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\hypertarget{chapter-16-adverse}{%
\chapter{Adverse}\label{chapter-16-adverse}}



\epigraph{``Let neither queen nor prince rule over our dominion: for while
crowns may devour honour, one's blood is not so easily gainsaid.''}{Farah Isbili of the Pilgrim's Blood, second Holy Seljun of Levant}



Midnight Bell came and went.

Part of me itched to leave this place, to watch Sarcella disappear in
the distance and let Nauk sleep in his tomb of ash. The rest knew that
it would be absurd to ask that my beleaguered Third Army begin a night
march after a hard day's fighting. Even if I'd been willing to push them
that far, logistics would have forbidden it. We had wounded still
hovering between life and death, equipment to mend or replace. At least
another dozen crucial preparations that must be undertaken before we
left, if the advance was to be organized in the slightest instead of a
rout in a vaguely appropriate direction. Truth be told I should be
sleeping myself, but with the night a second wind had come to me that
made it unlikely I'd be able to slumber even if I tried. The drow were
the same, nocturnal in a way they would never have truly understood in
that sunless ruined empire of theirs. It wasn't anymore, of course.
Theirs. My bargain with the Herald of the Deeps had seen to that and
more. The lowering of the Gloom and a fallen realm, in exchange for the
chance at a fresh one. In practice, supplies for the massive exodus
marching on the Dead King's northern borders along with departure
unmolested from the old Empire Ever Dark. Unmolested if on reasonable
schedule, anyway. The dwarves had made it clear that \emph{lingering}
would be taken as a breach of the terms.

There was slightly more to it, another bargain made with a dying foe to
strike together against one at the peak of its unlife, but that would
have to wait. The Kingdom Under would not lift a finger until the rest
of us had died in drove for its advantage, and not send a single soldier
past the line of its interests. It didn't matter, though. If well-timed,
our last arrangement could be made into a very effective blow. And be
used as highly usefu; diplomatic leverage with the First Prince, I
admitted to myself. This couldn't be won by slapping everyone in the
face until they agreed to my terms, that'd make the Liesse Accords
barely worth the parchment they were written on. I had to make it in
everyone's interests to sign. There would be nations that'd never even
consider it -- the Dread Empire, the Kingdom of the Dead -- but the one
I worried most about was the Dominion of Levant. I was beginning to
understand, slowly, exactly how much Names meant to their people. How
essential they'd been made to the fabric of their ruling class because
of the way they lent legitimacy. I didn't and wouldn't have the kind of
clout or justification to uproot that entirely, which would force me to
rely on someone I \emph{really} rather wouldn't: the Grey Pilgrim. Not
only could I not kill the old hero, as the consequence of that would be
a nearly Callowan degree of spite, I had to get him to back the Accords.

It wasn't impossible. But in all likelihood it was going to come at an
unpleasant price.

My legionaries were long gone by now, save for a handful of weary
sappers keeping an eye on the pyres to make sure nothing got out of
hand. It was no longer mortal flame burning the wood and bodies, which
at least allowed them to see something interesting for their trouble. A
funeral pyre, after all, wasn't just about burning wood and flesh: it
had to see to the bones as well. Save for some specific kinds of
sorcerous flame and the much riskier goblinfire, there wasn't much that
could do that for human and greenskin ossature. Legion custom was to
grind the bones after the rest was ash and spread them on the
battlefield, should time allow. It was one of those grim duties that
soldiers didn't like to talk about, and usually ended up passed on to
sappers or whatever company had last irked the commanding officer. There
wouldn't be any need for that tonight, though. From the beginning it'd
been clear that we might not even have enough wood to burn all the
flesh, not without hacking apart another section of the city entirely,
but mundane flame was not my full arsenal. I'd put my restless Mighty to
work. Flames icy-blue and pitch-black had lit up the night, spreading
through the pyres, and behind those I'd ordered something more discreet.
Uses of Night, acidic and corrosive, that would see to it no bones were
left come dawn. It would have been horrifying for soldiers, I knew, to
wake in daylight and see the gnarled and darkened bones of those they'd
fought to the side of strewn across the remains of the pyres. So instead
the dead burned black and blue, and a little else too.

It was still watching that eerie spectacle that General Rumena found me.
Not that the old drow would have encountered great difficulty in that: I
was surrounded by an honour guard of Firstborn that might have been good
as invisible to humans but was a glaring sign for those of their kind.
Resting on a half-broken bench of stone, back against a soot-slashed
oaken door delivered there by my drow, I kept my gaze on the flames even
as it came to stand by my side. The ancient creature tread light as a
feather, and I could feel a flicker of Night under its skin that would
make it nothing but a shadow among shadows to the naked eye.

``They did not attack,'' General Rumena said.

