerezim}. I was not above playing favourites in the slightest if
it any of them were willing to behave halfway-decently. It was about an
hour before the meeting that Ivah came to me with a problem that hadn't
thought was one. \emph{If you are to stand among them as sigil-holder,
my queen, you must have a sigil}, it informed me. Though some of my drow
had taken to calling our band a sigil, it was true I'd never really
considered it that. I wasn't a drow myself, and had no intention of
remaining their equivalent of a noble when we left the Everdark. But
Ivah insisted, saying it would be disrespectful to arrive without the
proper apparel and would lower my prestige in the eyes of the others. I
gave in, not willing to dig in my heels over something this minor.

There was a slight issue, in the sense that a sigil's, well, sigil was
usually the name of the sigil-holder in stylized Crepuscular with the
colour of the cloth it was on denoting a creed. Black for the seeking of
Night, red for ambition, different shades of blue for those espousing
specific virtues and Ivah might have gone on describing for an hour if I
hadn't interrupted. The closest equivalent to `Catherine' in Crepuscular
was apparently Katarin, the symbols making it up possible to accentuate
to mean either `elegant snake' or `delicate dark pearl'. I was rather
glad Archer wasn't around to hear the second one, though Akua got rather
smirky regardless. `Foundling' had no real equivalent, though after
conversing for a while like two deaf people shouting across the language
divide I got the sounds and meaning of it in Lower Miezan understood.
\emph{Losara}, Ivah finally said. The characters of it meaning `lost and
found', and when drawn on the dirt resembling a tree with twin
incomplete circles under the branches. Painted in silver over purple
cloth, which symbolized seeking a higher purpose.

The irony amused me. Upwards was where I meant for them to go, after
all.

A nisi with some aptitude for painting that hadn't been slain for the
talent was rustled up and a sigil produced, barely dry by the time I set
out alone. I had need of Diabolist and Archer elsewhere, and given the
nature of my plans bringing a retinue would be a waste. Besides, the
agreement was for a meeting between only myself and the sigil-holders. A
solid third of the debate through envoys had been settling on a language
for the conversation, which had ended up being Chantant. It got stuck in
my throat that odds were good people had been killed so all the
sigil-holders would be fluent in the Proceran tongue when they arrived,
but Indrani's words had stayed with me. I'd not come here to save the
drow from themselves. I wasn't sure if I could. \emph{Or even if I
should.} I came to the Mighty of Great Lotow without my cloak, draped
instead in the cloth of my sigil over my clothes. The glamour I wore had
been anchored in a stone I'd made myself swallow, carefully crafted over
hours to be flawless. There was no room for mistakes today.

The meeting was to be held in the Column, my first venture into the dead
heart of this ruined city. The structure itself was a broad pentagon,
every side measuring exactly sixty-five feet and seven inches. Given the
Column's ridiculous height -- it had to make up most of a mile -- simply
stacking stones wouldn't have been enough for it to hold up. The ancient
drow hadn't done that, anyway: masonry was a different business when you
lived underground. The Column itself was the remains of what had once
been solid ground before a pit was excavated around it, further
reinforced by five spines of some red metal going all the way up and a
plethora of bridges linking it to the surrounding districts. I'd
actually thought the metal was just rust steel, when I first took a look
at it, but it was oily to the touch and perfectly preserved. If not for
my suspicions it was the main thing holding up the structure, I would
have ripped out a few chunks to bring back home to Callow: I'd never
seen an alloy like it, and if it could survive a few centuries without
regular touch-ups it was heads and shoulders above anything my people
had ever used.

The inside was surprisingly elaborate. Most everything that could be
pried or hammered off had been, including entire spans of mosaics and
anything even remotely shiny but every single floor was a book in
Crepuscular, beautiful curved characters spreading out in rows and
swirls. Historical chronicles and stories, songs and poems and every
written thing that made up the lifeblood of a culture. It was a stark
contrast to the stumps left behind by stolen statues, the dusty holes of
ripped out mosaics and the spider webs woven into the complicated arrays
of dead magelights and absent mirrors that must have once cast light all
over the Column floors. The structure had not been the administrative
centre of Great Lotow, or its religious one -- temples and palaces were
in the middle districts -- but it had been the heart of the old city. I
walked through empty marketplaces and riots of now-dry fountains,
gardens of dust and the wrecked stands of what must have once been a
public playhouse. It was the grave of an ancient people, still haunted
by the last remnants of it. I allowed myself awe, but not too much. Past
glories were a little thing in the face of breathing dangers.

