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\hypertarget{chapter-17-allegiance}{%
\chapter{Allegiance}\label{chapter-17-allegiance}}



\epigraph{``There's a natural hierarchy to the world, Chancellor: there's
me, then my boot, then all of Creation under the boot.''}{Dread Empress Regalia}



It felt good to be back in plate. It felt even better to know that I'd
be facing opponents that could actually be deterred by armour -- no more
of this `fae blades cut through everything' bullshit. It'd been like
fighting a hundred less competent version of the Lone Swordsman, though
admittedly with much less lecturing thrown around. Small favours. My
cloaks swirled behind me as I walked down the stairs, the most recent
addition to it glimmering even in the dark. How Hakram had managed to
get his hands on a piece of the Duke of Violent Squalls' clothes I had
no idea, but the wind-like cloth had been added as another mark of
victory to my name. A third of the black cloth was now covered by stolen
banners of dead men. \emph{How many years, before there is no black
left?} At the rate I was making enemies, not many. If I survived the
year, odds were Akua Sahelian's would be joining the lot. There was a
thought to warm my absent heart.

It was cooler, underground. There'd been two sets of goals in Marchford,
before I'd taken the city back in the rebellion. The cells for petty
criminals, near the centre of the city: the ones I was currently in. The
other had been for highborn prisoners, in a wing of the Countess of
Marchford's manner. The very same I'd had Robber put to the torch purely
to piss then-Heiress off. If I'd known back then I'd have to pay for
rebuilding the godsdamned thing, I might have held off. The awareness
that I'd ordered that manor burned followed me into the dark. The man I
was visiting, after all, had once called that seat of power his
birthright. Elizabeth Talbot did not have any children, but she had a
whole tribe of relatives. Her designated heir was her brother's son,
Lord Brandon Talbot -- who'd been among the rebels broken by Black but
had managed to escape and survive.

From the fact that his head had not ended up on a pike in the following
months, I assumed neither my teacher nor Malicia had thought him worth
the effort of hunting down. With that in mind I'd expected to find a
living example of every noble wastrel tale waiting down in his cell, but
the reality was different. Brandon Talbot was a man in his early
thirties, powerfully built with a thick beard and long hair held in a
ponytail much like mine. He was seated on a stone bench in the back,
managing to make the position look almost dignified even if his
well-tailored clothes had obviously not been washed in some time.

``I was beginning to think I'd been forgotten down here,'' the man said.

``No such luck,'' I replied.

I glanced around. There was a table and seats meant for guards, under a
pair of torches, and I claimed one of the chars. Turning its back to the
prisoner, I straddled it and propped up my elbows atop it. He was
staring at me, I saw, a strange expression on his face.

``Taking a good look?'' I said.

He blinked, then shook his head.

``I mean, I'd heard,'' he said. ``But it's another thing to see it.
You're so \emph{young}.''

I hid my surprise. Usually, at this point, my enemies offered up banter.
Or a denunciation of some sort. Maybe a dig at my height, which made
stabbing them afterwards a sort of justice.

``Age stops mattering, when you become Named,'' I said.

``Age always matters,'' he disagreed softly. ``There was a time this
country didn't make soldiers of its children.''

I smiled thinly.

``And then we lost,'' I said. ``A lesson learned.''

``Of all the things we lost back then,'' Brandon Talbot murmured, ``I
think I might grieve that one the most.''

``Is that why you came here?'' I asked. ``To tell me of the past glories
of the Kingdom?''

``The Kingdom died,'' he said, tone sad. ``Once on the Fields of
Streges, and again when the Carrion Lord snuffed out the dream last
year.''

``It was not a Callowan dream,'' I replied harshly. ``It was a Proceran
one, bought with the First Prince's silver.''

``Oh we all knew that, deep down,'' Lord Brandon admitted. ``That we
were being used. But we glimpsed a world that was more than waking up
every morning with the Tower's boot on our throat. It was not a bad
dream, Countess Foundling.''

``Lady,'' I corrected. ``\emph{Lady} Foundling.''

He peered at me, dark bangs and darker shadows framing his face.

``Are you really?'' he asked.

``To you?'' I said. ``Yes.''

The man laughed.

``You think I'm your enemy,'' he said.

``I think you committed treason,'' I said. ``I've hanged men for less.''

``And yet here I am,'' Lord Brandon said. ``Without a rope around my
neck.''