On my lap a sword of obsidian sat sheathed, and my hand had been tight
around it-- filling the artefact, slowly, with the purposeful Night I
would unleash when the time came -- but at that obvious announcement my
fingers began drumming against the sheath. It did not reply, tacitly
inviting it to elaborate.

``The Dominion leader called for assembly of its captains when those
captured were returned,'' the old drow continued. ``They have been at
this ever since. Debate is loud and bitter. Blades were drawn at least
once, and not sheathed before reddened.''

I knew better than to ask how it knew that. After nightfall, with the
Sisters flying somewhere above? I was almost surprised I wasn't getting
a full transcript of the conversations.

``Not unexpected,'' I said.

The general said nothing, though I felt its presence pulse in the Night.
Surprise, maybe? Hard to tell, drow felt emotions so differently than
humans and this strange\ldots{} sense of mine was highly imprecise
anyway. I could measure impact but not grasp its nature, and guessing at
the thoughts of the Firstborn was always chancy business.

``You've never been shy before, Tomb-Maker,'' I said. ``Out with it.''

``It was my understanding that you meant for the Dominion cattle to try
the city,'' Rumena replied. ``So as to slaughter them with pretence of
mercy. Is this not a disappointment?''

I leaned against the door that had been made into the back of this
makeshift throne of mine, cloak held tight against my frame to ward off
the creeping cold. The blue and black flames still danced in the
distance, the silhouettes of the few goblins out there lending the sight
the appearance of some strange tribal ritual.

``I have a friend who's no stranger to thievery,'' I said. ``She did a
lot of learning with unsavoury crowds, in all manners of theft. One of
them is called confidence tricks.''

``Humans have exceedingly little to be confident about,'' the Tomb-Maker
noted. ``What manner of trickery is it?''

``Usually, it's a lie that preys on the greed or credulity of someone to
get coin from them,'' I said. ``But Vivienne, she once told me that in
her home those tricks were split in two kinds: dapple and pearl. After
horse coats, she said.''

Rumena's silver-blue stare stayed on me, and it did not speak.

``A dappled horse,'' I said, ``is one that's flecked pale and grey.
Those are the tricks that prey on the naïve, Rumena, and her guild
frowned if those were used on anyone save nobles and foreigners.''

Neither of which, I thought, most Callowans had been inclined to weep
over during the decades of Praesi rule.

``The other kind, though, the pearls?'' I said. ``It's a kind of horse
that's pale all over. Those tricks prey on greed, and they were fair
game on anyone. The unspoken part of that, Rumena, is that if someone
acts wickedly there's no shame in doing them the same turn. A pearl
trick doesn't work at all, if the mark acts decent.''

``A pearl trick,'' the old drow repeated. ``As you played on the
Dominion cattle.''

I nodded slowly.

``They gave oaths,'' I said. ``If they keep them, no one bleeds. And
they've proved they can learn, that they can be trusted in the war up
north. But if they break their oaths\ldots{}''

``There is no shame,'' Rumena thoughtfully said, ``in doing them a
wicked turn.''

A strange notion to it, no doubt. The drow did not think it shameful in
the slightest to turn on each other over without a reason -- or, rather,
being stronger than the other was enough of a reason in and of itself.
But it wasn't the way things worked, up here, and if they were going to
stay among us they needed to learn. It mattered, how you went about
things. I'd learned that much too late in my rise, believing what
counted was that you got there at all. And the moment I'd begun
extending a hand outside the borders of Callow I'd run into one closed
door after another. Best they learn from my mistakes, as the Sisters
meant them to.

``You are pleased, then,'' the general said. ``That they are holding to
their oaths.''

Silence stretched. I looked at the flames, and thought of the orc
burning among them who I had called my friend.

``Am I?'' I murmured, wondering. ``Ask me again come morning,
Tomb-Maker.''

I tightened the Mantle of Woe around me once more, and was still looking
at the fire when Rumena left.

---

I slept fitfully, never leaving my seat, and it could not have been more
than an hour or two when someone's approach had me immediately awake. A
drow -- it'd been the ripple in the Night that warned me -- though not
one of the sigil-holders. By the looks of the paint on its face it was
of the Svatuk Sigil, higher than dzulu but low in the pecking order of
the Mighty. A messenger, then. The thickly-muscled drow bowed, silver
tresses sweeping down as it did, and only straightened when I flicked my
wrist in permission. Exhaustion was lingering in my bones, but my mind
was mostly awake and that was what mattered.

``Losara Queen,'' the drow said. ``I bring word from the General
Rumena.''

``Then speak,'' I said.

``Our reinforcements have arrived, under the command of Lord Ivah,'' the
Firstborn said. ``Twelve thousand, now in sight of this cattle-city. A
warband came ahead, led by the Mighty Archer.''

