webcrawl/APGTE/Book-6/out/Ch-048.md.tex

\hypertarget{interlude-paragons}{%
\chapter*{Interlude: Paragons}\label{interlude-paragons}}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{\nameref{interlude-paragons}} \chaptermark{Interlude: Paragons}

\epigraph{``To offer forgiveness to the unrepentant is as the sheep
embracing the wolf.''}{Hektor the Ecclesiast, Atalante preacher}



Hanno had underestimated the depth of the troubles in the Arsenal.

It had already been an unpleasant surprise for providence to have failed
him, not offering even the slightest of nudges otherwise when he'd
decided to wait a few days before heading towards the Arsenal, but now
it seemed that initial mistake had allowed several streaks of
unpleasantness to take root. That Catherine would be as a scalded cat
was only to be expected, given that she'd pitted her wits against the
Wandering Bard and there was no victory to be had without a cost there.
That could be worked around until it passed, which he trusted it would.
That there would be distrust and discontent boiling up within the heroes
as was not something he'd foreseen, at least not to such a grave extent.
That Christophe de Pavanie's name never seemed to be far behind whenever
a spot of discord was there to be found was even more unfortunate.

It had become the White Knight's habit to arrange for a great talk with
all the heroes of a region whenever his travels allowed, so that they
might vent their grievances before they could grow into formal
complaints and frictions of character could be caught before they
escalated, and it was without hesitation he followed the habit after
coming to the Arsenal. There were nine heroes within these walls who
bore Names, and most made good time when he sent for them. Still,
extracting themselves from their occupations took longer for some than
others. Hanno was not displeased by that, as them coming with waves
allowed him to take a look at the currents binding them to one another.
Roland, for example, came with the Vagrant Spear and the Forlorn
Paladin.

The latter two of those three had spent more than a year as part of the
Archer's band, while the Rogue Sorcerer was perhaps the hero who best
got along with the Woe in particular and villains as a whole. There were
some who called him soft on Below because of that, though his
distinguished record had ensured it was just idle talk. That the
Dominion heroine would keep company with Roland and the Forlorn Paladin
was interesting, however. If she had felt uncomfortable under the
Archer, starved of respectable company or mistreated, she would not have
chosen those particular companions. As for the Forlorn Paladin himself,
though he remained improbably cheerful despite his Name it was clear
that he felt lost and that the Vagrant Spear was serving as an anchor.
Hanno sympathized.

He had more memories than any man alive, and their loss was something he
dreaded like little else.

The White Knight spoke with the first three heroes to arrive, little
more than small talk about what they'd seen and done since their last
parting, but before long others began to wander in. Though the
Kingfisher Prince was not someone Hanno had ever met in person before,
the Prince of Brus was hard to mistake for another -- between the
fanciful Alamans clothing and the elaborate hair ribbons, there was
simply no other hero he could be mistaken \emph{for}. The man had a
reputation for charm that must have been true at least in part, for the
often-taciturn Bitter Blacksmith was laughing as some unheard jest as he
gallantly opened the door for her.

Though Hanno did not particularly consider himself the host of this
gathering -- he had not fetched the refreshments himself, or done
anything at all save requesting the help of messengers and attendants --
he still welcomed the pair into the room, returning the Prince of Brus'
firm arm clasp and congratulating Helmgard for her impressive work on
the sword he was not learning had been named the Severance. A shame.
He'd been rather partial to the `Severity', himself. It seemed a truer
homage to the woman it had been forged from. There was hardly a ripple
as the two Named joined the others, cordial smiles being offered up by
those whose character so inclined them.

The Mirror Knight arrived rather late, considering that Christophe had
been eager for a meeting like this one when they'd last spoken, but it
was easy to see why. When the dark-haired hero arrived, it was with the
Blessed Artificer and the Blade of Mercy at his side. He must have
wanted the three of them to come together and so waited, though Hanno
found that the Mirror Knight looked rather jittery underneath his
attempt so seem calm. The White Knight almost frowned when he saw how
uncomfortable young Antoine was, avoiding looking at the end of the
table where Roland and the two heroines he'd come in with sat. Not, not
Roland, Hanno decided. It was Sidonia in particular the younger man was
avoiding looking at.

The Vagrant Spear did not gaze in their direction at all, as if noticing
them was beneath her.