Having Masego along for the calculations would have been preferable, but
admittedly Diabolist was no slouch when it came to numbers. She'd
counted the bridges, figured out the weight and given me the correct
floor. I hoped, anyway. There would be no second chance if she was
wrong. Ten floors deep, that was the sweet spot, but I'd had to
compromise and go to the eleventh. Most levels of the Column had
multiple access points aside from the two sets of spiraling stairs every
single one boasted, but the eleventh floor had once served as a court
where lesser offences were settled. There were no bridges leading to it,
and the heart of the floor was a large courtroom whose only point of
entrance and exit was a set of massive stone doors. Given the temptation
of ambushing this large a concentration of Mighty in one place, this
floor had been judged the most fitting place for a meeting. Time was
fluid in the Everdark, not in the way that it was in Arcadia but because
there were so few devices that measured it. No bells, down here, and so
I was not overly surprised I'd been the last to arrive. I'd taken my
time to ensure as much, after all.

The doors were slightly ajar, just enough a single person could pass
through, and seven Mighty seated on high thrones beyond them. For all
that power swam around them like currents, I could not help but think
they looked like children. There were nineteen seats set against the
walls, and the sight of the sigil-holder failing to claim even half of
them made it seem like they were just kids wearing the regalia of
adults. Playacting at empire in a pile of ruins. None rose when I
entered, remaining seated on the thrones of stones where they had draped
their sigil's banner. Without a word I leaned forward and clasped the
red metal rings set into the stone doors, closing them shut behind me
with a clap as my bones creaked under the weight. Seven pairs of eyes
studied me in silence as I wiped my now dust-coated hands on my pants
and strolled forward. I didn't overthinking my sitting position, simply
claiming the throne to the left of the doors and putting my banner over
it.

``Losara,'' one of the Mighty said. ``And so we finally have a name.''

The Chantant it had spoken in was a strange mixture of Crepuscular
pronunciation and an ancient Alamans way of speaking, but still
perfectly understandable for all that. I eyed the banner behind the
speaker, having memorized the names going with the symbols. Orelik, I
thought, recognizing the swirly fish-like pattern. One of the two bottom
sigils, those that held the farms. It was the first fat drow I'd ever
seen and the sight was jarring. The loose hide tunic failed to hide the
folds of grey skin, though its pure silver eyes served as reminder that
fat or not it was accomplished in the art of killing.

``\emph{Mighty} Losara, you bloated old slug,'' another drow replied.
``Urulan would speak to that truth, if it still spoke.''

Its symbol looked like eyes over three fangs: Slaus, my downstairs
neighbours. That sigil had the most skin in this game, as they were both
sharing a border with me and the next in line if an outside threat came
muscling in. I settled into my throne, comfortable allowing the byplay
to go on without me. Which it did, hissed sentences in Crepuscular
starting to go back and forth as the Mighty began what sounded like an
old and bitter argument. They were interrupted by the sound of stone
shattering. The Mighty who'd struck its throne and powdered a chunk of
it rose to its feet, face twisted in irritation. The sigil behind it was
one I easily identified, as I'd paid particular attention to it: a ring
of swords, with an open mouth in the centre.

``You spend the time of your betters frivolously,'' Mighty Soln said.
``Be \emph{silent}.''

Both the other drow looked furious, but they did not argue. I cleared my
throat.

``If we're quite done,'' I said, eyebrow rising, and none gainsaid me.
``You came here because I promised information. As it pertains to the
conversation I wish to have afterwards, I'll begin by laying it out in
full.''

