webcrawl/APGTE/Book-4/tex/Ch-031.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-21-tug-of-war}{%
\section{Chapter 21: Tug-of-War}\label{chapter-21-tug-of-war}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``Invading Callow is much like drunkenly playing dice: the odds
are never as good as you believe, and you know you've reached bottom
when snake eyes are involved.''}

-- Dread Emperor Malevolent III, the Pithy
\end{quote}

I pricked my ears, gauging the enemy. Most of the Proceran delegation
had either skipped a beat or seen their pulse quicken when the Pilgrim
rose to his feet. That was telling. Since it was dubious anyone that
high up in the Proceran pecking order was faint of heart, the
implication was that this particular play had been kept close to the
chest. There were only four who'd not had a physical reaction of fear or
surprise: Prince Amadis, Princess Rozala, Prince Arnaud and the
middle-aged diplomat who'd been the mouthpiece for the opposition so
far. The first two were only to be expected, and the last a given, but
the third? That was interesting. Arnaud of Cantal did not strike me as
the kind of man the other two royals would keep deep in their
confidence. Has he found out on his own? If he was spying on the leaders
of the northern crusade, that was a possible angle for Thief to exploit.
Turning him seemed unlikely, but if his spying apparatus could be
infiltrated\ldots{} Something to discuss with her later. I made a note
to have Vivienne dig deeper into the man, as there was apparently more
to him than his reputation. The Grey Pilgrim's words were followed by
heavy silence and I did not hurry to respond.

This, I knew, was the beginning of the deeper game. The war behind the
war, where Named would claw at each other like animals to get the
morsels of narrative they needed for the final victory. The thing was,
as it stood, I was winning that fight. I'd repeatedly made overtures for
peace, brought up whenever I could that the enemy was invading my
homeland for mostly petty reasons and avoided -- as much as feasible --
falling into the kind of villainous stand that would get me winning in
the short term and killed in the long one. As long as this remained a
negotiation between mortals, for mortal motives, I came out ahead. Sure,
they were a better hand at diplomacy and likely I'd end up unable to
capitalize on several of my advantages. But that was fine, in the
greater scheme of things, so long as I walked out of this pavilion with
some gains and my narrative intact. There were earthly logistics to
this, and Black had made an entire career out of proving those could win
a war regardless of the subtler workings of Creation, but I was
confident that as long as I held my ground story-wise I'd emerge in a
position to begin the sequence of events that'd get me to my objective.

Which meant that I had to avoid engaging the Pilgrim as much as I could.
I had a knack for stories, twisting them and using them. It came
naturally to me. But the opposition had actually \emph{lived} through
hundreds of them. The experience gap between us was overwhelming, and
that was without even taking into consideration whatever tricks the
Heavens were sure to have bestowed upon him to make sure he'd keep
coming out ahead. I could not confidently state I would win against the
Grey Pilgrim, so my safest path was not to fight him at all. Ironically,
my sharpest tool in ensuring that was something I generally had little
patience for: etiquette. Instead of replying to the old Levantine, I
leaned towards Aisha.

``Correct me if I'm wrong,'' I said. ``But isn't it a severe breach of
decorum for someone without a formal role in negotiations to directly
address a queen?''

The lovely Taghreb's lips quirked.

``That is so,'' she said, pitching her voice so it would be heard by
all. ``Under Tower law, such a transgression is punishable by flaying of
the left hand and foot.''

Several of the Procerans' hearts quivered.

``It has been the stance of your delegation to advance the Queen in
Callow as an entity separate from the Tower's rule,'' the Pilgrim said,
face serene. ``Was this a misrepresentation?''

I did one the things I hated most in the world: I kept my fucking mouth
shut. The moment I got involved the narrative was back in play.
\emph{Lose}, I told myself\emph{. Let him win the small things, so long
as you get what you came for.}

``Observations on the nature of Praesi law are no admission of anything
else,'' Thief coldly noted. ``To pretend otherwise is disingenuous, and
might be taken as an attempt to sink honest negotiations. Is that the
intent of the Proceran delegation?''

I sat straighter in my chair. Thief was one of the Woe, and the Woe were
under me. Would anything coming out of her mouth contribute to the
tapestry the Pilgrim was trying to weave? Not if I contradicted her, I
suspected, but if I was remaining silent\ldots{} Best to stay on the
safe side. Picking out a sliver of Winter, I formed a ring around her
index on the hand beneath the table and squeezed it lightly. She
inclined her head slightly to the left, acknowledging my warning as I
allowed the construct to dissipate.

