webcrawl/APGTE/Book-3/out/Ch-008.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-5-beachhead}{%
\chapter{Beachhead}\label{chapter-5-beachhead}}



\epigraph{``Look at how edible you are. You're basically asking for it.''

-Warlord Grog the King}{Eater, addressing the king of Okoro during the
sack of the same}



``So what are we looking at?'' I asked.

I took my helmet when Hakram offered it, clasping the chin straps as I
checked the longsword sheathed at my belt. The moon was out in full, but
it was hard to tell given how many torches there were out in the
streets. Legionaries were evacuating the citizens of Marchford according
to Juniper's prepared plan as we made our way through the streets, half
the Gallowborne behind me. The rest was still assembling under Tribune
Farrier. They'd catch up eventually. I wasn't sure whether I'd want them
to follow me into the fray, anyway, but if nothing else they'd be able
to bolster our lines.

``The first defensive perimeter collapsed almost instantly,'' the tall
orc said. ``Hune's men dug in behind the second one, but they're out of
their breadth here.''

I could see the blizzard that had overtaken the central plaza of my city
even from where I stood, a column that went high into the sky like some
cheap snow imitation of the Tower, so Adjutant's words struck me as a
bit of an understatement. I'd pit the Fifteenth against anything that
had feet or claws, but you couldn't stab the weather. Well, they
couldn't anyway. I might be able to work something out. In my
experience, you could stab pretty much anything if you tried hard
enough. Now \emph{there} was a decent motto for the freshly-founded
Noble House of Foundling. If I ever got around to having any descendants
-- and I wasn't planning on it, at the moment -- I'd have it put up on a
spiffy banner for when they inevitably got into a fight way out of their
league. A legacy to be proud of.

``No shit,'' I said. ``I meant what kind of forces are they fielding?''

``Infantry,'' Adjutant said. ``Every single enemy soldier should be
considered a mage, and their weapons look primitive but they have no
trouble cutting through ours.''

``You'd think people would get tired of that gimmick,'' I sighed.
``Anyone looks like they're in charge?''

``Not as of the last report I got,'' Hakram replied. ``I'm guessing if
there's a leader they're either still in Arcadia or hidden by the
storm.''

We turned the corner, a line of legionaries moving aside with hasty
salutes so they wouldn't get in our way. I nodded absent-mindedly, not
really paying attention.

``They have wings, right?'' I asked, making a gesture that was meant to
represent flapping butterflies but came across as mildly obscene.

``That's how they overran the first perimeter,'' Hakram agreed soberly.
``Headed straight for Pickler's scorpions to take them out then spread
across the rooftops. Hune moved crossbowmen to box them in, it's working
for now.''

That did not feel like a long-term solution. Eventually they'd find a
way to get through and there was no way I was allowing a bunch of fae to
run wild in Marchford. Gods, just thinking of the cost of rebuilding
after a rampage was enough to make me feel faint. Why were my enemies
never considerate about collateral damage? Admittedly I'd ordered
Marchford Manor torched myself, but I sure as Hells wasn't taking the
blame for the devils and that walking horror Heiress has set on the
city.

``Mages can't do anything about that?'' I said.

``They're busy making sure the blizzard goes up instead of covering the
city,'' Adjutant said. ``They're working on shutting it down entirely,
but whatever's making it packs a punch.''

``Have you-``

``Sent a runner to Apprentice before I even caught up to you,'' the tall
orc interrupted me.

Hakram, you prince among men. Always on the ball. If there was someone
could make this mess less of a mess -- or at least someone else's mess
-- it was Masego. I wasn't all that eager to head into a snowstorm
without someone who could make fire at my side, truth be told, cloak
over my plate or not. If the Fair Folk wanted to make it snow, I wasn't
above retorting with a whiff of the ol' brimstone. We were close to the
plaza, now, and I could feel the temperature steadily dropping. Joy. The
two of us slowed when a legionary popped out of the woodworks and
immediately headed in our direction, dropping a knee when she got in
front of me.

``Countess,'' the young Callowan said.

``Up,'' I ordered. ``You were sent for us?''

``Legate Hune conveys her respect and would like to inform you the
southern part of our formation is close to collapse,'' the light-skinned
girl said.

Gods, how old was she? Seventeen at most. Barely two years younger than
me but she felt like a kid, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and one bad
day away from getting on a battlefield she wouldn't walk away from.

``She has reinforcements headed there?'' Hakram asked.

``We're stretched thin until Legate Nauk moves his men into place,'' the
messenger replied. ``She fears what she can spare will not be enough.''

Well, \emph{fuck}. Hune had three thousand soldiers under her command --
one time and a half the size of what a kabili should be -- and she was
still hard-pressed? Given the relatively small size of the area she had
to contain, that meant the fae were tearing through her men like wet
parchment.