The Blessed Artificer strode forward with little apparent awareness of
her companions' discomfort, offering Hanno himself a nod before settling
in the chair by the Bitter Blacksmith's side. The two began to talk
animatedly, and Christophe look almost miffed before he came to make his
greetings. The White Knight took the time to speak with young Antoine
for a bit, but the Blade of Mercy remained stiff and tight-lipped.
Twice, in mere idle conversation, he redirected a casual question of
Hanno's to the Mirror Knight. The Ashuran filed that away, refraining
from making assumptions but equally disinclined to simply ignore an
oddity.

The Blind Maker was the last to arrive, the older man having been in the
middle of delicate work when the messenger came and so unable to extract
himself easily. He apologized, but no one felt slighted and so the
matter was waved away. Hanno caught himself looking at the door, as if
still waiting, and felt a pang of grief when he understood why. Nephele
would not be coming, for she was dead. She'd perished in the fight
against a demon, mere days ago, and so Hanno would never see his friend
again. Hear her laugh, enjoy the sight of how she had come to
\emph{thrive} in the very place she had died defending. The dark-skinned
man did not shy away from the grief, instead leaning into it. Let it
pass through him.

The White Knight could not change what had been done, but he could keep
Nephele alive within himself. Hanno's mother had been fond of a verse
from her homeland, one that claimed all were born to two deaths: one in
the flesh, one in the memories of those left behind. It was not in the
Ashuran knight's ability to unmake the end of flesh, but in memory at
least he could honour the woman who had been the Repentant Magister. Yet
there was a time for grief and a time for the present, and now Hanno was
called upon by the latter to set aside the former. He did so.

``I see were all here,'' the White Knight said, standing at the head of
the table. ``I am not unaware that there are many demands on your time,
and so I thank you for indulging my request.''

``We were long overdue a council of the Chosen, anyhow,'' the Blessed
Artificer said.

Adanna of Smyrna had spoken with characteristic bluntness and so Hanno
knew better than to take offence, though that did not stop some from
eyeing her with irritation. Or dislike. Heroes were not above the
vagaries of human interaction in the slightest. They were, if anything,
more prone to falling into them. A consequence of strong personalities,
Hanno had often thought, which were those that tended to come into Names
to begin with.

``A council over what?'' the Forlorn Paladin asked. ``The messenger
never said.''

From the corners of his eye, Hanno saw that the Kingfisher Prince was
carefully studying the heroes in the room. Looking, the White Knight
suspected, for the invisible web of alliances and enmities that Alamans
considered to be the foundation of all society. This one was a hero, the
White Knight thought, but a prince as well. It would not do to forget
that. The blue-eyed Prince of Brus caught Hanno's own watchful eye, and
with a quirk of the lips offered a wink.

``This is to discuss the fate of the Red Axe, obviously,'' the Mirror
Knight said.

``What is there to discuss, exactly?'' the Rogue Sorcerer flatly asked.

``These talks are meant to allow you all to air grievances and
worries,'' Hanno cut in as he sat down, voice serene. ``If such worries
concern the matter of the Red Axe, you are of course free to voice
them.''

``There's grievances enough for twenty to be aired,'' the Blessed
Artificer said. ``Most of them about the Black Queen's atrocious
behaviour.''

Hanno cocked his head to the side.

``The reports I received must have been incomplete, then,'' he said.
``For I have read them and found little to fault her with.''

That made a stir, though not a large one. He'd hardly said anything
incendiary, besides. If Catherine had genuinely been at fault, it would
have been his duty to act on it. If he had not, the reason why ought to
be self-evident.

``This is ridiculous,'' Roland said. ``We heroes in our little hidden
room, discussing the Black Queen like we're some sort of secret cabal.
If it came out, we'd be a laughingstock -- or worse.''

``You worry too much of how things might look, Rogue Sorcerer,'' the
Mirror Knight said, contempt clear in his voice.

``You don't worry \emph{enough}, Christophe,'' the Bitter Blacksmith
sneered. ``I don't care if she stepped on your toes, she's also sent
troops to fight up in Twilight's Pass. You don't get to fuck that just
because no one bothered to beat humility into you as a child.''

The Mirror Knight looked not only surprised by Helmgard's words, but
almost hurt. They were friends, the White Knight distantly recalled. But
right now the Bitter Blacksmith was just seeing yet another Alamans
posturing while her people died in droves, and that pulled on an older
and deeper loyalty that anything friendship might earn of her.

``I choose not to believe that expecting civility of each other is being
too ambitious,'' Hanno calmly said.