I smiled mirthlessly.

``It would be a very grave mistake,'' I said, ``to confuse curiosity for
mercy.''

``But you \emph{are} curious,'' he said. ``Most would have sent me to
the gallows without even an audience. Your orc certainly wanted to.''

``General Juniper would have been well within her rights to give you a
traitor's death,'' I replied harshly.

``I'm not trying to speak ill of your friend, Countess Foundling,'' he
said, waving away the notion.

Blue eyes considered me carefully.

``She \emph{is} your friend, yes?''

``Something like that,'' I said.

``And yet they say you fight for Callow,'' Lord Brandon mused. ``Most
would think those two things irreconcilable.''

``But not you?'' I snorted. ``If you're looking for a pardon for that
concession, you're knocking at the wrong door. I'm eighteen, not an
idiot.''

He did not entirely manage to hide his surprise when I mentioned my age.
Oh fuck him, I thought. I wasn't \emph{that} short. I'd been almost an
inch taller than Black before he left, it wasn't my fault I was
surrounded by godsdamned giants all the time.

``What do you want, Lord Talbot?'' I said. ``You had to know you'd end
up in a cell if you turned up here.''

``I want you to save Callow,'' he said. ``While there's still some of it
left to save.''

``Always the cry of the highborn, isn't it?'' I laughed, darkly amused.
``Bring it back the way it used to be! When everything was perfect
because we were rich and powerful and we ran the fucking show.''

``This land was at peace, once,'' he said.

``I keep hearing people talk about bringing back the Kingdom,'' I said.
``Like putting a crown on some Fairfax relative would magically fix this
fucking country. You all act like everything was perfect before the
Conquest, like it was some never-ending golden age. It wasn't. I've read
the records, and what you're trying to resurrect never existed. All a
rebellion won would accomplish is slapping a fresh coat of ruin over a
bitter truth: all that's changed is whose palace the taxes build.''

``If you hold us in such contempt,'' he said, ``why claim to fight for
us?''

``Because there's a difference between Callow and the Kingdom,'' I
hissed. ``One is \emph{people}. The other's gilding. People I'll draw my
sword for, every time. The rest can burn. It's not worth a single drop
of godsdamned blood.''

``The people are dying, Countess,'' Lord Brandon said.

``So they are,'' I conceded tiredly. ``And so I go to war again.''

``I don't mean the fae,'' the noble said, shaking his head. ``Or even
the butcher you gave Liesse to. \emph{Callow} is dying. Our way of life.
Another fifty years of this and we'll be light-skinned Praesi, save for
a few bitter enclaves.''

I didn't reply, because he was right. I knew he was, and worst of all I
didn't have a solution. Because the monsters were as cunning as they
were powerful, and they had been playing this game since before I was
born. Winning it through schools and trade and the featherweight of
apathy. It was one of the first thing Black had ever told me: he didn't
need people to agree, just not to care. And it was working, wasn't it?
During the Liesse Rebellion, no holding north of Vale has risen. So few
soldiers had answered the Duke's call that he'd needed to bolster his
forces with mercenaries. The dream the noble said my teacher has snuffed
out had been a feeble thing from the start: peasant levies ordered into
the field, barely held together by household troops and foreign
soldiery. And before the war was done those same levies had delivered
the same nobles who'd called on them at the feet of Black, bound in
chains. Fear, I knew, had driven them there. But also more than that: no
one in that army had really believed they could win anymore. Some hadn't
even been sure they should.

``I know,'' I admitted.

``But this is not your design,'' Lord Brandon pressed, leaning forward.

His eyes were alight, almost fervent.

``I'm trying to find a path between destruction and rebellion,'' I said.

``The let us be Callowans,'' he said. ``Changed, perhaps, but still
\emph{us}. There is still a spine under the boot, Countess. There's
still a flicker of the flame no matter how many times they stamp it
out.''

``Those are pretty words,'' I noted. ``I don't trust pretty words,
Talbot. I trust practical measures. Tangible things I can work with.''

``Bring back the knightly orders,'' he said.

I stared at him for a long moment. The knights of Callow, huh? Even over
twenty years after the Conquest, their silhouettes were still branded
behind the eyes of children who'd been born long after the last of them
were disbanded. For a lot of people, the knights \emph{were} Callow,
just as much as the bells of Laure or golden fields spreading as far as
they eye could see. They were also a basketful of military orders
disbanded by order of the Dread Empress because they were a direct
threat to Praesi hegemony.