``We're close,'' Hakram said, eyeing me.

``We're going,'' I replied. ``Tell the legate as much.''

The girl got to her feet and saluted as I turned to the Gallowborne
behind me. The officer at their head was an orc, one of the few in my
personal guard.

``Lieutenant Sark,'' I called out.

``Ma'am?'' the officer replied.

``Send word to Tribune Farrier: we're headed south. He's to back up the
lines there immediately. Same for your men.''

The greenskin eyed me calmly.

``You'll be going into the storm, ma'am?''

``Looks that way,'' I grunted. ``Gotta get at whatever's in there.''

He grinned, showing off yellowing fangs.

``Good hunting, Warlord.''

See, stuff like that was like I liked having orcs backing me. No
insistence on coming along or waiting for Apprentice, just an
encouragement to go out and kill things that wanted to kill me. I didn't
waste time on any further talk: we moved double-time for where the enemy
assault was apparently the strongest.

---

Legion doctrine for static defence was fairly straightforward. Establish
a shield wall of heavies everywhere without walls, place sappers and
mages behind it to disrupt enemy formations. Most of the killing was
actually behind the melee, by bolts and fireballs shot into the massed
enemies. Unfortunately, both the Miezan legions and the Praesi
inheritors had crafted that tactic relying one one assumption the
Fifteenth was currently paying for: that they would have more or better
spellcasters on the field than the enemy. The Empire was the only nation
on Calernia with a formal mage corps in their army, so they usually had
at least twice the number of spellslingers the enemy did if not more,
and the Miezan empire had been \emph{built} on sorcery the likes of
which had never been seen before or since. Neither nation had ever
tangled with the fae, and it was showing.

Instead of the orderly shield wall I was expecting, I was currently
looking at half a dozen clumps of legionaries desperately trying to
fight off the enemy while fairies darted past them to take a bite out of
my panicking sappers. The sharp cracks of munitions and disorderly
crossbow fire announced the death of a few more of my goblins every few
heartbeats. I was confused at how the fae could have managed to break a
shield wall without one of their own until the first time I saw some
dark-skinned man dressed in furs glow as he spoke and a human walking
out of formation as if in a trance, just to get speared through the
throat. The Winter Court was falling on my men like a pack of wolves,
using ice and illusions and charm to break them apart and pick them off
one at a time. The defensive formations of Hune's men were not a rampart
so much as a buffet the enemy could choose from at will.

Most of the fairies were shaped like eerie humans with wings, though not
all. Wolf-like hounds made of ice and shade wove in and out of sight,
tearing out throats and mauling men over their shields. The only saving
grace of that disaster I was watching was that it wasn't also in the
middle of a blizzard. Silver lining, eh?

``That is \emph{not} how I saw my night going,'' I admitted.

``They're probably smarter than devils too,'' Hakram growled with
distaste.

My longsword came out of its scabbard without a sound and I move forward
with my shield raised. Adjutant's axe and scutum immediately moved to
cover my left flank as the Gallowborne spread out in ranks behind us.
Hune's sappers took cover behind them as soon as they could, retreating
with relief, and then a heartbeat later I was in the thick of it. A
pale-skinned woman in a flowing blue dress that shimmered like a mirror
leapt in my direction, a bone sword in hand. I breathed in, breathed
out, and felt my Name stir. The beast grinned, eyes opening: my veins
warmed and the world slowed. \emph{Hello, old friend.} \emph{Would it be
strange to say I've missed you?} The sharp point of bone was headed
straight for my throat, uncaring of the gorget protecting it, and I
wasn't taking the risk of letting that blow land. The flat of my sword
lightly tapped the fae's wrist, nudging the strike away, then with a
flick of the wrist came around to tear straight through my enemy's
throat. I had at no point ceased moving forward. A heartbeat later, the
fae's headless corpse fell to the ground behind me.

Weeping Heavens, it was good to be back in the field.

To my left Hakram sunk his axe into the head of a shadow hound, hard
enough shards of ice flew and its muzzle hit the ground. With a grunt he
tore it out, then brought down an armoured boot on the creature's neck
to make sure it wouldn't get up. I could feel myself smiling, the
battle-joy taking hold of me. Gods, after all this talking I'd been
forced to do lately it was such a delight just being able to \emph{hit}
something. The Gallowborne were advancing steadily behind us, picking
off any fae trying to charm them with crossbows before they could get
too close. The fairies swarmed in the air above them, but my personal
guard was made of sterner stuff than that. They'd been through Marchford
and Liesse: a bunch of fae weren't going to make them flinch. I left
them to it, moving towards Hune's besieged legionaries. Ragged cries of
``Fifteenth'' came when they saw me, and they threw themselves back into
the fray with fresh ferocity. That drew some attention. The fae, strange
translucent wings flapping, hovered in front of me. I genuinely could
not tell what gender it was, if it even had one.