The Blacksmith looked away, but not without embarrassment first painting
itself across her face. Christophe looked pleased and almost vindicated,
though, which had not been Hanno's intent at all. It worried him that
the other man seemed convinced that there were sides to take instead of
disagreements to be had. The difference might slight, at first, but the
longer the path was the starker the difference would grow.

``Impugning each other's character is no more civil than insults,'' the
White Knight plainly said. ``I will add, however, that expecting
Catherine Foundling to withdraw the aid she has offered because her
actions are being questioned is not a defence of her. It is, in fact,
the contrary.''

The Kingfisher Prince cleared his throat.

``Considering grievances have been mentioned, I am curious to hear
them,'' Prince Frederic Goethal said. ``I was part of the defence
myself, after all.''

``You failed to hide the Red Axe from mere guards, then were laid down
by your own ward,'' the Blessed Artificer said. ``Hardly a
participation.''

Every single Alamans at the table looked appalled at her words, Hanno
noted, though not necessarily because they disagreed with them. The
Prince of Brus had an impressive martial reputation in the north, but
he'd worked with few other Named and his showing during the assault on
the Arsenal had been lackluster by some ways of looking at it. Hanno's
esteem of the man had raised at his restraint when faced with bare
swords and threats, but even on the side of Above there were some who
measured success largely through body counts.

``Adanna, you're being insulting,'' the Bitter Blacksmith told her.

The golden-eyed artificer looked surprised.

``I meant no insult,'' she assured the prince. ``Only that-''

Mercifully, Helmgard elbowed her before she could launch into an
explanation that Hanno suspected would offer several additional insults.
The dark-skinned man actually sympathized with Adanna a great deal,
since he understood exactly where her occasional maladroitness came
from: it was rather typical of Ashurans in general and citizens from
higher tiers in particular. High Tyrian was a highly blunt language,
compared to some on the continent, and most Ashurans who learned a
second tongue had to unlearn habits that made them come across as very
rude. Those born to higher tiers were also raised into believing that
criticism of lower tiers was a civic duty, which could combine in
unfortunate ways with other Ashuran customs. Captains, traders and
diplomats were naturally taught how to avoid those pitfalls, but the
Blessed Artificer was unlikely to have rubbed elbows with any of these
in Smyrna -- she would have moved in different, higher circles.

``No offence was taken,'' the Kingfisher Prince said, and it he was
lying he hid it well. ``Yet my question stands.''

``I am curious as well,'' the White Knight said. ``Though I want it to
be clear that you are all free to speak, and I will not take you words
as a formal complaint under the Terms unless you explicitly state
otherwise.''

``I was threatened with execution,'' the Blessed Artificer said.

The Rogue Sorcerer laughed, and not kindly.

``Tell them why,'' Roland said.

``It hardly matters,'' Adanna said. ``The threat is the reason of my
complaint.''

``She nosed about an Arsenal project the Grand Alliance is going out of
its way to keep secret, and then tried to bully the Black Queen into
speaking about it in front of what turned out to be \emph{at least two
traitors},'' Roland his aggressively even tone making it clear what he
thought of the entire affair. ``The specific threat then involved first
gaining the approval of the Grand Alliance for your execution by the
lawful means, as I recall.''

Hanno's brow almost rose. It had been a misjudgement on Adanna's part to
believe that the Black Queen would respond to this sort of a pressure,
and an even greater misjudgement to resort to this sort of thing against
an ally at all. He'd expected better of her.

``I can confirm there are projects under such stark secrecy that
exist,'' the Kingfisher Prince said, ``though I am not conversant with
their exact nature.''

The Blessed Artificer's lips thinned, though she did not argue.

``I have a complaint of my own,'' the Mirror Knight said.

Eyes moved to him and the dark-haired man smiled thinly.

``About the Rogue Sorcerer, and how he might as well be the mouthpiece
of the Black Queen in this room,'' Christophe continued. ``Go where you
belong, Sorcerer. Go sit at her side, and let us get on with our duties
at last without your \emph{help}.''

Roland's fingers clenched at his face paled in anger. Hanno genuinely
could not remember ever seeing the mild-mannered man this furious.

``I do not know you, Alamans,'' the Blind Maker calmly said, his thick
Arlesite accent tinging the words, ``but your words fall well short of
the chivalry your Choosing boasts of.''

``That was ill-said,'' the Forlorn Paladin agreed, face grown serious.

