webcrawl/APGTE/Book-5/out/Ch-137.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-89-sing-we-of-ruin}{%
\chapter{Sing We Of Ruin}\label{chapter-89-sing-we-of-ruin}}



\epigraph{``Fifty-five: if your powers are lost, they will nearly always
return greater than before so long as the appropriate moral lesson is
learned. With kindness and humility comes overwhelming martial might.''}{``Two Hundred Heroic Axioms'', author unknown}



It was over.

The League's soldiers withdrew, the hostility between the different
forces open but reason prevailing just enough for battle not to erupt
less than a day's march from the capital of Procer. Considering the
people involved, I'd not considered that a given. Secretary Nestor and
his attending scribes withdrew for the night but requested permission to
send an embassy under daylight. The clear intention was to request the
presence of Secretariat scribes and chroniclers up north, and I accepted
tonight as I fully intended to accept tomorrow. There'd be restrictions
and conditions, but in principle I had not objection to their work. If I
got lucky, maybe a report making its was south would even stir some
Delosi to shed neutrality long enough to cease recording the end times
and actively try to turn them back. A girl could dream. General Pallas
and her \emph{kataphraktoi} swore oaths and sent back half their number
to claim their equipment and supplies still in the League camp, the rest
returning with me.

Adjutant had finished speaking with Talbot and the remaining senior
legate when I arrived -- Tendai, wasn't it? Sounded Soninke -- though he
opened his report by passing a dry comment on my `dragging yet another
army home'. Like it was a bad thing, the wretch. As it turned out
Juniper's report had been essentially confirmed, with the sole fresh
developments a few accusations of `Praesi treachery' and `Callowan
purges' tossed around by soldiers that'd ended in brawls. One dead, from
an unlucky broken neck, and both Tendai and Talbot had come together to
hang those involved as per Callowan regulations. Adjutant argued for the
growing urgency of intervention there, even if risking dire consequences
to the compelled, but I had no order to give him. I hesitated still to
speak when those words might just kill Juniper and Aisha, among others.
I presented General Pallas to him instead and dropped onto his `drily
humorous' lap the work of getting the cataphracts settled.

There'd be talk later of how many soldiers Pallas was proposing to bring
north, though it shouldn't be more than ten thousand. Less, probably,
though there likely to be the most finely drilled and commanded troops
among the coalition's armies. At least one good thing had come out of
this otherwise ruinous night.

Archer wandered off, likely to check in on Masego though given the work
I'd asked of him he was like as not to ignore her presence beyond what
basic courtesy required. If even that much. Vivienne was speaking with
General Abigail's staff tribune to pick out what soldiers would be sent
out as her escort, and I made a mental note of having the general
formally granted the authority of a Marshal of Callow until Juniper
could be declared fit to resume it. I'd no intention of promoting her to
the rank, not for many years yet if ever, but to get affairs in order
with the Army she'd need to have the weight of that authority behind
her. Both the inherited structure of the Legions of Terror and the
Hellhound's preference for strict lines of command had resulted in
formal authority being needed to get anything moving in the Army of
Callow. Akua remained with me, a shadow shadowing mine, and though I
could guess she wanted to address the fact that she'd been outed I did
not approach the subject. It'd be out and about before long, I knew. If
Malicia felt comfortable enough handing out that information to the
likes of Prodocius and Honorion, it meant she was comfortable putting it
out there.

I was still uncertain how my people would take it, on the Callowan side
at least. If Akua had still been stuck in my collar save when I let her
out I suspected it would have been taken as a long price, but `Advisor
Kivule' was not a prisoner or entirely unknown to the men. Like as not
it'd cost me a few feathers in the eyes of the heroes in the Grand
Alliance, too, though I'd not hesitate to call Cordelia a damned
hypocrite if she spoke so much as a word in condemnation. She didn't get
to play that card when she had people lugging a Seraphim's corpse around
Procer. Truth be told, given the hour I probably ought to head to bed.
The immediate necessities were seen to, and the rest was probably best
approached with a well-rested mind and a clear head. Black was awake,
there could be now that about that, because Scribe would have missed
little of what had unfolded or left him to sleep during it. I was still
not looking forward to that conversation, and arguably waiting until
daylight for it would not be a bad idea. It'd allow Scribe's people in
the Eyes to learn more, and that when we held council we'd both have a
clear idea of what was happening before decisions were made.