``A curious thing, that seeking clarity would be taken as offence,'' the
Pilgrim said. ``Regardless, there is precedent.''

The Proceran mouthpiece bowed again.

``As far as the year seventy-four, Chosen recognized as titled advisors
have been allowed to address to the Highest Assembly directly,'' the man
said. ``As far one hundred and eleven, the same have been granted right
of involvement with negotiations held with foreign powers.''

Seventy-four, huh. That was the year eight hundred ninety, by the
Imperial calendar -- Procerans begun theirs after the founding of the
Principate, which had only taken place a year after Triumphant's fall.
Considering the current Imperial year was thirteen hundred and
twenty-seven, that was not a young precedent. It shouldn't matter,
though, and if I'd picked up on that, Aisha should have as well. Living
up to my expectation, the Staff Tribune advanced where we remained
silent.

``Proceran custom is not universally binding,'' she pointed out. ``There
is no such precedent for our delegation. Regardless, right of
involvement would not equate right of \emph{interrogation}.''

The middle-aged diplomat smothered a smile. A mistake had been made.

``Queen Eleanor Fairfax granted privilege to voice thoughts and
questions freely to the contemporary Wizard of the West, after her
coronation,'' the man said. ``This is a matter of public record. That
privilege has been maintained through every known Choosing since.''

I kept my face rigid. Was that true? It might very well be. Records were
sparse about the Old Kingdom, nowadays, save those that related to
mundane matters -- where the Empire's rule tended to come out as a more
prosperous, if also more tyrannical, alternative. My teacher had been
thorough in taking the knife to anything that could feasibly become
fodder for a hero's rise, and knowledge about past Wizards of the West
would have been high on that list of proscriptions. \emph{Except he
wouldn't have been able expunge Proceran records, not in depth anyway.}
The man's heartbeat was steady, which could be an indication he was
telling the truth -- or merely that he was a very good liar.

``The Proceran delegation has not recognized ours as being
representative of the Kingdom of Callow,'' Grandmaster Talbot said, cool
voice cutting clearly through the hesitation. ``Only of the Queen in
Callow, making such precedent irrelevant. Which it would be even if
otherwise, unless by some labyrinthine exercise of reason an equivalence
between the attempted murderer of Queen Catherine and the ancient
servants of the now-extinct House Fairfax was established. Which it was
not.''

Brandon \emph{fucking} Talbot, I thought, smothering a grin. Riding in
lance high at the last moment, proper knight that he was.

``Lack of recognition for Proceran law endangers the entire process of
treaty-making,'' the middle-aged diplomat warned.

``Forceful imposition of foreign customs on the same process is not a
standard this delegation is willing to establish,'' Aisha replied
pleasantly. ``We do not recognize the attempt to establish precedent by
the Proceran delegation, and move the first issue on the program should
now be addressed.''

``Is this to be who you truly are, Catherine Foundling?'' the Grey
Pilgrim said, soft voice carrying across the pavilion. ``A villain
hiding behind petty excuses, unwilling to even speak with those you deem
foes?''

My fingers clenched. The fucker. He had a lot of nerves saying that,
after he'd tacitly allowed the Saint to try to kill me under a
godsdamned truce banner. I leaned forward to -- \emph{let him win the
small things, so long as you get what you came for}. My teeth came down
and I bit off my tongue, knowing I would not be able to keep silent
otherwise. If Masego's weakness was the need for utter precision, then
mine was the inability to just keep my fucking mouth shut. Blood filled
my mouth as Winter lazily coursed through my veins, repairing the
self-inflicted damage. I swallowed as discretely as I could. The violent
urge to respond was not gone, but the immediacy had ebbed. I kept my
eyes on Prince Amadis, who was eyeing me with a mixture of disgust and
fascination. I bared reddened teeth at him, watching his muscles clench
to suppress a flinch.

``Shall we proceed, Your Grace?'' I asked.

He inclined his head by a fraction. Good. I'd weathered the first blow,
but if I knew anything about patterns that was the first of three. I
would have to remain wary. Aisha had thought it odd that the Procerans
had not fought back harder on the terms of truce and retreat being the
first subject addressed, but now we knew why. They'd intended on
flipping the table before it even came to that. Now, though, they were
stuck actually discussing it. Withdrawal from the Tenth Crusade for the
royals had never been in the cards, much as it irked me. For them to put
their seal to a treaty binding them to that would be high treason and
sustained heresy under Proceran law. One of the ancient First Princes
had passed that motion through the Highest Assembly, after a few
Arlesite principalities dropped out of one of the crusades against the
Kingdom of the Dead. Their agitations in the south while the rest of the
Principate was busy dying up north had been so deeply despised by the
surviving princes they'd been willing to limit their own prerogatives to
see the deserters punished. No, our wiggle room was narrower than that.
The first opening was that, technically speaking, the Tenth Crusade had
been declared on Praes. It would be damaging to their reputation to make
a deal with me, but not actually illegal.