``Let go of your weapon, sweet one,'' it crooned.

My shield smashed it in the face, breaking its nose with a brutal
crunch. Huh, so fae \emph{did} bleed red. You learned something every
day. I started speaking again, so I hit it again with morbid
fascination.

``Here, have it,'' I replied drily, ramming my sword through its chest.

``Don't play with your food,'' Hakram chided absent-mindedly.

His axe went clean through a wild-haired fae with two spears of shadow,
then when it fell the bottom of his shield came down on her head
repeatedly until it was nothing more than bloody pulp.

``I'm not impressed with the calibre so far,'' I said. ``Enemies that
weak shouldn't have broken our lines.''

Immediately after saying that, I hunkered behind my shield and braced
for impact. The tip of a bronze spear punched through the steel, an inch
away from my right eye, and I grinned. I'd had a feeling that would
hurry things along. I ripped my arm out of the leather straps binding it
to the shield, stepping back as I took a look at my opponent. Male,
wearing an armour of twisted dead wood. Couldn't see much of him aside
from long dark hair and entirely blue eyes staring at me like I was an
insect. Eh. I'd gotten more scathing disdain from Praesi nobles, he'd
have to step up his game if he wanted to make a dent. There was a bronze
sword at his hip, still sheathed. I flicked my wrist and the contraption
of steel wires Pickler had built me triggered, dropping my knife on the
palm of my gauntleted hand. If I triggered it differently, it could even
shoot the knife like an arrow. My Senior Sapper made the best toys.
There were another three fae decked in the same armour at the new one's
side, fanning out to flank Hakram and I.

``Nauk described a female with the same gear as responsible for the last
blizzard,'' Adjutant said, hefting his axe over his shoulder.

``Four heavy hitters, then,'' I frowned. ``Someone's looking to make an
impression.''

The first deadwood soldiers ripped his spear out of my shield, then
laughed. It wasn't a human laugh, or even a person's. It sounded like
the ice of a lake cracking come spring, like frost sharply spreading
over glass.

``Children,'' he mocked, and though he was speaking no language I knew I
understood him perfectly. ``We are the footsoldiers of Winter. The Sword
of Waning Day. Die screaming.''

``Oh hey, a pack of flunkies with a fancy name,'' I deadpanned. ``Never
slaughtered my way through one of \emph{those} before.''

They moved as one. Before the first exchange was even done I was very,
very glad I'd scrapped with the Hunter before. I'd had precious little
training against opponents using spears save for my fights with the
hero, and if I hadn't learned to read movements from that I'd likely
have earned a gaping hole through my shoulder within the first five
heartbeats of the fight. The two deadwood soldiers who focused on me
were quick, light on their feet and worst of all they knew how to work
together. Soldiers, I decided, might not be the right word no matter
what they called themselves. They were like hunters, harrying a prey
into position so the finishing blow could be struck. Unfortunately for
them, they were going to have to reconsider their position in the food
chain of Creation. I closed the distance with the one who'd spoken,
getting in up and personal where his choice of weapon was more hindrance
than help. I nearly ate a bronze shaft in the teeth but instead ducked
under it, sliding my knife into the armour about where his lower ribs
should be.

The goblin steel bit into the wood but failed to punch through. Not
regular wood, then. Everybody always got these fancy enchanted things,
it was godsdamned unfair. I had to dance away when a spear tip pierced
through where the back of my leg was a heartbeat before, then sharply
twist my footing when when the first deadwood soldier went for my
throat. They were too quick, I thought. In plate I wasn't able to keep
up, and my armour might as well be silk for the difference it would make
if they landed a hit. I heard Hakram bellow and glanced in his
direction: he had a spear through the leg, though he'd traded that for
his axe buried in one of the fae's neck. Right between the helmet and
armour. It did not slow the enemy down, to my dismay. The deadwood
soldier simply ripped out the axe, tossed it away and unsheathed her
sword. Adjutant spat to the side, threw his shield in her face and took
the spear out of his leg. He did not look concerned in the slightest
about how he was bleeding.

My momentary distraction was costly. I saw the spear blur from the
corner of my eye and hastily slapped the shaft to the side with the flat
of my sword, but I'd missed the other one: it punched straight through
my plate, then my knee, then entirely through and into the pavement. I
was stuck where I was like a bloody pig on a spit. The soldier who'd hit
me unsheathed his sword as the other one, the one who'd spoken, drew
back his spear as it became coated with frost. This was the most pain
I'd been in in over a year, and for a moment I focused on biting down on
a scream. Then I watched a frosted spear head moving with unnatural
swiftness towards my head, the whole world narrowing down to that one
threat. I was not going to be able to dodge that, I knew. All the
lessons I'd learned from some of the most celebrated killers of our age
flashed through the back of my mind, but I pushed the aside. Eyes
crossing as I followed the trajectory of the spear, instead of trying to
move my body I bid my time and then \emph{bit}. I caught the very end of
the point between my teeth.