It was over, the succession of twists and turns that'd swallowed up my
night. Or at least it ought to be over. If it was, though, why would my
shoulders not loosen? Like I was awaiting a blow I was clenching onto
myself, my instincts screaming there was something yet to come. And
there were not, I thought, a thousand directions from which further
trouble could come. So grimly I sent Akua away for the night and, cloak
trailing behind me, limped towards empty smithy the Carrion Lord had
claimed as his home for the duration of the conference. There were no
legionaries at the door, or near either of the two windows, which
was\ldots{} unusual. Black had been the one to teach me that a Name was
a useful thing but that it was no substitute for people watching your
back. His Blackguards might not have been able to do much against a
Named assassin, but there weren't a lot of those and there were
\emph{lot} of the regular kind. Especially when you crossed Praesi
nobles. The heavy wooden door was not locked and did not resist when I
pushed it open. The burning glare of the lit furnace within blinded me
for a half a beat, flames roaring tall and proud.

The shadows they cast on the walls of the smithy, which had been
stripped bare of much it would contain during warmer seasons, were long
and shivering. Amadeus of the Green Stretch sat alone by a blackened
iron anvil, his drab grey tunic and worn boots making him look like an
aging shopkeeper instead of the Black Knight of Praes. On the anvil was
a bottle, and not of wine. An empty one had been set on the ground by
the anvil.

``Catherine,'' the green-eyed man greeted me. ``An eventful night for
you, I am told.''

It was so genuinely taken aback by the slight slur to his voice I didn't
manage to entire hide my surprise. I could not remember, in all the time
I'd known him, seeing my teacher even half as drunk as he clearly was
right now. Not even once.

``You too, looks like,'' I said, flicking a glance at the bottle.

``Salian brandy,'' Black replied, tone amiable. ``It struck me as
fitting.''

Shit. I wasn't familiar with the Salian kind in particular, but brandy
was hard liquor. Not necessarily the hardest-hitting stuff, but if he'd
really drunk more than a bottle of the stuff I could only be reluctantly
impressed he wasn't falling down his Legion-issue folding chair.
\emph{This isn't like you}, I almost said, but bit down on it. I'd never
seen him like this before, true, but then when I'd been young he'd still
had the Calamities with him. People he could unwind with, as I myself
did with the Woe. Who was left of that for him now, save for Scribe? So
instead I snatched a cup from his table and braced my staff against the
side of it, freeing my other hand to claim the other folding chair. I
bit down on a hiss of pain as I limped forward to the other side of the
anvil, dropping my seat there as pale green eyes followed me. I let out
a sigh when I sat down, glad for the rest, and set down my cup atop the
iron by the side of his. Without a word he filled it with brandy, and
his own again.

``What are we drinking to?'' I asked.

``Epiphany,'' my teacher said. ``Harsh mistress that she is.''

That was not a promising start, I thought, and drank deep of my cup. The
brandy burned on the way down and if I'd had swallow of that at sixteen
I suspected my eyes would have watered. It was smooth on the tongue, so
clearly good stuff, but it couldn't be called anything but heavy.

``It's been a day,'' I agreed. ``And a night, even.''

``Yes, it has,'' he mildly said. ``Eventful enough I'll confess the
tumult blinded me, at first. Time to think set that weakness to rest.''

``Kairos took us all for a ride,'' I said. ``Our enemies a little more
than us, which is the saving grace of this, but everyone took a few
bruises. It'll be months if not years before we can really glimpse the
scale of what he wrought.''

``Kairos Theodosian's schemes are of only passing interest to me,''
Black said, pausing to knock back a quarter of his cup without batting
an eye. ``No, it is the moments that led to his swan song I have been
dissecting.''

The conference. Malicia. \emph{It won't matter}, Scribe had warned me.
\emph{He always forgives.} I might not love the woman, or even like her,
but I that did not mean she had been wrong in this.

``Scribe told you about the Legions-in-Exile,'' I guessed.

``I knew within an hour of your knowing,'' Black agreed. ``And now I
ponder how it all came to be.''

``It must have been a contingency the Empress had in place for years,''
I said.

Another quarter of his cup went down his throat. The breathy slip of
laughter he let out after that had my fingers clenching in dismay. It
was\ldots{} unpleasant, seeing him like this. So close to losing
control, when control had always been at the heart of him.