The second was that I wasn't asking for peace, only a truce. The terms
we were after were eighteen months where none of the signatories or
soldiers under their command could enter Callow, which was where we
first got shafted by the premises agreed on. They managed to have it
defined as `the lands under the rule of the Queen in Callow', which gave
them some flexibility. The moment a part of the kingdom renounced my
rule, it was fair game again and they could get involved without
breaking the letter of the agreement. Or, and I was just guessing here,
if a disavowed heroine like the Saint just happened cut my head off --
well, it would be convenient coincidence that there were no longer any
lands under the rule of the Queen in Callow, wouldn't it? I was going to
have to watch my back very, very carefully in the coming months. Eve
more so than usual. Aisha began bargaining forthree years of truce and
slowly allowed herself to be whittled down to fourteen months, though at
least she got a concession out of it. The fantassins across the field
were in the employment of the princes and princesses attending, but that
was a matter of contract. Those could be released, at which point the
terms would no longer apply to them. Horse-trading for six months less
of truce, Aisha managed to extract they'd sign the treaty as well. None
of the companies would be able to just sign up with the Iron Prince's
host instead.

A goodwill clause forbidding the fantassins to simply disband their
companies and reform under a different name was written in, because even
\emph{I} had seen that loophole coming. It was when we moved to the
second subject, supplies, that Thief's predictions came true and they
began their attempt to fuck us in earnest. You'd think they'd at least
provide dinner first. Bad form, Amadis. Going at it with only wine made
it look like they thought we were easy.

``As a sign of good faith, we would require that the Army of Callow
continue to provide supplies while negotiations are ongoing, at the
previously agreed cost,'' Prince Amadis requested, meeting my eyes
directly.

It wasn't the first time they'd tried that. Fairly early on they'd
narrowed in on the fact that my diplomatic training was lacking compared
to Aisha's or Talbot's, and since they'd tried to get me involved as
much as possible. Best way for them to do that was to ditch the
mouthpiece and let the Prince of Iserre do the talking: he had enough
status that etiquette dictated I couldn't just foist the thing off to
Aisha if he spoke to me directly. It was a play on their part, we both
knew that. But it also left me with no real reason to call them out, and
if these talks imploded because I'd walked out without a damned good
reason? That was the story of a villain queen so arrogant she was
willing to starve dozens of thousands for perceived insults. It did not
bode well for me. This was going to be a pivot, I knew that and the
Pilgrim most definitely did. It meant every word spoken today had
\emph{weight}. I'd be eroding at my own gains if I pulled out now, and
even if it likely wouldn't be enough to flip the entire story the
opposition didn't \emph{need} that, strictly speaking. Just my position
being weakened would make it much easier to kill me. Was this the second
blow? No, the confrontation was too indirect. The Pilgrim had made
himself the speaker for Above, it wasn't something that could be handed
to Amadis like a plate of pastries.

``While we are not willing to make that concession, we share your worry
on the appearance of coercion,'' I blandly replied.

Meaning it wouldn't look good if it appeared we were negotiating with a
loaded crossbow pointed at their balls, though we were both aware there
were plenty crossbows today to go around. The Jacks had confirmed
Hasenbach had her own scrying-capable mages in play, called the Order of
the Red Lion. We also knew, from Masego, that they were at least a
decade behind Praesi spell formulas when it came to that, which meant
they couldn't do relays and their range was limited: they could chain
the reports manually, but that was tricky business. Hierophant's best
guess for the crusaders getting news from the battle at the Red Flower
Vales was a delay of two days. Knowing Black, he was very unlikely to
gamble it all on the first day. He'd stretch it out through series of
fortifications, made even more efficient by the narrow valleys and steep
slopes of the Vales. That provided us with some room to manoeuver.

``We are willing to immediately provide three days' worth of supplies,
at the agreed on cost, to prevent that misunderstanding,'' I continued
calmly.