If Black ever heard of this, I thought, he was going to drill me until I
died. The fae shifted his footing to simply push the spear forward --
which would be very, very bad -- but I spat it out and parried the sword
blow from his partner. This was going to end very quickly if I didn't
start moving again, so I flicked my wrist at the sword fae and forced it
to duck smoothly under my thrown knife while with my now-free hand I
tore out his spear, flooding power in my arm to compensate for the poor
angle. Bleeding like it was going out of style, one leg hanging loosely
and pretty much useless, I eyed my opponents.

``She struggles still,'' the sword fae noted in voice that sounded like
a deer's death rattle, like an owl swooping down.

``Title of my memoirs,'' I gasped. ``On that note: \textbf{Rise}.''

Thick chords of shadow spread across my body as my wounds closed. A
little more of that bundle of power inside me faded away. Luckily I
hadn't had to use much of it so far -- I doubted I'd run into anything
as useful to Take anytime soon. The sight of my wound disappearing in
the span of heartbeat, healed perfectly, was enough to give the fae
pause. The healing wasn't painless, of course, it hurt just as much as
the wounding had because the Choir of Contrition was obviously a bunch
of bleeding sadists. That moment of surprise cost them. I forced power
into my legs and in the blink of an eye I was on the deadwood soldiers
with a spear, ramming his buddy's own weapon through the small chink
between his wood breastplate and the lower parts of his armour. The
creature gasped in pain but I ignored it, twisting to meet the assault
of the other fae. The sword was angled for my throat, which was smart of
him: I'd just conclusively proved that hacking away at my limbs was
useless. Nothing short of a killing blow was going to stop me.
Unfortunately for him, sword blades going for me was something I was
intimately familiar with. I caught his wrist, twisted it sharply and
forced him to his knees. A hard stroke was enough to send his
still-helmeted head tumbling to the ground. I glanced at the one with
the spear through the belly, saw he was on his knees desperately trying
to take it out.

``A year ago,'' I said, ``that struggle comment would have been a great
set up.''

The point of my sword went through one of the eyeholes, came away wet
with blood and some silvery fluid that turned into smoke. I got read to
back up Adjutant, but he'd apparently turned the situation around. He
tossed the corpse of one soldier at the other and, taking the spear by
the shaft two-handed, began to brutally beat down the still-living fae.

``Hakram,'' I muttered. ``That is \emph{not} how you use a spear.''

The fae tried to retreat but I kicked it in the back, having approached
quietly, and Adjutant brought down the spear -- without even needing to
turn it around, since he'd been holding it upside down -- to pierce the
creature through the throat when she was down. We caught our breaths for
a moment, him still bleeding and me feeling my Name's power simmer down
without an opponent to take it out on.

``I can't help but notice the blizzard hasn't gone away,'' Adjutant
finally said, bending over to pick up his axe.

I eyed the raging winds ahead warily. Behind us my legionaries had
managed to get their line in order, only to be entirely relieved of
pressure moments ago when the fae started fleeing back into the
blizzard. While giving Hakram and I a very wide berth. That showed a
remarkable understanding of how that fight would go.

``Could be there's another one inside,'' I said.

``Ten denarii there's something even nastier in the middle,'' Adjutant
said.

``That's not a bet,'' I said, ``that's you stealing my hard-earned
salary.''

I sheathed my sword.

``The one who talked,'' I said. ``He said something that troubles me.''

``We are the footsoldiers of Winter,'' the orc quoted softly.

``If they're not lying,'' I said. ``If those were really the rank and
file\ldots{}''

``How strong will an officer be?'' the orc completed.

What did that even make the fae my legionaries were having trouble with?
Skirmishers? \emph{Or civilians}, I thought, and the shiver that went up
my spine had nothing to do with the cold. Nothing here was adding up. I
didn't know much about the fae, but if they'd attempted to invade
Creation before \emph{someone} would have fucking written about it. I
refused to believe there could be several hundred books about the
godsdamned Licerian Wars, which hadn't even happened on this continent,
and not a single one about `that one time Arcadia poured out as an
unstoppable flood of death'.

``There's other gates in and out of Arcadia,'' I said. ``And they don't
seem to have trouble like this. There's fae in the Waning Woods, sure,
but they don't invade places as an \emph{army}. Refuge is a day's walk
away from a gate and they're still on the map.''

``So why, then, is the Winter Court sending soldiers here?'' Hakram
asked. ``Is it because this isn't a proper gate?''

A wave of warmth washed away the cold a moment before someone cleared
their throat. I turned.

``I'm rather curious about that myself,'' Masego said. ``And I know
where we can find answers.''