Some were less courteous in their chiding.

``Fuck you, Christophe,'' Sidonia hissed. ``I've been with the Lady for
more than a year now, does that make me traitor too? Who the Hells are
you to tell anyone to leave?''

Hanno pulled on his Name the slightest bit, then slapped his hand
against the table. The sound was like a thunderclap in the small hall,
and it drew shocked silence from all in it.

``Civility,'' the White Knight reminded them. ``Be clearer on the nature
of your complaint, Mirror Knight. Are you accusing the Rogue Sorcerer of
having fallen from grace and become one of the Damned?''

That would, in fact, be a valid reason to ask for Roland's exclusion
from this meeting. In practice it would be difficult to prove either
way, but it hardly mattered since Hanno doubted the Mirror Knight would
pursue his hasty words to the end. It was a profoundly serious
accusation and there would be consequences to using so frivolously. That
the Principate had used such methods frequently against heroes of
opposing nations was one of the reason it had such a poor reputation
with Named, and for a Proceran hero in particular to be seen using the
same means would see him made a pariah among their kind.

``I did not speak those words,'' Christophe de Pavanie stiffly said.

``Then you should be more careful when you address others,'' Hanno
frankly said. ``If you did not mean to make that accusation, then all
you did was offer an insult.''

The Mirror Knight looked like he'd been slapped, but then he'd offered
the same to the Rogue Sorcerer with intent nowhere as kindly meant. He
must be made to understand that he should be choosing his words more
carefully, not blurting out offences and then apologizing for them.

``Everyone knows the Sorcerer's thick as thieves with the Woe,'' the
Blade of Mercy spoke up. ``It's not a crime to say that, is it?''

``No,'' Hanno serenely replied. ``Though neither is it a crime to have a
cordial rapport with an ally, Antoine.''

In truth, it would be a poison to this alliance if heroes came to
believe that being on good terms with villains was a sort of betrayal.
Perhaps if bands of five had remained entirely Below's or Above's it
could have been borne, but that had not been the case for some time now.
The ability to forge a band out of Named of all allegiances was simply
too potent a tool in the war against Keter to be easily discarded, and
that meant heroes and villains must be able to maintain a degree of
respect for each other.

``I have a grievance of my own, as it happens,'' the Rogue Sorcerer
coldly said.

The anger was still in him, the White Knight saw. That boded ill, for
Roland was sharper with wits and tongue than many were with steel.

``Why is Christophe of Pavanie still strutting about with the
Severance?'' Roland asked. ``More than half a dozen of us worked on it,
and a fortune was spent forging it. The peril has passed, Mirror Knight,
so why do you still carry that priceless artefact with you like some
ceremonial blade?''

``I am safekeeping it,'' the Mirror Knight harshly said.

``We've found no one else capable of using it,'' the Blessed Artificer
shrugged. ``Where else should it go?''

``It's an artefact meant to kill the Hidden Horror,'' the Bitter
Blacksmith disagreed, ``it should be under lock and behind wards, not
lugged around.''

``It hasn't been observed since it was taken up, has it?'' the Blind
Maker mused. ``It should be, or we will not know how it takes to being
used.''

``It was taken up in a battle against great foes,'' the Vagrant Spear
said. ``And used worthily. It would be a grave dishonour to claim it
back now.''

The Mirror Knight threw her a look as surprised as it was grateful.

``Hear hear,'' the Forlorn Paladin said. ``It is not a deed to be
lightly gainsaid.''

``Seven demons were slain with the blade in the Mirror Knight's hand,''
the Blade of Mercy fervently reminded them. ``\emph{Seven}. What fool
would now give it to another, or put it back to rest?''

``I agree that Christophe is most fit to wield the Severance, given its
temperament and his own talents,'' Hanno said. ``I have already informed
the Black Queen as much.''

There was a moment of stillness in the room. Dismay on the Rogue
Sorcerer's face, triumph on the Mirror Knight's -- or was it relief?

``It must be returned, however,'' the White Knight continued. ``It was
taken up during a crisis for laudable reasons, but the crisis has
passed. Until it is formally bestowed upon someone, it belongs to the
Grand Alliance.''

The scene of a moment earlier, reversed. Nothing about this, Hanno
thought, ought to be taken personally. Diplomacy was setting the beat to
the tune, not lesser and pettier considerations. He knew better than to
believe it would not be taken personally regardless.