Prince Amadis' heartbeat quickened. Anger. \emph{Yeah, you princely
shit. We saw that one coming.} There was still risk involved, should
Papenheim somehow win an immediate and crushing victory -- or, more
probably, if Black decided a strategic retreat out of the Vales was the
correct decision -- but odds were the crusaders would have to make the
deal without knowing the outcome. They \emph{really} wanted to avoid
that, of course. But outright feeding them for three days yanked away
their pretext to push for better terms. They could still delay until the
days were past, but then we'd be the ones with grounds to protest bad
faith. \emph{And we both know Kegan is coming. Your window of
opportunity is narrow.} If they failed to make terms before the
Deoraithe arrived, their bargaining position took a hit. Juniper had
urged me to send Larat to fetch Kegan's host, and I'd already made up my
mind to agree if we didn't walk out with a deal by the day's end. It was
a naked threat, sure, and before the meeting began I'd worried about
souring the process by resorting to it. But they were aready pushing
back pretty hard, and if they were stretching things out on purpose
threats were not a line I was unwilling to cross.

``The gesture is appreciated,'' Amadis said evenly. ``However, I worry
this could be misconstrued as impropriety. Rumours of bribery would
damage the reputation of all involved.''

My eyes narrowed. We were making the crusaders pay for the supplies, it
was hardly a fucking bribe. Princes were touchy about their reputation,
though, so while it wasn't a good reason it was a halfway plausible one.
\emph{And it wasn't a reply we anticipated, though we should have.} I
glanced at Aisha, but she could be no help. Fuck. There was probably a
way out of this, but I couldn't think of one at the moment.

``We can table the matter for the moment,'' I conceded grudgingly.

``As you say,'' the Prince of Iserre replied, the hint of a smile on his
lips as he inclined his head.

Aisha bowed in her seat, then addressed the table.

``We now address the third subject on the program,'' the Supply Tribune
said, ``as requested by the Callowan delegation. Provenance and
direction of promised coin.''

In other words, who was going to foot the bill for the supplies they
were getting. That was going to be one of the trickier bits, Vivienne
had told me. The Procerans were going to try to pass it all to
Hasenbach, but we might have a way around that. For `practical reasons'
we were going to suggest they provide the coin themselves, though it
would be framed as a loan on the part of the First Prince towards them.
Our turn to screw them over the negotiation premises, for this one. As
an expeditionary force of the First Prince, they had legal grounds to
agree to that -- if they were Hasenbach's mandated minions, anything
falling under war reparations was ultimately her responsibility to pay
for. Aisha had noted some of them might consider it a worthwhile trade
off to have the First Prince owe them money, since by leveraging that
debt they might avoid political retaliation for a retreat. Thief had
been more dubious, arguing that they'd balk since Cordelia might manage
to get out of paying them anything back. It was going to come down to
finesse.

``The delegation recognizes the Chosen known as the Grey Pilgrim, formal
advisor to the Prince of Iserre,'' the mouthpiece intoned.

Well, shit. We were halfway through the list now, so in retrospective I
should have seen it coming.

``In matter of direction, I seek clarification,'' the Pilgrim said.
``The Principate of Procer is currently at war with the Dread Empire of
Praes. As it could be considered treason for any coin paid through this
treaty to come to gild Imperial coffers through either commerce or
tribute, a question must first be addressed. Does the Queen in Callow
intend to pursue formal independence from the Tower?''

I closed my eyes and thought. Why would he care about the gold? Coin
didn't mean shit to heroes. No, he had a reason to ask this that shaped
a story. \emph{Independence from the Tower}. Callow already was
independent, effectively speaking, but there'd been no open break.
Malicia and I knew it was just a matter of time, but the current fiction
it wasn't was useful for us both. If it was discarded, what was the
result? Most likely, Malicia had to declare I was in rebellion even if
she did nothing immediate about it. That was the part that had me wary,
though. She couldn't do anything about it right now, not with Ashur
marauding the coasts and a city freshly sacked. So why would the old man
be after that? \emph{Pilgrim might not know about Nok, though}, I mused.
No, wrong way to think about this. If this was a political play it'd be
the Procerans doing the talking. Since it was the Pilgrim, he was
leaning on the pivot for some reason. Malicia declared me a rebel. What
did that mean, in the greater scheme of things? Ah, shit. \emph{Evil
turns on Evil}. That was his play. And it was a story old as the First
Dawn, too, so if I caught even the hem of it in my fingers it was going
to drag me through seventy fucking Hells. Stories repeated so often they
were considered self-evident truths had a way of pushing themselves to
the fore no matter what the people involved wanted.

All right, then. What could I do to avoid the pitfall?

