webcrawl/APGTE/Book-5/out/Ch-081.md.tex

\hypertarget{interlude-concourse-v}{%
\chapter*{Interlude: Concourse V}\label{interlude-concourse-v}}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{\nameref{interlude-concourse-v}} \chaptermark{Interlude: Concourse V}

\epigraph{``Diplomacy is war without all the clumsiness.''}{First Princess Eugénie of Lange}



If it came to a fight, Lord Yannu Marave decided, they would likely
lose. He did not fear the Proceran horse, for its charge would break
against a shield wall strong and unflinching. Neither did he balk at the
numbers, for though legionaries were skilled soldiers and men-at-arms
brave neither were match for armsmen of the Blood holding high ground.
It was the Callowan sappers that tipped the balance to the opposition's
side, for he had seen with his own eyes what their munitions could do
when lobbed at a tight formation. The word shredding came to mind.
Torture of Callowan prisoners had yielded knowledge that these
`sharpers' were both commonly used and in large supply, which made it
likely the packs of sappers he'd seen shoot out of the torch light and
into the darkness would be carrying them. No, if the Procerans and the
easterners had ridden forth to betray them then every son and daughter
of Levant on this hill would be dead before reinforcements could arrive
from the camps. \emph{Had} they?

``That is Rozala Malanza's personal banner,'' Lady Aquiline said.
``Arlesite she might be, but she's no foe of ours -- she has behaved
honourably since taking command in Iserre.''

``I see cavalry and foot coming for us, not bread and honey,'' Lady
Itima replied. ``This has an ill cast to it, girl.''

Spoken, Yannu thought, as a woman whose lands shared border with
Arlesites. Unlike Aquiline Osena, whose main preoccupations as Lady of
Tartessos had always been rivals of other Blood and the prowling
creatures of the Brocelian.

``The Black Queen's banner flies as well,'' Razin Tanja mentioned, eyes
narrowed. ``One of the Woe might be with the legionaries.''

The Lord of Alava considered that. Though the visions the Peregrine's
last will had carried to them had told much of what happened within the
nightmare of dead Liesse, it had not revealed where the Archer and the
Hierophant had gone. They should both be alive, though the great Soninke
warlock had been stripped of his power, so it would be possible for them
to be riding with the cohorts. Yet it seemed unlikely, after the night's
troubles, for the Archer's death was still seared in Yannu's own memory
and the Hierophant had been put to slumber as an act of mercy. No, if
any of the Woe rode under that banner it would the Adjutant or the Thief
-- and there had long been rumours that the latter had lost her Bestowal
by stepping into the responsibilities of rule.

``If it is the Archer and they mean to slay us, then we are all dead,''
Yannu Marave noted. ``She will kill ourselves and our officers as the
opening stroke, and our only answer would be to charge down onto
sapper-prepared grounds.''

Everybody held in a wince at that, for all here had suffered of the
vicious devilries goblins could prepare when given opportunity. Razin
Tanja most of all, from what he'd heard, for the Third Army under
General Abigail was said to have turned the streets of Sarcella into a
slaughter yard even before the Black Queen arrived.

``No one's sprouted an arrow in the forehead,'' Lady Itima of the
Brigand's Blood said. ``I'll take that as a hint that either the
Archer's not there or they're not baying for blood.''

If it were only the Callowans coming none of them would have batted an
eye, for when the Peregrine's body was returned it would be by Catherine
Foundling's hands if by any. Yet the Procerans coming out had muddied
the waters, for they had no business with what would come by morning's
light. They had even been told as much, for their messengers had
insisted on audience beyond politeness, yet here they were. More
suspicious yet, their advance had come to be matched to that of the Army
of Callow's legionaries: together they were heading towards flanking
positions that would be difficult to push back if assault was given.

``The Praesi crossbowmen could be firing by now,'' Lady Aquiline pointed
out. ``Not to great effect, but at least to soften our defence before
assault.''