``The First Prince shares that belief,'' the Kingfisher Prince said. ``I
do as well, for that matter. You've fought mostly in Cleves, Mirror
Knight, while the sword might be needed elsewhere. That front is the
mildest of the three.''

Christophe cast the prince an unfriendly glance, then turned to Hanno.

``Is this an order, White Knight?'' he challenged.

He wanted, the dark-skinned man sensed, a confrontation. To make this
about the two of them. That was disturbing, considering the White Knight
had no enmity towards Christophe de Pavanie and had believe the opposite
to be just as true.

``No,'' Hanno said. ``I have told you my opinion. It will become an
order if the signatory members of the Grand Alliance so decide, likely
by vote. I expect the Severance will be assigned in the same manner.''

The Vagrant Spear laughed.

``Should have been more careful who you insulted, Christophe,'' she
said. ``Even if your First Prince takes a shine to you, that's two out
of three who'd rather burn than back you.''

``I am sure Her Most Serene Highness will see reason, when properly made
aware of the facts,'' the Mirror Knight said.

There was a certainty to his voice that Hanno would have found admirable
were he not certain it was unwarranted. Though the White Knight had not
lost the respect he'd found for the First Prince during the defense of
Cleves, he'd since tempered it with appropriate caution. He could
respect Cordelia Hasenbach without losing sight of the truth that she
loved Procer more than she did most anything. It was why she now wanted
the Red Axe to stand trial before the Highest Assembly, ignoring the
protection promised the heroine by the Terms. The First Prince would not
find many allies in this, unless he'd gravely misread Catherine so at
the moment she was also highly unlikely to take a chance on championing
Christophe de Pavanie.

``The Hasenbach will do what needs to be done,'' the Bitter Blacksmith
bluntly said. ``Whether it pleases you or not. That is their way.''

There was an undertone of pride to the words, not quite hidden.
Christophe looked upset, which led Hanno to suspect he had come into
this hall expecting that Helmgard would support him in all things. The
Ashuran was not the only one to notice.

``Is it because you've been fuckin Damned that you're so traitorous?''
the Blade of Mercy bit out.

There was a beat of silence, the half a dozen people started talking at
the same time. Sidonia was loudly laughing instead, Hanno noted, while
the Kingfisher Prince was looking rather interested even as he kept his
silence. The White Knight struck his palm against the table once more.

``Order,'' Hanno said. ``Antoine, please apologize.''

``I think not,'' the Blade of Mercy coldly said. ``What did I say, save
the truth?''

``So she took the Hunted Magician to bed,'' the Blessed Artificer
replied, dismissive. ``What of it? He's a comely man, and rather skilled
in bedplay.''

Several of the heroes choked in surprise. Hanno did not share their
shock, benefitting from the perspective of a shared homeland. Adanna of
Smyrna would likely equate having sex with a villain to a citizen of a
higher tier doing the same with one of a lower tier, and so see nothing
there to raise an eyebrow over. Considering marriages across tiers were
exceedingly rare such affairs were usually purely physical, and the
Blessed Artificer would be highly insulted should someone imply her
judgement -- or that of a friend, which Helmgard was -- might be
affected by such a thing.

``Is he?'' the Vagrant Spear asked, leaning forward eagerly.
``Elaborate.''

The White Knight could not blame the Archer for that behaviour, sadly.
She'd been this way since they first met and actually tended to be
significantly worse when Rafaella was around for them rile each other
up. The Dominion spirit of competition did not exclude revels.

``Adanna?'' the Mirror Knight said, sounding horrified.

``I took up with him myself, for a while,'' the Blessed Artificer said.

``He thought we didn't know,'' Helmgard grinned. ``We kept making
appointments at the same time, you should have seen him panic and make
those tortured excuses.''

The White Knight cleared his throat.

``How any of us choose to share our beds is not anyone else's concern,''
Hanno said. ``And not to be subject to insult. Antoine,
\emph{apologize}.''

For the first time that day, his voice hardened. The younger man froze
at the sound, eyes going wide.

``He meant no insult, Helmgard,'' the Mirror Knight said, addressing the
heroine directly.

The Bitter Blacksmith spat to the side.

``Only a boy needs others to speak for himself,'' she said, but curtly
nodded.

Hanno caught her eye, raising an eyebrow in question, but she shook her
head in denial. If she was satisfied, then he would pursue the matter no
further.

``Are there any further grievances?'' the White Knight asked.