Couldn't argue there was no need to have the talk, this time, since that
could be taken as me trying to frame the Procerans for treason. It'd
turn this from truce talks to `Evil queen lays a cunning trap', and that
fucked everything up. I couldn't lie in front of the Pilgrim, he'd see
through it and that got me back in the deep even if `the Heavens told me
it was untrue' might not hold up too well as a negotiating position.
Flatly admitting I was going to just led me to a different problem, so
that was straight out. Could I maybe keep this contained, force an oath
whatever was spoken on the subject wouldn't get out of this pavilion?
\emph{No}, I decided. I didn't have enough of a leg to stand on, and it
wasn't like the Procerans would jump for joy at the prospect of being
oath-bound to someone holding a fae mantle\emph{. If you can't dodge,
attack}, I thought. Instead of avoiding \emph{his} story, what story
could \emph{I} make? Liberating rebel wouldn't hold, not while I was
wearing a crown. I'd only ever managed to squeak into heroic Roles when
the opposition was\ldots{} less than flexible, anyway. Treacherous
lieutenant to Malicia? I could fit the boots, but it wouldn't get me
anywhere I wanted to be. Praesi stories would just make it worse, as a
rule, so it had to be either Callowan or old and worn enough it was up
for grabs by anyone.

Unless\ldots{} \emph{Akua}. She'd been on her own idea of good behaviour
since Second Liesse, which had taken a while for me to puzzle out. She
should have been scheming to get out, and to be frank she probably was,
but she was also very much trying to be useful. To get out of the box
more often, in part, but there were deeper reasons. I had beaten her, or
at least she believed as much. According to the sack full of razor
blades that was Praesi philosophy, that meant she was my follower now.
That was an old story, and though the Wasteland had practically turned
it into a religion it wasn't \emph{just} a Wasteland favourite. Or
Evil's in general. Early crew of heroes runs into a seeming enemy they
fight out of misunderstanding, then fall together either facing a common
foe or when the misunderstanding is finally cleared. Everyone's friends,
some cackling villain gets stabbed in unison and the Heavens pat
everyone's ass approvingly. Hells, that was more or less how Archer had
ended up joining the Woe now that I thought about it. So I needed to be
metaphorical Archer, fighting the crusaders out of a silly
misunderstanding somehow involving three bloody days of battle and at
least thirty thousand dead.

\emph{I am a crusader}, I thought. What did I want? To fuck over the
Wasteland, a sentiment I wasn't exactly unsympathetic to. \emph{Kill
Catherine Foundling, since she's an abomination and also an asshole who
keeps killing our guys.} How did I cease being the asshole who kept
killing their guys? Well, maybe if they stopped trying to kill m- no,
not productive. Plenty of heroes were guy-killing assholes, I reminded
myself, in and of itself it wasn't a deal breaker. Larger perspective.
Looking down from Above, what was happening in Callow? \emph{Praes is
still in charge}, I thought. The borders, the separate laws and the
coinage wouldn't matter to something like the Hashmallim. A villain was
still on the throne, the former apprentice of the Black Knight. My army
was more than half Callowan, these days, but I still had a detachment of
mass-murdering Praesi household troops and the greenskins. Goblins had
an unfortunate propensity for stabbing, and orcs \emph{did} eat people.
Wasn't even that large a part of their diet, and it wasn't like they ate
people alive -- it was illegal, if nothing else -- but even occasional
corpse-eating did tend to disqualify people from standing on the shiny
side of the fence. As far as Above was concerned, I was a Dread Empress
wearing the Queen of Blades' clothes.

But I \emph{was} in charge in their eyes, wasn't I? The legalities we'd
been quibbling about all day didn't mean dust in the eyes of the Gods.
That was the whole reason to remove me, wasn't it? A villainous ruler
for Callow was bad for business, regardless of the earthly
practicalities involved. Which meant that if I made a choice, Above took
that as a choice for all of Callow. There was an opening there. If I
pulled the rug out from under the heroes, it worked for the entire
kingdom. My eyes narrowed. I didn't have to stop being a -- unfairly
characterized, I believed -- murderous asshole. I just had to be
\emph{their} murderous asshole. Metaphorically speaking. Probably. And
the way to achieve that\ldots{} what was the name of Cordelia's Friendly
League of Upstanding Nations again? Ah, right. I cleared my throat,
meeting the Grey Pilgrim's eyes with a grin that was all teeth.

``To answer your question,'' I said, ``I intend to seek signatory status
with the Grand Alliance within the year.''

Pandemonium erupted, the Pilgrim's face went blank and my grin only got
wider.