Silver eyes all turned to me, and I shifted in my throne. The fucking
thing had been carved for someone Hakram's height, not mine, and so my
legs were dangling off of it like I was a kid in her father's seat. It
was adding insult to injury that I knew for a fact I fit in dwarven
seats just fine.

``As of two months ago,'' I said, ``the nerezim have begun an invasion
of the Everdark.''

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed.

``Allow me to be perfectly clear,'' I said. ``I did not misspeak. This
is not an expedition, it is an \emph{invasion}. At least a hundred
thousand soldiers came through the Gloom, their vanguard led by a Named.
They bring with them civilians because they intend to stay. Even as we
speak most of the outer ring has fallen into their hands. They aim for
nothing less than the extermination of your kind.''

One of the Mighty scoffed. It sigil looked like a wall broken through.
\emph{Sagas}, I thought, one of the strong sigils in the centre.

``Burning words,'' Mighty Sagas said. ``Yet what proof do you bring?''

``I have witnesses, if my word is not sufficient,'' I said. ``They saw
the vanguard with their own eyes. Saw it slaughter an entire sigil of
the outer ring.''

``I doubt not the word,'' Mighty Orelik said. ``It has been delivered.
You have done service, human, and may now leave.''

``That won't be happening,'' I mildly said.

``Do you think aping our ways gives you seat here?'' the drow hissed.
``You are interloper, not guest. Know your-''

``Be silent, Orelik,'' Mighty Soln said softly. ``If I must ask you a
third time, there will not be a fourth.''

The first Mighty opened its mouth, but Soln rose from its seat and the
lips closed. I nodded in appreciation, though got only indifference in
response.

``I came here today to propose the founding of a cabal,'' I said. ``Not
to defend Great Lotow, for it is already lost. It was the moment the
nerezim crossed the Gloom in force. But to seek out Sve Noc and ask
instruction.''

One of the Mighty snorted. Nodoi, I saw, the last of the central sigils
in attendance. I needed those the most, if I was to make any progress at
all.

``The Sve speaks when it wishes,'' Mighty Nodoi said. ``That is custom.
To \emph{request} words is to beg for a curse.''

Mighty Slaus sneered.

``Are we inner ring darkskins, to prattle of tradition?'' it replied.
``Mighty Losara speaks sense. Extraordinary times demand extraordinary
measures.''

I would have been more moved by the support if I hadn't known it sprang
from the fact that the Slaus would be on the chopping block the moment
the central sigils decided to band together to defend the city. It was
less belief in my solution that bade it to speak than the urge of
self-preservation.

``Do we know when the nerezim will strike?'' one of the Mighty said,
staring at me.

Vasyl, the symbol said. The other bottom sigil, and noticeably less
hostile than the Orelik so far.

``At least two weeks,'' I said. ``Perhaps more, if they spread their
forces to completely clear out the outer rings.''

``Then this is no time for quibbling,'' Mighty Vasyl grimly said.
``Defences must be seen to, or the city abandoned. There is no middle
path.''

``I'll be frank,'' I said. ``You can't hold Lotow. They'll bring down
the city on your heads and drown the districts in molten stone without
ever engaging. They have the engines for it. This is not a war like
those you know. They will not harvest or take prisoners: their intent is
to claim the Everdark without any of you in it.''

``You know nothing, child,'' Mighty Orelik sneered. ``We have fought
wars, turned back the Hylian Dogs when they tested our borders. You-''

``- have commanded armies larger in number than this entire city,'' I
flatly replied. ``I've slain heroes and tricked fae, walked the streets
of Keter as a guest and pried life out of the hands of the Hashmallim.
You're just a rat in a hole, Orelik, and if you try my patience once
more I swear on all the Gods I will feed you your own fucking limbs.''

It flinched, and murmurs spread across the room. They might not know
much about fae or heroes, down here, but the mention of the Dead King's
capital had made an impact. \emph{Him} they remembered.

``It is said you make even Mighty take oaths,'' Mighty Soln said, voice
cutting through the whispers.

``I have rules,'' I said. ``They bring power as well as bindings. Many
have thought this a worthy trade.''