``Decades,'' my teacher corrected. ``The sheer breadth of possibly
compromised individuals is simply staggering, viewed in retrospective. I
assume it is the consequence an aspect. Wekesa would have noticed such a
contingency were it sorcerous in nature and told me of it.''

Most likely, I silently agreed. Masego had rubbed elbows with Juniper
for years while holding an aspect related to sight and then eyes forged
of Summer flame without noticing a damned thing, so I was not overly
surprised that the Warlock had caught nothing. Named power could imitate
sorcery, but it should never be mistaken for it -- it answered to
different rules, took different shapes.

``Or he might not have,'' Black then genially said. ``It appears that
the many warnings I received of sentiment being more blinding that I
believed were accurate.''

``The writing was on the wall after Akua's Folly,'' I reluctantly said.

Not for reluctance to speak the truth, but knowing how deeply painful it
was to him.

``Oh no, not when it comes to Alaya,'' Amadeus of the Green Stretch
softly said. ``It is Eudokia I gravely misread.''

\emph{Fuck}, I thought, and kept my face blank. I'd waited too long. All
this time I'd been agonizing over whether I should tell him or not, if
the likely fallout was worth the honesty, and somehow it'd never
occurred to me he might just figure it out on his own. How much did he
know, though? I'd gotten a confession and explanation, while he must
have simply pieced together details on his own.

``It is a bad habit, forcing lack of expression,'' Black chided. ``You
still do it sometimes, when taken aback. It reveals that you know
something, by consequence of revealing you have something to hide.''

I grimaced. He drank again.

``Not that confirmation was truly needed,'' he noted. ``Your request
with a private conversation with Scribe stood out even at the time.''

``I did not know whether I should tell you,'' I admitted.

I might have, I thought. I liked to think I would have. But I would not
lie to him and pretend it had been a sure thing.

``It would be ill-done of me to rebuke you for behaviour I instilled in
you myself, largely through example,'' Black said, sounding darkly
amused. ``Though it is a fresh novelty to be treated in so high-handed a
manner by anyone save Malicia.''

``Scribe, she believed, \emph{believes} she was saving your life, you
know,'' I said, then hesitated before continuing, ``and I'm not sure I
disagree with her.''

``Would you like to know how I inferred what happened?'' the green-eyed
man idly said, filling his cup anew.

I'd yet to finish mine, or him his, but down the bottle went. I slowly
nodded, though I was not sure I actually did. He drank from his cup and
I matched him, the brandy's burn a pleasant distraction from the roaring
heat of the furnace and this miserable conversation.

``In the moment it bled me, that Alaya stood in that hall and saw me
only as a hindrance,'' Black said. ``That she had not, beforehand, even
attempted to speak to me so it might be made into a game of silk and
steel. That she'd considered a decision that so wounded me to make as
inexorable, a betrayal assured -- so assured there was no need to even
\emph{attemp}t conversation.''

He paused.

``Then I made myself cease to think of her as Alaya and began to think
of her as Dread Empress Malicia,'' he mildly said. ``And I still saw an
unexplainable mistake from a woman whose judgement I yet hold in some
esteem.''

``You figured she knew something you didn't,'' I said.

``The moment Eudokia intrigued to pass the blame onto her for the
botched Salian coup, everything that followed was set in stone,'' he
mused. ``Either I had ordered this, and now stood her foe. Or I had been
deceived, and anything spoken to me could aid Scribe in furthering her
attacks. Or potentially reveal how they had been anticipated and
answered. Either way, even a secret missive would have been a foolhardy
risk.''

I drank again, deep, since what I had to say was like as not to be
unpleasant to get through.

``That doesn't excuse anything,'' I said. ``She's still the ally of the
Dead King. She still spent decades seeding commands in the minds of
people. No one \emph{forced} her to order the Night of Knives, Black.
Hers might have been choices with reasons to them, but that does not
excuse a single fucking thing. You've been preaching personal
responsibility to me since the day we met -- why would she, alone of all
the people in Creation, get a pass?''

He held up his cup to the light of the furnace and it cast a streak of
shade over his eyes.

``\emph{I trust people to act according to their nature},'' he quoted.
``\emph{Anything more is sentimentality.} She said this not long after
her formal claiming of the Tower, when there was still talk of who might
be her Chancellor. It was the talk of Ater for weeks and remains her
words most often quoted in Praes. I never thought much of the saying,
for it presumes much, but it speaks to the woman who spoke it.''