Lord Yannu was inclined to agree this was sign of peaceful intent, yet
this was a delicate situation. It was likely that canny old Itima
Ifriqui had noticed already, even if she'd held her tongue, yet the
younger two among them might not have: save for Itima's own two sons,
every individual of any Blood in Procer was standing atop this hill. And
given both the Brigand's line poor reputation and recently-mauled forces
-- their assault on the Callowan camp had been costly -- it was unlikely
that they would be able to sway even most captains into following them
through diplomacy or threats. A strike here and now would be
decapitating the armies of the Dominion abroad, and even when word
trickled back home months from now any retribution for the treachery
would have to wait until matters off succession were settled and a
session of the Majilis convened. The Lord of Alava was not certain why
betrayal would be had here and now, but there was no denying the
opportunity was there. Had the Procerans or the Callowans peered into
their private councils and then decided removing the Blood to be in
either their interests? It seemed a senseless thing, truth be told, but
easterners were willing in a villain's service and Procerans lied as
easily as they breathed.

``Silence serves us not,'' Razin Tanja said. ``It is unseemly to treat
with foreigners before the Grey Pilgrim's body has been given to the
flame, yet strife would be even more so.''

``Shall we give them voice in our councils as well, Tanja?'' Yannu said,
voice hard cast. ``We have our wats for reasons, though it seems you
have forgotten both. Blood can wash out, unlike honour tarnished.''

It was more than simply unseemly to play politics with foreigners now,
it was dishonoring a great man's death. That Proceran \emph{royalty}
would not be willing to discard their precious Ebb and Flow even long
enough for the Peregrine to be put to pyre was\ldots{}

``If the Black Queen's the one bringing back the Peregrine, the
Callowans at least are already part of this,'' Tanja replied.

``Speaking to them and not the Procerans might split them,'' Lady Itima
noted, sounding approving. ``There can't be a lot of trust between
them.''

Akil Tanja's son seemed as if he wanted to argue that'd not been his
intent at all but restrained himself in the end. Young Razin was not so
stubborn as to toss away victory he'd already earned, then. For victory
he had indeed earned, Yannu had silently acknowledged the moment Lady
Itima spoke in favour of \emph{audience}. For Lady Aquiline had made her
preference for talks clear already, and if only the Lord of Alava stood
alone of the four against words being bandied then his growing isolation
among the Blood in Iserre would only be set in stone. Neither Razin
Tanja's words nor a knife at his own throat would have stayed Yannu's
hands after he'd set out to guide the Dominion away from disaster
through duel, as he had. He'd taken a step back simply because Lady
Itima Ifriqui, who had every reason to stay out of the affair for
dislike of the Osena, had chosen to put that knife to his throat anyway.
Though it was a proud old boast in the lands of his birth that Alava had
stood alone even when the rest of the Dominion fell to the Principate,
and that the hill-folk needed no ally save the bravery of their own kin,
the reality was that the city and lands he ruled could be starved of
coin and goods and even many foodstuffs if it broke with every other
great line. At the very least, alignment between the other three would
see him removed from the highest command of Levant's armies even if
killed one.

He could kill them all, perhaps, but that would be just as dangerous a
roll of the dice and he was a careful man by nature. No, best to take
step back then and now so that he might arrange victory on his own terms
when the opportunity was ripe.

``It seems there will not be a choice,'' Lady Aquiline suddenly said.
``Look.''

Under three banners -- Aequitan, Foundling and truce white -- a party
had approached the foot of the hill as they spoke. Two riders were
behind Princess Rozala's familiar silhouette, one carrying her heraldry
and the other a torch. Behind a tall orc in darkened plate two smaller
humans were carrying the other two trailing cloths, a mere six souls in
whole. Unlikely to be an ambush, then, even though the burnt plate was
as good as announcement that the orc among them was the Adjutant.

``We can send an invitation to the Deadhand alone to stand before us,''
Itima said, smile gone hard.

It could be a fine line between envoy and hostage. Razin Tanja cast her
a considering look, and for a moment Yannu was reminded of the boy's
father. Lord Akil had been known for his keen wits, and though he'd been
no great general under his reign the Binder's Blood has seen their
influence rise through careful bargains and treaties. It was an old jape
back home that the true talent of the Tanjas was not the magic of their
famous ancestress but in truth the wealth that flowed through the canals
of Malaga, yet few before Akil Tanja had been so skilled at making use
of that wealth. More than once Yannu had seen the same look he now saw
in young Razin's eyes in his father's own, just before someone was
goaded into making a costly mistake on the floor of the Majilis.