``And these rules,'' Soln said. ``Will you seek to impose them on any
that join this nameless cabal of yours?''

I rose to my feet, hand going through through my clothes and taking out
a parchment scroll. I tossed it at the Mighty Soln, who easily snatched
it out of the air.

``I will,'' I said. ``These are the oaths, written in Crepuscular,
though they will have to be sworn in my own native tongue.''

The drow unfolded it, silver eyes studying the contents, and didn't even
get halfway through before it snorted and tossed the scroll at Mighty
Vasyl.

``This is subjugation, not alliance,'' Mighty Soln said

``They are standards of behaviour,'' I replied calmly, ``enforced by my
mantle.''

That did nothing to move it, so I moved on to the larger audience when I
kept speaking.

``Are none of you tempted by the thought of an alliance that you
\emph{know} will hold?'' I said. ``That will lead to no betrayal, for
going back on the oaths means death. How much could you actually
accomplish, if you were not always watching your back for knives?''

``A cabal is a worthy idea,'' Mighty Soln said. ``Yet this is not a
cabal, Losara. It is\ldots{} \emph{queenship}, your kind call it.''

``It would make me warlord,'' I said. ``Until the war is over. An
extraordinary measure for an extraordinary crisis.''

Mighty Vasyl had passed the scroll to Mighty Nodoi, who outright
laughed.

``You give terms like a victor,'' it said. ``You are not. This is
overreach. To obey your orders without fail? Madness. \emph{Arrogant}
madness.''

``You've overplayed your strength, child,'' Mighty Orelik said.

This time no one chided it.

``I'm sad to hear you believe that,'' I said. ``Should I consider this
to be a refusal for all of you?''

``Obedience is not our way,'' Mighty Slaus said. ``The terms must be
changed.''

Mighty Soln laughed.

``Look into its eyes, Slaus,'' it said. ``Do you see compromise there?
No, this was not request. It was an order.''

Slowly, I sat back down on my throne.

``Is there nothing,'' I asked, ``that I can do to change your minds?''

``If you seek the terms of a victor,'' Mighty Soln said, ``\emph{prove
yourself one}.''

The challenge rang loud and clear in the room. There was only agreement
on the faces of the others, and so I tugged at the chains that bound
Akua to me. Our signal.

``I considered that,'' I admitted. ``But what would be the point? I've
no need of corpses and chaos. It's you I want. The whole lot of you.''

The Column shivered under our feet and every single Mighty had left
their throne within a heartbeat.

``Ambush,'' Mighty Orelik said. ``Your last mistake, human.''

``I'm not going to fight you,'' I calmly said. ``That would be wasteful,
and I was taught better than that. This is a\ldots{} counterargument.''

The sound of stone shattering sounded in the distance, and half the
Mighty began boiling with Night. It was pointless. The moment the shiver
had been felt the gate had opened. Akua and I were not without
cleverness, and so we'd planned to have it unfold right under the
ceiling of the floor below. Unfelt until it cut through the walls, and
by then it'd be too late. The bridges had snapped under the weight, and
the Mighty that would have fought me found their footing failing as we
began to impossibly fall. The conclusion was appropriately impressive:
our chunk of the Column hit the ground with a massive impact, and the
gate sliced right under the ceiling above us as it closed. I fell from
my throne, ankle bone snapping from the bad angle, but forced myself to
rise.

Midday sun shone down on us, bring a cold breeze with it.

``What have you done?'' Mighty Nodoi howled.

``Welcome,'' I calmly said, ``to Arcadia.''

``This is not the Everdark,'' Mighty Soln said, tone confounded.

``No,'' I smiled. ``And if you ever want to return there, well, you have
the scroll. All it'll take is a few oaths.''

``You will not survive this,'' Mighty Orelik screamed.

``I will return tomorrow,'' I said, ignoring it, ``to see if any of you
have reconsidered. Try not to die.''

Without bothering with goodbyes, I abandoned the glamoured drow corpse
I'd been controlling and left them to stand alone in the outskirts of
Winter.