``I don't have the authority to repeal Tower decrees,'' I said.

``Not lawfully,'' the noble said very, very quietly.

It still rang loudly, in these rooms empty save for the two of us.
Treason had a way of doing that. I looked at him, and finally understood
what I was sitting across from.

``You're not an agitator,'' I said. ``You're an \emph{envoy}.''

``So I am,'' he agreed softly. ``We've watched you, Countess. Seen what
you preach more than empty words.''

I'd been playing this game for too long to be fooled by flattery.

``Don't lie to me,'' I said. ``You're not coming to be because you think
I'm worthy. You're coming to me because you're \emph{desperate}. Because
in fifty years, we'll be light-skinned Praesi -- and if I die, you're
not getting another Squire who gives a shit about Callow.''

He did not deny it. I allowed myself to see it, for just a moment.
Knights come again, and this time on my side. Not riding down my
legionaries. With Summer and the Diabolist ahead of me, the thought was
horribly tempting.

``How many?'' I said, mouth gone dry.

``You have not agreed,'' Lord Brandon grimaced. ``You must understand
that-``

``You're asking me to cross Dread Empress Malicia,'' I said, tone like
steel. ``If you think you grasp even a fraction of how dangerous that
woman really is, you're a fucking fool. \emph{How many?}''

The man studied me in silence for a long time.

``Two thousand,'' he said. ``More may emerge if you don't butcher us in
our sleep.''

Two thousand. Gods be good.

``The Duke of Liesse didn't even have that much horse,'' I said faintly.
``And Black had most his knights killed in their sleep.''

``Those of us that rose with Gaston of Liesse went to die, Foundling,''
the noble murmured. ``Reaching for that dream, one last time. It was the
old, the tired, the despairing. The rest of us stayed hidden. To teach
old ways to the young, and wait.''

\emph{Half the houses in the city will have swords and spears stashed
under the floorboards or hidden away in the attic,} I'd told Juniper the
first night we spent in Marchford. Because this was Callow. Because we'd
carry a grudge for ten generations, if that was how long it took to even
the scales. Because those who wronged us always, always paid the long
price no matter what it cost is. And now I'd just been told that two
thousand knights were hiding in the countryside, biding their time.
Under Black's nose, for years. Pride in my countrymen warred with horror
at the thought of what could have happened, if they'd all risen. Praesi
thought they knew about patience but they'd only been invaded the once,
and not like us. \emph{We've had wolves at the gate since the First
Dawn. It taught us hard lessons and oh,look how well we've learned
them.} I was more moved by the thought than I cared to admit.

``How quickly can you gather them?'' I croaked.

Lord Brandon kept his face calm, but his eyes betrayed him.

``Two, maybe three months,'' he said.

``You'll be part of the Fifteenth,'' I said. ``Under General Juniper.
Anything less is declaring war on the Tower.''

``It is a lesser yoke,'' the dark-haired man said, ``than the one
currently choking us.''

I rose to my feet, feeling faint. I could feel the Beast's head leaning
over my shoulder, its warm breath heating my cheek. It was grinning.

``I, Countess Catherine Foundling of Marchford,'' I said, ``do order the
creation of the Order of Broken Bells and charge Lord Brandon Talbot
with gathering men under its banner.''

The man looked about to weep, and softly nodded.

``You'll be out within the hour,'' I said. ``Get me knights, Talbot.
Before it's too late.''

---

``I don't like this,'' Juniper said.

It was almost noon. Leaving the orc to hover behind me, I put a hand
against the glass and tried to feel warmth. Nothing. I was so cold to
the touch these days that my breath should come as vapour. I stared at
the sun and idly thought that the conversation that I was about to have
would have better fit the night.

``Are you listening, Foundling?'' the general growled. ``I don't fucking
like it, this \emph{inner circle} shit. We're a legion, not a gang.
Officers of the same rank get the same briefings.''

``What I have to say isn't for everybody's ears,'' I said.

``Hune should be there,'' the grim-faced orc continued as if she hadn't
heard me. ``She's my second, not Nauk.''

``I trust Nauk,'' I replied without turning. ``Hune is a blank slate.''

``Then have one of your little talks with her,'' the general said.
``Like you did with Ratface and Aisha.''

I snorted.