``Alone would be insultingly obvious,'' Razin said. ``Let him bring an
attendant, at least.''

Itima's agreement was the sound of the decision being made, and Yannu
Marave began to wonder if it might not be better for the realm to kill
the boy than Lady Aquiline after all.

---

Princess Rozala was more than passingly familiar with bravery. She would
not consider herself a great paragon of that virtue, though neither was
she a coward. Rozala, for all that she did not shy from battle, was
still a princess of the blood: she went to war surrounded by loyal
bodyguard and with priests ready to bring her back from death's door
should wound be taken. It was natural this be the case, though perhaps
not fair in a godly sense, for her death would herald a great deal more
trouble than a fantassin's. Yet it was easier to brave, the Princess of
Aequitan privately thought, when so many were sworn to keep her alive.
Yet she'd seen purer strains of bravery in other men and women. Soldiers
who volunteered to hold border positions in the face of the Enemy,
knowing no reinforcements could be spared. Conscripts running back under
arrows and spellfire to drag fallen friends back to safety behind the
lines, boys and girls not even eighteen summers old stilling their
shaking hands and raising their shields steady as the dead charged
howling at them. The Arlesite princess had even seen many whose
fearlessness had been hollow, a spectacle put on for myriad reasons
ranging from stiffening moral to preserving reputation. And yet Rozala
Malanza could not for the life of her tell if Hakram Deadhand's serene
disregard for the danger surrounding them was genuine or not.

The orc's helmet was held in the crook of his handless arm, revealing
the thick leathery skin and the troublingly large teeth of his kind.
Greenskins were not well-known to Rozala, and so discerning one's
sentiments did not come naturally to her, yet he'd not hesitated a
moment when invited to walk into the wolf's den atop the hill nor
expressed particular concern since. It was as if he could not see the
hundreds of flaring heavily armed soldiers around them, whose gaze
lingered on the truce banner Rozala was carrying with open antipathy.
She would have preferred to come in riding, truth be told, but Deadhand
had spooked her destrier something fierce when he'd come close. That
instinctive dislike by animals was said to be natural to greenskins,
though until recently Rozala had believed it to be one of those commonly
accepted falsehoods like Praesi being liars from the cradle or Callowans
being physically incapable of halfway edible cooking. It seemed there
was truth to it, however, for all horses had grown unruly when the
Adjutant had been upwind of them.

``The banner's dipping, Your Grace,'' Hakram Deadhand said.

His coarse voice betrayed the slightest hint of what she took to be
amusement. Gritting her teeth, the Princess of Aequitan raised back to
full height the banner she'd been made to carry like some sort of, well,
attendant. Which the Adjutant had not hesitated to designate her as when
the summons had come from the Levantines. To her dismay, she'd even had
to play along for the sake of being there when the talks were held. As
if leaving alone an orc and a foursome of quarrelsome Dominion lordlings
could end in anything but bodies on the floor.

``Is your line known among your people to be of particular dignity?''
Princess Rozala tried.

This would be slightly less wounding of her dignity if at least he was
the orc surrogate for highborn. Otherwise, she was carrying a banner for
one of the Damned plucked out from some northern waste to serve the
Black Queen. A heartbeat passed.

``My mother famously made the finest Callowan meat stew in the clan,''
the Adjutant replied.

She was being mocked, Rozala realized. Wait, \emph{Callowan} meat stew?
Surely he could not mean\ldots{}

``I'd never heard of this delicacy,'' the Princess of Aequitan said.
``May I ask what it contains?''

Surely not Callowans, she thought, for the Black Queen would not have
made so important a dignitary of him were it the case.

``Not humans, of course,'' Hakram Deadhand nonchalantly replied.

She mastered herself so that she would not breathe out in relief. At the
very least she was not being made to consort with a bloody-fanged
cannibal.

``Much too expensive, that far out in the Steppes,'' the Adjutant
continued just as nonchalantly. ``Never ate it done the traditional way
until I came to Ater.''