Indrani had caught up as soon as she could, looked like. Must have tired
herself out hurrying regardless of my request that she not -- though I
supposed my taking the drow vanguard ahead without a word had
invalidated that in her eyes. My grip closed around the ebony staff
propped up at my side and I dragged myself up, catching the sheathed
sword on my lap before it could fall and fastening it on my belt with
fingers made clumsy by the cold.

``Is that the whole of the words you carry?'' I asked.

``The Tomb-Maker says that the pot of the Dominion no longer seems in
risk of tipping,'' the drow said. ``Both pillars still live.''

The strife in the camp had come at an end, then. Hard to know whether
the blades coming out earlier had been over Razin Tanja's ill-fated
offensive and the ensuing losses, or an attempt at oath-breaking that
was ended steel in hand. Both he and Captain Elvera were apparently
still alive, regardless, so whatever the truth they'd come to a truce. I
suspected that the moment the sharper would blow was when the rest of
the forty-thousand strong army arrived, including Tanja's lordly father
and the lady Captain Elvera answered to. Didn't intend to stick around
to watch that from up close, though: I'd already sown the seeds of
discord with the oaths, I'd let them either grow into something thornier
or die out on their own. Having two of the four most powerful nobles in
the Dominion at each other's throats instead of pursuing my armies would
be damned useful, but pushing too hard risked them banding against me
instead. We'd see if Akua's suspicions about the fragility of the
Levantine command structure bore out.

``Good,'' I said. ``Tell it to keep watching until the Third Army is
rested enough to relieve the sigils.''

``By your will, First Under the Night,'' the drow replied, bowing again.

I considered sending it after Archer to tell her to meet me, but
ultimately discarded the notion and left it slink back to its duties. If
Indrani was in Sarcella there was no need to look for her: she'd be
finding me soon enough. I should probably be looking for somewhere
comfortable to talk instead, since it had occurred to me we had a
conversation long overdue. Two, I then thought, considering what Robber
had told me about Masego. Claiming the mansion that'd been turned into
the Third Army's headquarters for a chat with Indrani struck me as
something of an abuse of my authority, when so much of this city was
already empty, so instead I hobbled my way towards Beaumontant quarter.
Much of the district had seen heavy fighting, but it was only around the
edges that it'd gotten brutal enough houses and shops were brought down.
Deeper in there was only mud and blood marring the snow, and the fresher
tracks of legionaries on sentry duty. There wasn't a soul to be seen in
here, not a Proceran one anyway. There were a few drow out there on the
rooftops, and my own honour guard of Firstborn was dogging my shadow,
but aside from that the streets were eerily empty.

The fighting had long driven out anyone who lived here, which
considering the empty plains out there and the roving armies in Iserre
likely meant hunger or cold would kill most of the civilians who'd fled
and not made it to a city to take refuge in. I forcefully set the
thought aside, as there was nothing I could do for them. Even if Black
hadn't put the principality's granaries to the torch on his way south,
the war would have made it a lean year -- after he had, the death
warrant of thousands had effectively been signed months before the first
snow fell. Twice over, with their ruler being a prisoner in Callow.
Winter and starvation would strike much harsher a blow to the heartlands
than Legion blades could have, dealing out death in that atrociously
efficient way my father had always preferred. I could almost imagine the
cogs turning behind his eyes as he measured how best to cripple the
Principate with the limited amount of resources at his disposal. The
thought was not fond. There were some things that could not be admired,
even if skillfully done.

I found a halfway decent tavern and decided to settle myself in there
for Indrani to find me. I didn't bother glancing at the sign hung
outside before touching the locked door and pressing Night into the
lock. It clicked open, and a gesture had my guards staying outside as I
entered the cold common room. Closing the door behind me, I set myself
to making it somewhat inhabitable. A flicker of power had dark flames
roaring in the fireplace, without lumber to feed them, though after
digging around for some time I found a bundle of charcoal to toss in
there and the flames turned mundane in nature. The place had been mostly
stripped clean by the owners when they left, but from the back I rustled
up a jug of wine bad enough it'd been used to prop up a shelf and a pair
of torches already partially burnt. Those went up on the walls, and the
room had warmed enough for me to take off my cloak and try my luck with
the wine -- no cups left, so straight from the jug -- when Indrani
arrived. Pulling down her hood and lowering her scarf, she hastily
slammed the door shut and turned to me with a raised eyebrow.

``Well, this is oddly domestic,'' Archer mused.

``I even made your favourite,'' I drily replied, holding up the jug.
``Wine.''

``Ah, just like my mother used to make,'' she breathily said.

It didn't stop her from tossing her cloak at my head before worming into
a seat, but by now that was only to be expected. I slapped it aside,
then ducked under the gloves that followed with practiced ease. They
fell close to me, so in theory I could have picked them up, but she was
never going to learn to stop throwing things at me if I did that every
time. She wasn't going to learn anyway, I grimly admitted to myself, but
that wasn't any more of a reason to do it.