``Jealous we never had one?'' I teased, sounding more light-hearted than
I felt.

``Please,'' she dismissed. ``I already see too much of you as is.
Couldn't stomach more.''

Before I could summon up a reply, my `inner circle' began piling in.
They'd come as a group, it seemed. Only officers for this one: Masego
was holed up in his tower, seeing to the experiments he'd left in the
hands of the assistant he's stolen from Diabolist, and Hakram was
keeping Archer busy in the sparring yard. Leaving her to her own devices
would just lead to more property damage I couldn't afford to repair.
Nauk was the first in, from the sound of the steps. Robber and Ratface
came in bickering about `misappropriation of Legion resources', which
I'd probably have to look into at some point, and Aisha's presence could
be deduced from the dainty sigh that followed them. Pickler was
light-footed and silent, but my ears were more than mortal now. Kilian
wasn't here. I owed it to her to tell her when it was just the two of
us.

``Boss,'' Robber called out. ``Do I not even get a `good murdering, you
filthy goblin'? I really feel like I've earned it.''

``The filthy in particular,'' Aisha commented.

I turned to look at the officer's I'd had at my side since the College,
who'd followed me through a rebellion of my own making and bled in my
name. I did not manage to smile.

``Oh \emph{shit},'' Ratface cursed.

He'd always been a perceptive man.

``About an hour ago,'' I said, ``I committed treason.''

There was a heartbeat of shocked silence, then the room exploded.
Aisha's face had gone blank, Juniper looked furious and Pickler somehow
managed to be bored in the face of a blunt admission of sedition. Nauk
was grinning and thumping the table. Ratface's face was darkly pleased
and the noise covering all the rest was Robber's loud, shrill laughter.

``If I may request specifics, Lady Catherine?'' Aisha politely asked.

Well, I wasn't back to Lady Foundling or Lady Squire. That was
something.

``Yes, Foundling,'' the Hellhound barked. ``Tell us more about the
\emph{forveala'sak} treason.''

I didn't know the Kharsum term she'd put in there, but by the look on
Nauk's face it must have been truly filthy.

``I've founded a knightly order,'' I calmly said. ``And released the
former Countess' nephew to fill its ranks. I'm told we should have two
thousand riders within three months.''

Not a single hint of her thoughts touched Aisha's face. Ratface leaned
forward, face eager.

``Are we rebelling?'' he asked.

``You shut your fucking mouth,'' Juniper shouted. ``We're not
rebelling.''

``Not unless the Tower forces me to,'' I replied frankly.

``Fingers crossed,'' Nauk laughed loudly, like I'd just handed him a bag
of rubies.

``How many cousins and uncles do you have in the Legions, Nauk?'' Aisha
asked him, tone emotionless. ``Think for once in your life.''

``Now,'' Juniper interrupted, turning to me. ``\emph{Now} you choose to
pull this shit, when the horde is at the gate.''

``That is the best time to pull something like this,'' Pickler
clinically said. ``The Tower can't afford to antagonize us. Not if it
wants to hold Callow.''

``So we're going rogue,'' Robber grinned malevolently. ``About time. I
was getting tired of playing nice.''

``I will not see the Fifteenth turn on the Empire while I breathe,''
Juniper said and her voice was like bedstone.

That killed every smile in the room. There was no longer any anger in
her voice, I heard. She was beyond that now. She was looking at me and
I'd ever only seen her with eyes that cold when she was thinking of how
to destroy an enemy. I'd learn to read orcs, since my days in the
College, but even if I hadn't I'd know exactly what I saw on her face:
betrayed. She felt betrayed, by someone she'd thought a friend.

``Juniper,'' Aisha spoke softly into the silence. ``Listen to her. Don't
assume.''

The Hellhound shook her head.

``Is that what this has all been leading to, Catherine?'' she asked, and
the genuine grief in her voice tone cut me like a knife. ``Recruiting
Callowans. Subverting officers. Gathering Named Were you trying to ease
us into treason before we ever began?''

Her voice shook.

``Was it just so you could carve yourself a kingdom?''

``Hellhound,'' Nauk said, and for once his voice was soft. ``We all knew
this was coming. From the beginning.''

``Not like this,'' Juniper said. ``Not like this.''

``I'm not rebelling,'' I told her, meeting her eyes. ``I'm not asking
you to fight your mother, Juniper. Or you your family, Aisha. But things
can't continue as they've gone on. Not anymore. Not after all the lines
they've crossed.''