Before Rozala could conceive of a gracious way to ask the Damned at her
side whether or not the `traditional way' involved human flesh, they
were ushered past one last ring of armsmen and came to stand before the
four heads of the Dominion's armies abroad. The older two she was most
familiar with: Lord Yannu Marave of Alava and Lady Itima Ifriqui of
Vaccei. The latter had particularly poor reputation among Arlesites for
her vicious and unprovoked raids into Orense in the years before the
Tenth Crusade. The First Prince might have made peace there, but the
looting and burning of southern Orense had not been forgot. Lord Yannu
she did not much like, but at least respected. The Lord of Alava, who
claimed descent from the Valiant Champion, was a cautious and ferocious
man who displayed little of the famed recklessness of his line. The
Princess of Aequitan had misliked that by virtue of being the foremost
Levantine commander he'd effectively seized command of the Iserran
campaign, especially considering unlike her and several of her generals
he'd never fought either Queen Catherine or Marshal Juniper. Yet the
Dominion had provided the greater part of the host, and so claimed
greater influence. If the Battle of the Camps had been a victory perhaps
Rozala could have argued otherwise, but while those brutal three days
had been many things they had not been that.

The younger pair she only through reports, though the Levantine
fascination with war paint and bloodline colours made their identities
easy enough to deduce. The young man in iron grey and crimson would be
Razin Tanja, son and heir to the fresh-slain Lord Akil Tanja of Malaga.
The peculiarities of Dominion inheritance laws meant he would not be
Lord of Malaga until his kin had acclaimed him on the grounds of that
very city, assuming his right was not challenged, so among the four
highborn here his authority was the weakest. His own captains could defy
him without breaking oath, at the moment, though if he ever ascended to
lordship that'd be a poor decision indeed. The impressively-shaped young
woman to his side would be Lady Aquiline Osena of Tartessos, by repute
rival to the Tanjas and deathly foe to the Ifriquis for reason of
kinslaying twice over. Dominion political affairs were fluid even by
Proceran standards, for they shifted with the feuds of every generation
of the Blood, but it was usually to be expected that their highborn
would be feuding with whoever's lands bordered their own and seeking
cordial ties with whoever's did not. The Maraves of Alava did have a
reputation as proud lunatics staying out of politics save when offended,
which had made it both surprising and not when Lord Yannu became
informal head of the Dominion's armies abroad. Rozala was not unfamiliar
with the trick of putting those that could not be called to heel in
charge.

The four lordlings were standing and fully armed. And, by the visible
wounds on the Osena and the Marave, had recently fought some manner of
duel among themselves.

``You stand before four lines of the Blood,'' Lady Itima said in
heavily-accented Lower Miezan. ``You may kneel.''

``You stand before the Queen of Callow's right hand,'' the Adjutant
calmly replied in Chantant. ``You may bow.''

Princess Rozala would have appreciated the insolent confidence a great
deal more if it hadn't run the risk of getting them both killed. Lady
Aquiline's lips twitched in amusement, as did Lady Itima's, but Tanja's
lips thinned and Lord Yannu's face remained inscrutable.

``Princess Malanza,'' the Lord of Alava said. ``Are you now
\emph{attendant} to one of Below's servants?''

``I am sworn envoy speaking for the First Prince of Procer,'' the
Princess of Aequitan replied. ``Who also happens to temporarily attend
to the Lord Adjutant.''

If he expected to shame her into retiring, he would have to do better
than that. Rozala had been the ruling princess of principality that'd
half-beggared itself fighting to the death with the current ruling First
Prince, the daughter of a woman who'd once laughingly boasted she would
send Cordelia Hasenbach running back north with her tail between her
legs to `suckle on icicles and brood'. She'd had to wade through seas of
scorn and mockery to rise to the height's she now stood at, all of it
dealt by peers -- which not a single individual here could claim to be.

``What an unlikely coincidence,'' Lady Itima sardonically said.

For some reason, she shot Razin Tanja a half-approving look afterwards.

``You interrupt sacred ceremony, Bestowed,'' Lady Aquiline said, eyeing
the orc curiously. ``Withdraw your warriors and let nothing more be
spoken of this.''