The cup went down, and the green gaze was pensive.

``Malicia seeded commands preparing for a betrayal, and that betrayal
came,'' he said. ``I blame her for this no more than I blame you for the
terrible habits your learned at my side, though I would chastise another
for them.''

``Brandy makes you chatty,'' I said. ``You're muddling cause and
consequence, Black. Fucking with the minds of your subjects is something
that deserves answer. It's not a betrayal to recognize that. You're just
being\ldots{}''

I bit my tongue.

``Sentimental?'' he finished, slightly slurring. ``So I am. Eudokia said
the same, when we spoke.''

I went still.

``And what else did she say?'' I slowly asked.

``That she regretted her actions,'' Black said, tone dry. ``And would
not repeat them. That she understood it had been a mistake. I thanked
her for this, naturally, for it was a needed lesson to us both.''

And yet she was not here, drinking with him.

``So where is she?'' I pressed.

``I wouldn't know,'' the green-eyed man said. ``Neither does it matter,
for she is no longer in my service.''

My fingers clenched.

``You're drunk,'' I flatly said, ``you're regret this after-''

``I made that decision without having had a drop,'' Amadeus of the Green
Stretch said, tone eerily calm.

``Then you're grieving, not in your right mind,'' I hissed. ``There's
nothing practical about-''

``No longer extending trust to someone who deftly manipulated me into
rebellion and undertaking a road that ends in the murder of someone dear
to me?'' Black said. ``An interesting premise. I offered no rancor and
held no grudge. It is a parting of ways, nothing more and nothing
less.''

``You can't afford to lose Scribe,'' I bluntly said. ``If you do you
lose the Eyes, and if you no longer have the Eyes the Empire will eat
you alive.''

``I considered this, but then decided it to be irrelevant,'' he amiably
said.

He drained the rest of his cup then, with clumsy fingers for one usually
so sure-footed, produced a small strip of parchment from a pocket within
his tunic. He put it down on the anvil, without a word. It was in
Mtethwa, two words: Come home. I knew not the handwriting, but then
unlike him I'd not spent decades corresponding with the Empress.

``You can't be serious,'' I quietly said.

``All of this might genuinely have untied the knot, you see,'' Black
said, sounding highly amused. ``I \emph{did} betray her, in the end. As
she always believed I would, deep down. And after that betrayal failed
and she triumphed over me so utterly she can now, at last, feel at
ease.''

He poured his cup full again as I did absolutely nothing to hide the
horror I felt.

``Of course, I will never question her again,'' he said. ``I will have
lost that right, alongside any notion that this is partnership instead
of vassalage. But the doors of Ater will be open to me and, as far as
she is concerned, kneeling before the throne as every lord and lady of
Praes watches will be my great penance.''

``It can still be turned around,'' I said. ``I know it's a blow, the
Exile Legions leaving and Scribe having manipulated you, but this isn't
your only choice. You have allies, Black.''

The green-eyed man tipped back his cup, taking another swallow.

``You misunderstand,'' he said after. ``I could no more do this than I
could pretend I still put my trust in Eudokia. It is best to look what
you are in the eye, as a villain. Lying to yourself is ever a dangerous
business.''

``And what is it you are?'' I quietly asked.

``Not yet content,'' he said, smiling as if he was having a private jest
at my expense.

I wasn't helping him, I realized. Sitting here with Black and finishing
that bottle would not make him feel any better. This breakdown had been
a long time coming, maybe as far as Captain's death, but letting him
drink and entangle himself in his thoughts would solve nothing.
Gingerly, I rose to my feet.

``Sleep it off, Black,'' I sighed. ``Scribe won't have gone far, and
that woman would forgive you nearly anything. She'll forgive you this.
We can make plans after dawn, when we're all sober and rested.''

He looked at me for a long moment, then set down the cup. For a moment
he looked about to say something, but instead he smiled crookedly.

``Good night, Catherine,'' my father said.