``The Black Queen should not be a high officer of the Grand Alliance,''
the Mirror Knight flatly said.

The entire room went silent, as if breathing in simultaneously.

``That is not a grievance,'' Hanno noted.

``She's corrupt,'' Christophe de Pavanie said. ``She made a deal with
the Hunted Magician to let him off-''

``The Hunted Magician is to stand trial within the week,'' the White
Knight corrected. ``I am to be a member of the tribunal.''

``Don't be obtuse,'' the Mirror Knight insisted, ``she alone gets to
decide the sentence, and she was arrogant enough to take her bribe while
I was in the room. She thinks herself untouchable, White Knight.''

``She alone stands as judge over the Damned, by the Terms we all agreed
on,'' the Kingfisher Prince said. ``To argue against that is to argue
against their very existence.''

Which by the way his tone had cooled, was not a stance that would endear
anyone to the prince.

``What meaning is there in the Terms, if the one enforcing them on
villains abuses her office?'' the Mirror Knight said. ``We've offered
amnesty to a parade of rapists and murderers but the Damned holding
their leash is just as corrupt. Is it any wonder that the likes of the
Red Axe strike against us?''

Christophe de Pavanie rose to his feet, animated and angry. The emotion
did him no favours with some at the table, but it caught the attention
of others. There had been doubts about the Terms from the beginning,
after all, and two of the heroes who'd most stringently argued against
their current form were in this hall -- both Adanna and Christophe had
been deeply opposed to the principle of villains policing themselves
through the Black Queen. Enough that they'd threatened to walk, though
it'd been an empty threat. It had been a point of principle back then,
however. It'd since grown into a genuine belief for the Mirror Knight,
it was plain to Hanno's eyes.

``We are losing the mandate of the Heavens,'' the Mirror Knight warned.
``Every time we care more about the letter of a treaty than doing good,
we lose ourselves a little more. That is Below's subtlest scheme: to
make us embrace one evil in seeking the destruction of another.''

Hanno had heard many people claim they understood the designs of the
Heavens, over the years, and what their mandate for their children was.
It was unfortunate that no degree of certainty seemed to prevent them
from error, or mutual exclusivity in their claims. His attention, beyond
the words being spoken, was on the heroes in the room. Some were
skeptical, the White Knight thought as he studied the Named, but others
were visibly in agreement. The Blade of Mercy, the Blessed Artificer.
Reluctantly, the Bitter Blacksmith. Given the deep enmity she had with
her brother, Hanno suspected that her leanings there were personally
driven. She must be troubled by the thought that the reason she'd
refrained from fighting her brother to the death, the Terms, might have
been some trick of the Gods Below.

``Horseshit,'' the Vagrant Spear said. ``The Red Axe killed the Wicked
Enchanter. He was an animal of the worst kind, but what does that
change? \emph{She gave her word.} We all did. And now you're trying to
wriggle out of it, like a worm on the hook.''

``She got Nephele killed,'' Christophe de Pavanie hissed.

``No,'' the Blade of Mercy burst out.

Astonished, the Mirror Knight turned towards the younger man.

``I was there, it wasn't like that,'' Antoine insisted. ``She lost
soldiers, too, and it was the Hierophant who caught the demon. Not her,
not us, him.''

``Hierophant hasn't enough interest in people to get them killed on
purpose,'' the Bitter Blacksmith grunted. ``And he liked Nephele, I
remember.''

``Praesi hide their intentions skillfully,'' Adanna said.

She then withered under Helmgard's skeptical gaze.

``It is perhaps unlikely,'' she conceded. ``And though she is a vicious
brute, I'll admit I have some doubts the Black Queen would have
attempted to arrange the death of an ally in the middle of a fight with
a demon. She is a practical sort of monster, and more careful with her
life than her cavalier manners would make you believe.''

On the account of the pragmatism and cavalier manners, Hanno tended to
agree. Catherine was also savagely protective of those she considered in
her care, whether they were objectively deserving of that protection or
not, so that she might have arranged for Nephele to die was\ldots{}
improbable. Not impossible, of course, and he was willing to hear out
Christophe, but he was more inclined to believe in a misunderstanding
than a conspiracy.

``What leads you to believe that the Repentant Magister was the victim
of a plot?'' the White Knight asked.

The Mirror Knight blinked, biting his lip.

``A library was burned, and in it there were two false Revenants who
attacked us as we tried to rescue the Doddering Sage,'' he said. ``It
must have been the Black Queen and one of her servants, who else could
it have been?''