Rozala found herself almost shamefully glad that there'd been no talk
about claiming the Black Queen's head in some sort of doomed attempt at
vengeance. Near enough to every highborn of the Dominion was here, if
some dimwit among them took a swing at Catherine Foundling the entire
Levantine host could be decapitated. It wasn't as if the Princess of
Aequitan had sallied forth to protect the Black Queen, for what would
that monster fear from not even a thousand soldiers? The Queen of Callow
had looked more than eight thousand horse in the eye, drawn a line in
the snow and dared them to cross it. And when Rozala had offered her
challenge, after, it'd not been met with fear or defiance. It'd been
met, chillingly enough, with a sort of vague irritation. Like Foundling
had already done them all a favour by refraining from slaughtering them
like animals and anything aside from withdrawal from that point on had
been trying an already thinning patience. That, more than threats or
promises, had seen Rozala Malanza order a retreat. And rumour had since
trickled in that the Black Queen had, for having struck at her
legionaries, broken two fingers from every cataphract of Helike and sent
them marching back to the Tyrant stripped of arms and armour. It might
be that the Lanterns and the armsmen might kill the villainous queen, if
they struck at her. It'd been a long and arduous night.

More likely, though, Catherine Foundling would lose patience at the
attempt and kill them all without batting an eye.

``You have claimed the grounds where my warlord will return,'' Hakram
Deadhand said. ``That will not be brooked.''

``We've no interest in your queen,'' Lord Yannu bluntly said. ``We await
the arrival of the Peregrine's remains.''

``I've no interest in the remains of the Grey Pilgrim,'' the orc
replied. ``I await the arrival of my queen.''

``Perhaps a simple honour guard can be arranged,'' Rozala suggested.

The Lord of Alava fixed her with a steady look.

``Sons and daughters will bring the Peregrine to the flame,'' he flatly
said. ``None other.''

``The Queen of Callow will not return from saving all your lives to a
ring of foreign soldiers,'' the Adjutant replied just as flatly.

Rozala would have hissed at him in an other language, if she shared any
with him that the Levantines would not.

``It was the Grey Pilgrim who sacrificed himself for all who stand
here,'' Lady Aquiline sharply said.

``It was the Black Queen who made truce where you sought war, and led
the band of five to victory,'' the Adjutant said. ``Do you deny this?''

``That the Queen of Callow acted honourably this night is not in
doubt,'' Lady Itima said. ``Bargains made were kept.''

There was agreement from the others, some of it more reluctant than
others.

``Yet you diminish the sacrifice made by the Peregrine through your
words,'' the Lady of Vaccei continued. ``Curb your tongue, Damned.''

``Damned you call me, but my honour lies in the service of my queen,''
the orc unflinchingly replied. ``I will not suffer her return being a
circle of swords bared.''

In that moment, Rozala Malanza grasped that the Adjutant had been
playing them all. Gods, he'd been trying to extract something from them
from the start.

``No offence is meant,'' Razin Tanja said.

``Then why do you insist on giving it?'' Hakram Deadhand said.

There was a rumble of discontent from the Levantines.

``What offence is this, orc?'' Lord Yannu bluntly asked.

``Though under truce, you are enemies still,'' the Adjutant said. ``How
can your surrounding my queen be taken as anything but slight?''

``The Peregrine's last escort will not be opened to Callowans or
Wastelanders,'' Lady Aquiline firmly said. ``This will not be argued.''

``Then to avoid slighting Callow's honour, you must no longer be enemies
to its queen but instead allies,'' the Adjutant said.

``Are we to swear oaths to the void?'' Lady Itima mocked. ``Even were we
willing, there is nothing to be done.''

``There is,'' the Adjutant replied, offering a fanged grin. ``Years ago,
Queen Catherine requested to become a member of the Grand Alliance. All
that would be required for friendship to be established is your
agreement to this suit.''

``It would mean nothing, without the First Prince's approval and the
Majilis' agreement,'' Razin Tanja said.

``It would satisfy honour nonetheless,'' the orc said.

Rozala's pulse quickened. Should she intervene, she wondered? For all
that the Foundling Queen had declared her intention to join the war
against the Dead King, that was not the same as her becoming signatory
of the Grand Alliance. If four of the five greatest aristocrats in
Levant agreed to back Callow's bid to become part of the Alliance, its
chances would become more than merely good. The consequences of that
were\ldots{} hard to foresee. Gods, this was too great a decision too
swiftly made. Rozala Malanza bit her lip.

A heartbeat later, dawn began and a gate tore open before all of them.

Two people hobbled through it, and just like that the Princess of
Aequitan felt the world change.