I left, limping, and left the blazing heat of the smithy in favour of
the cold. The coolness outside leant a refreshing touch the sweat on my
brow and neck, but the exhaustion I'd expected never came. Even now,
after all this, restlessness lingered in the marrow of my bones. High up
above, under the stars and moon, to great crows feathered in darkness
drifted across the sky. Their thoughts touched mine, gently, and shared
a sight they were glimpsing in the distance. One man, leaving Salia.
Well now, that was earlier than anticipated. I saddled Zombie and rode
out, declining escort, and the journey on her back was swifter than it
had been on foot. The small farm had not changed at all since my last
visit, though perhaps that should not have surprised me: it might feel
like an age ago, but I'd last stood here two nights back. The cattle
wall, I saw, had been built anew. And stones had rolled down, as I'd
warned the White Knight they would. By the eyes of the Crows I would not
have company for some time yet, so after tying Zombie to the side of the
farm I was spared a few breaths to consider how to comfortably wait.

Inside would be most reasonable, I thought. But the cold was pleasant,
and I was reluctant to part from it. Instead I propped up my staff
against the sidewall and, after soothing my leg with Night, hoisted
myself up the side of the farm. The roof was as sturdy as it looked,
good tiles and well set. Grimacing in pain even through the Night trick,
I crawled atop it until I was resting my back against a chimney stump.
Tightening my cloak against me comfortably, I let myself drift into the
mixture of warmth around my belly and coolness against my face. It was
soothing, and I almost fell asleep. I was not sure how long I'd been
there when I finally heard approaching footsteps in the snow. I heard
the White Knight chuckle as he figured out where I was, then deftly
climb up the side. As Hanno dragged himself up on the roof, I finished
stuffing my pipe and went looking for a match to light it. Finding one
of my last sapper pinewoods I struck it against my sleeve but it failed
to light. Sighing, I discreetly tapped a finger and seeded with black
flame before hastily lighting my pipe with it.

The White Knight rose to his feet and strode to the edge of the roof,
the two of us watching the nearing dawn begin to light up the sky.

``Back so soon?'' I said, blowing out a stream of wakeleaf smoke.

``Within an hour of Tariq waking, he drew me out of my own slumber,''
Hanno said.

All else about the man aside, there were Named out there with the word
`healer' in the Name who weren't half as good at the art as Tariq Isbili
was. Hells, for a time he'd even been able to cure death.

``And now you're here,'' I said.

An invitation to elaborate, but he did not take it.

``You were Queen of Winter for a time, were you not?'' Hanno asked
instead.

I hummed, pulling at my pipe.

``Close enough,'' I said. ``If only by virtue of being the sole
scavenger with a road to it.''

``And you are no longer,'' the White Knight said.

``Took a leap of faith,'' I acknowledged. ``All things considered, I
don't regret it.''

``And when Winter left you, Black Queen,'' he softly said. ``Did it feel
like an absence?''

\emph{Oh}, I thought, and was surprised to find I yet had pity in me.

``It felt like flying out of a pit into the blue sky,'' I gently said.
``It felt like the first drink of water after a long day in the sun. But
I never loved that power, White Knight, nor did it love me.''

Not as he so obviously loved the Choir of Judgement, strange as that
sentiment was to me. He stood there for a long moment, looking at the
lightening horizon.

``They have all been asking me,'' the White Knight said, ``what befell
of Judgement. Would you like to know, Catherine Foundling?''

I had half a dozen flippant replies on the tip of my tongue, but I was
not feeling so callous right now as to offer them up to a decent man so
obviously grieving.

``Tell me,'' I said instead.

He flicked his wrist, and in the dawning light I caught the shine of
silver. A coin, flipping, for a moment I almost struck out with the
Night. But Sve Noc was silent, and I remained still. The White Knight
caught the coin and did not even look at what had turned up. To him, and
so to me, it'd just been a flip of the coin. There had been nothing more
to it.

``Silence,'' Hanno of Arwad said. ``Only silence.''

I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.

``The Hierarch still fights them, then,'' I quietly said.

``You warned me,'' the dark-skinned man admitted. ``I did not listen,
for never before has the strength of Judgement failed before my eye. You
warned me, and now there is silence.''

And silence stayed there, hanging in the air.

``And now what?'' I asked.

``I am blind,'' Hanno of Arwad said. ``Yet even a blind man can see that
war must be waged on Keter.''

``I have pledged myself to this,'' I said. ``And do not take such oaths
lightly.''

He turned towards me, his broad silhouette ringed by morning's light,
and met my eyes.

``Then we are allies,'' the White Knight said, and offered his hand.

I took it.

And so we went to war, against the King of Death.