I clenched my fingers, then unclenched them. Gods, why did I have to
feel so cold? My gaze swept across the room.

``There's something sick in the Empire,'' I said. ``You've all seen it.
Some of you have felt it first-hand. Merciless Gods, the people ruling
the Wasteland think half the people in this room are \emph{cattle}.''

``And you think raising a banner will change that?'' Pickler said, eyes
hooded. ``You're good at killing, Foundling, but you can't kill a
thousand years of hatred. Your sword is of no use there.''

``If the people in power can't even stop killing their own,'' I said
quietly, ``why are they still in power?''

I felt the shiver go through the room. Was this what William had felt
like, when he'd first spoken to his rebels behind barred doors and
shuttered windows? That weight, power and responsibility both. It would
kill me, if I was not careful, like it had killed him.

``We've taken oaths,'' Juniper said. ``All of us, and \emph{you too}.''

``Yes,'' I agreed. ``I swore. To the Legions. To what Praes says it
is.''

I stared her down.

``Do you think the High Lords live up to those oaths?'' I asked. ``I
look south, and I see the highest among them rebelling for the second
time in two years. Twice she's walked away with a warning, free to bleed
us again. How many of us do they get to kill before we say
\emph{enough}?''

``They'll never stop,'' Ratface whispered fervently, addressing everyone
and no one at all. ``You know that. They'll never stop unless we
\emph{make} them.''

``And how many people will die, for that better world?'' Aisha asked
quietly.

``Mountains,'' I replied. ``But for once, it won't be us doing the
dying.''

The beautiful Taghreb closed her eyes, let out a deep breath.

``Emperors rise,'' she said. ``Emperors fall. The Tower endures. Gods
forgive me, the Tower endures.''

I did not allow myself to feel joy. This wasn't over yet.

``Beautiful things, ideals,'' Pickler said. ``But I'm a goblin,
Foundling. You can't eat principles. You can't carve a tunnel with them.
They don't win wars.''

Robber let out a whisper of a laugh, and my eyes immediately went to
him. I'd never heard him a noise anything like it in all the time I'd
known him. It had sounded, I thought, almost wistful.

``They kill us,'' the Special Tribune smiled, ``for sport.''

Pickler turned to face him, face flickering with dismay.

``Robber-``

``Listen to me, Pickler,'' Robber said. ``No, actually \emph{listen} for
once. The Matrons, the High Lords, the whole fucking lot of them.
They've had the crown for centuries. They're fat, now. Lazy. \emph{They
think they own it.} You know what that means. You're a goblin, right?
They don't get to play if they're not willing to bleed.''

``We can't win this. We can't beat them,'' Pickler hissed angrily, but
her voice broke after. ``I will not let us die doing the right thing. We
are going to \emph{grow old}, all of us. I will not -- I don't-``

``We can,'' I said softly. ``You know that already. It's what scares
you. No shame in that. I know what's ahead better than any of you, and
I'm terrified. It'll be blood and mud and grief, but don't think for a
moment we can't do it.''

The Senior Sapper took her hands of the table brusquely, to hide their
shaking.

``It'll be to the death, Foundling,'' she said, amber eyes flicking
away. ``To the death. Do not start this lightly.''

She sagged in her seat afterwards. Ratface's eyes sought mine and he
chuckled.

``I always thought I'd die railing at them, you know,'' he said
conversationally. ``Just another corpse for the pile.''

He paused, body shaking with nervous energy.

``I was brought into this war when they tried to murder me in my bed,''
he said. ``You never needed to ask.''

My eyes went to Nauk, who'd gotten up to lean against the wall. His arms
were clasped and there was something hungry in his gaze.

``To the end,'' he said, fangs bared. ``I made my choice before I knew
it was a choice, Callow. To the bitter fucking end.''

And just like that, there was only one. Juniper was close, had been this
whole time, but she'd not moved in a while. She came closer to me, spine
straight but shoulders tight.

``Swear to me, Catherine,'' she said hoarsely. ``Not my mother. Not any
of them. That they won't be the enemy.''

``I swear,'' I told her, and offered my arm.

For the second time in our lives, she took it.

``Warlord,'' she whispered, and it sounded like an oath.

It should have felt like a victory, I thought. All I felt was cold.
Gods, all I felt was cold.