``Even if you were right, how would that lead to scheming Nephele's
murder?'' the Rogue Sorcerer asked.

``She lied to us,'' Christophe said. ``Do you not see?''

The Blind Maker cleared his throat. The Mirror Knight's face tightened
with anger.

``And now you mock me, just as she did,'' he said. ``Does no one else
understand what she's doing to us even now?''

Hanno chose his words carefully, but perhaps too slowly. He was not the
first to answer.

``So here we are,'' the Rogue Sorcerer quietly said. ``The truth comes
out at last. Nephele died and your pride was hurt, so now you're
throwing a tantrum painted over with righteous speech. The part that
disgusts me most, \emph{Knight}, is that you are pretending you actually
knew her. The way us here at the Arsenal did, we who shared years with
her. You swagger around arrogating the loss of others, as if it makes
you important and worth listening to.''

Roland cast a look of icy contempt at the other hero.

``All it makes you is the most despicable sort of braggart,'' the Rogue
Sorcerer said. ``Have the decency of silence, Mirror Knight, and sit in
your fucking chair.''

``\emph{Roland},'' Hanno sharply said. ``That's enough. Being insulted
is no reason to return the treatment in kind, not amongst allies.''

``You're a disgrace, Sorcerer,'' the Blade of Mercy spat.

``Swallow your tongue, boy,'' the Bitter Blacksmith harshly said. ``You
have already given away your right to speak.''

``I will not speak to the Rogue Sorcerer's anger,'' the Forlorn Paladin
said, ``but his doubts I'll admit to sharing. You cast grave
accusations, Mirror Knight, but offer no proof. Even a villain is due
more than that.''

``This is all pointless talk, anyway,'' the Vagrant Spear exasperatedly
said. ``Even if every word you spoke was true, Christophe, what is it
that could be done? You want to spank the Black Queen's bottoms until
she learns about virtue? The moment one of us -- any of us -- attacks
her, the Kingdom of Callow`s armies will leave and let Procer burn to
the ground.''

``They have a duty,'' Christophe tightly said. ``And I do not speak of
forcing her to abdicate her crown, Sidonia. Is Lady Vivienne Dartwick
not her heir? Let her replace the crooked queen as representative for
the Damned, then.''

``That is enough of that,'' Hanno said.

Eyes turned him.

``We do not rule the Grand Alliance,'' the White Knight evenly said.
``We do not settle its affairs for it, much less meddle with its
constituent crowns. We are servants of the Gods Above who have sworn an
oath of war against the Hidden Horror.''

Hanno swept his gaze across the room.

``We must remain aware of our limits,'' the White Knight said. ``We are
not deciding the fate of the Queen of Callow between us, or the fate of
the Severance, much less who the representative for villains would be
under rules that we have already given our oath to observe. If you have
concerns, I will hear them. I you have grievances, I will act on them.
But do not delude yourselves, not for a moment, that we can
\emph{dictate terms} to half of Calernia bound in alliance.''

Few looked like they wanted to object, and none who dwelled in the
Arsenal. They understood best, Hanno thought, the actual scale of
something like the Grand Alliance. They'd seen it at work, when this
unearthly place had been carved out of nothing in less than a year. The
others knew only their front, their battle, their struggle. It was human
nature, Hanno knew, to reduce things to something that was easier to
grasp. That did not make you uncomfortable about how very \emph{small}
you were. The Seraphim had stripped him of that, among their many gifts.
The White Knight perfectly understood how insignificant a speck of dust
he truly was, and that had allowed him a certain\ldots{} clarity of
sight, in some ways.

``You're going to kill the Red Axe.''

Hanno turned a calm gaze to the Mirror Knight, whose green eyes had gone
cold.

``I am,'' the White Knight agreed. ``If a law cannot be borne, let it
not be borne. I will not worship at the altar of our imperfections and
pretend it is infallible. But if it is to stand, if it is to be heeded,
there cannot be \emph{exceptions}.''

Hanno did not judge, for that was not his place even bereft the guidance
of the Seraphim, but he was neither blind nor deaf. He would act as he
must, knowing his actions to be blind and imperfect. Christophe de
Pavanie rose to his feet. Slowly, inexorably.

``No,'' the Mirror Knight harshly said. ``I will not allow it.''

Those were not, the White Knight thought, words that could be taken
back.