``So,'' Archer said, deftly stealing the jug from my hand. ``I see part
of this place burned down.''

``It was already on fire when I arrived,'' I replied, a tad defensively.

She grinned over a mouthful of wine, then passed it back after
swallowing.

``It figures that after holding it in so well at Rochelant you'd have to
cut loose,'' she sagely said.

``It was Levantine priests that started it,'' I insisted.

``Priests that, in your heretical wickedness, you ensorcelled to start
the fire on your behalf,'' Indrani said. ``That's twice as bad,
Catherine. Heresy \emph{and} arson. Maybe even heretical arson, we'd
have to ask someone about the theology of that.''

``No one's going to buy that,'' I said, sounding a lot more confident
than I felt.

``You're right,'' she conceded. ``You'll just get blamed without any of
the frills added on.''

I drank from the jug and sighed. She might be yanking my chain, but that
didn't necessarily mean she was wrong. Best to change the subject before
I lost any more feathers.

``Ivah came with you?'' I asked.

She smugly smiled at my pivot, the wretch.

``It's about an hour behind,'' Indrani said. ``Sent a few Mighty with me
to speak with either you or Rumena about where the sigils can set up to
sleep.''

Rumena could see to that, I thought. Later I'd need to speak with it and
Abigail about lodgings and supplies but it could wait for a few hours
still. Odds were the reinforcements would be put up in the northern
quarters with the rest of my drow: it wasn't like we'd be running out of
room anytime soon.

``Good,'' I said, handing back the wine.

No two ways about this, so I just went in sword bared.

``There's news about Masego,'' I said.

The jug stopped halfway to her lips. Something like fear passed through
her hazelnut eyes, though it was mastered swiftly.

``You wouldn't be so calm if he was dead,'' Archer decided. ``Missing or
hurt?''

Her voice was even, but the kind of even you could see the strain of
maintaining.

``Missing,'' I said. ``Maybe hurt as well. The battle at Thalassina went
south, `Drani. His father blew up most of the city and the aftermath was
bad enough even those who fled died from the sorcery he called down. We
know Masego survived and left, but not much more than that.''

Her face tightened.

``The Empress is after him?'' she asked.

``Was,'' I said. ``He made it out of the Wasteland heading west. No
one's been able to track him since. Nauk might have known more,
apparently the army's high command had a closed council before leaving
Callow, but he was dead when I arrived.''

This time it was me who kept my voice steady. It came easier now that
we'd had the Legion burial. The worst and rawest of the grief I had
already voiced, and pangs that'd follow were not so consuming.

``Shit,'' Indrani softly said. ``I hadn't heard, Cat. I'm sorry.''

``It's done,'' I said. ``Picking at his grave serves no purpose.''

``Don't do that,'' she said, shaking her head. ``I know you hoped that
with the Night-''

My fingers clenched.

``It's \emph{done},'' I repeated, harshly.

She met my gaze, not cowed in the slightest.

``You can't lock grief in a trunk and open it back up when you've got
the time, Catherine,'' she said. ``That's not how people work.''

\emph{It's how Black works}, I thought. But then so was the way
thousands would die starving across Iserre before winter ended, wasn't
it? So I bit my tongue, and let a moment pass before replying.

``I just put his body to the flame, Indrani,'' I finally said, sounding
as tired as I felt. ``I don't want to talk about it.''

To that she nodded, and did not pursue. I passed a hand through my hair
watching her drink from the jug belatedly. At this rate we'd run out of
wine before we ran out of words.

``There's another army under Hakram that shouldn't be too far,'' I said,
returning to the thrust of the conversation. ``Adjutant will know
more.''

``So we find Hakram first, then make our plans,'' Archer mused. ``It's a
start.''

I inclined my head in agreement, taking back the jug when offered. She
rose to her feet a heartbeat later and stretched out with a groan. Named
or not, she'd been on the move for long enough it'd take a toll.

``Well, night's still young,'' she said. ``I hear Robber's in town, and
I'd say it's been too long since someone woke him up by throwing him off
a roof. Let's see what can be done about that.''

I set the jug on the table softly enough it barely made a sound.

``Indrani, sit down,'' I said.

She eyed me up, then cocked an eyebrow salaciously.

``I guess we've got time to visit one of the rooms first,'' she said.
``There even any sheets left in there? Wait, don't say anything. It'll
be a surprise.''

``Indrani,'' I repeated quietly, ``\emph{sit down}.''

The amusement slid off her face, just like that. It'd been forced then.
She was skilled enough at the pretence I honestly hadn't been certain.

``A friend is dead,'' she said calmly. ``So I was going to hold my
tongue. But are you sure you want to do this, Catherine, after you just
dropped me and Sahelian to charge into \emph{yet another danger}?''

``Let's,'' I said.

Before I was even finished speaking, she punched me in the face.