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\hypertarget{chapter-19-order-redux}{%
\chapter{Order (Redux)}\label{chapter-19-order-redux}}



\epigraph{``In the aftermath of a rebellion do not execute merely those who
rebelled. Remove those that remained uncommitted as well, for any power
not bound to you is a threat.''}{Extract from the personal journals of Dread Emperor Terribilis II}



The gate opened into Fairfax Square.

A year ago, this plaza had been filled to the brim with people come from
all over the north of Callow to see the Empress bestow her rewards upon
the victors of the Liesse Rebellion. Now? It was night-empty, though
that had as much to do with the hour of the night as Laure's
recent\ldots{} troubles. I'd thought about trying to open the portal
directly into the Whitestone, since it was much closer to the palace,
but ultimately decided against it. Even after experimenting with the
power under Masego's guidance it was still a roll of the dice where I'd
carve a way out into Creation: better to take the widest place I knew in
the capital and limit the risks. As for the time, well, it was much
easier for me to open gates when it was dark out. My title in Winter
likely had something to do with it. Not that even darkness seemed to
affect the hard limit I'd found to my power: I could only open a portal
once a day before my body began to revolt against the amount of fae
power coursing through my veins.

Pushing myself to a second opening had hurt enough I'd not tried for a
third. Having most liquid in my body freeze might very well have killed
me, if not for the healing power I'd stolen from a hero and Apprentice's
immediate and panicked help. The coming of dawn seemed to wipe away the
slate when it came to fae sorcery in my body, for some arcane reason,
which was my most promising lead around the limitations so far. But
given how dangerous toying with this power had turned out to be I was
much more inclined to let Masego run the calculations in his tower than
try more direct experimental methods. What I'd stolen in Winter, I had
been forced to admit, was not without limits. No matter. It was still a
massive advantage over all my opponents. Zombie the Second's hooves
clacked against the stone as I emerged first from Arcadia into the
deserted heart of Laure. Legionaries followed in good order, their
armour touched with frost even with the furs they wore over it.

``Three days,'' Nauk said, striding to my side as his soldiers spread
out. ``\emph{Three} \emph{days}, Catherine.''

My horse stirred uneasily as the presence of an orc so close, but I
stroked his neck until he calmed. Even mounts raised with greenskins
never got entirely accustomed to them: there was just something wrong
about the way orcs smelled, apparently. Considering that anything that
moved qualified as meat for the cookpots, according to the Clans, I
couldn't really blame them.

``I don't think all our crossings will be so uneventful,'' I replied.

``I don't care if we have to fight a running battle every time,'' he
laughed. ``It was a month and half's journey, if we marched my people
halfway to the grave. The Fifteenth's the fastest army in Creation now.
Hells, we barely even need a supply train.''

``The fastest inside the Empire, maybe,'' I said. ``I wouldn't try to
portal anywhere I haven't been before.''

``The warlock's get said he'd be able to run the numbers for it,'' the
orc legate said.

``Masego was raised by a vicious creature of pure Evil and also a
devil,'' I said. ``His definition of \emph{safe} is a little skewed. I'm
not using his model unless we get really desperate.''

``So in a few months, then,'' Robber grinned.

I'd heard the goblin approach, for once. I was getting used to his
skulking.

``You never know,'' I sighed. ``We could get through a single year
without drowning in the deep end.''

``Just wouldn't be the Fifteenth if it we were fighting battles we're
supposed to win,'' Nauk contributed.

That was so sadly true I didn't bother to deny it.

``Hakram?'' I asked the Special Tribune.

``With the rear guard,'' he replied. ``We've had some curious little
bastards coming closer.''

I grimaced. While no Winter fae had made contact my sentries had
reported silhouettes in the distance keeping an eye on us. I doubted any
of the big ones would bother to come in person, but until I knew whose
underlings those scouts were I'd have to tread carefully. I might be a
Duchess but I was a Duchess of \emph{Winter}. As usual, the side I'd
ended up on was the one known for vicious infighting. I watched the
legionaries move into a defensive formation across Fairfax Square and
drummed my fingers against my saddle.

``Robber,'' I said. ``Hunt me some rats. I want anyone aligned with a
Dark Guild in my city in custody, and soon.''

The goblin's eyes glinted malevolently in the dark.

``And if they don't want to come along?'' he asked.

``You're operating under my authority,'' I replied. ``Use whatever means
you deem necessary.''

The chuckling sound he made was so unpleasant it should have counted as
a crime.

``You'll have them by sunup, Boss,'' he said, saluting so sloppily I
barely recognized the gesture.

He whistled sharply as he trotted off, his merry pack of killers popping
out from the ranks to assemble around him. They looked like ugly green
imps, I thought as I watched them, but they acted more like a pack of
wolves -- clustering around the nastiest among them, eager to sink their
teeth into something.

``General Orim will have the city under martial law,'' Nauk said. ``That
means patrols in the street.''

``Adjutant will be handling the Fifth,'' I grunted.

In part because of all the men I had with me I trusted Hakram the most
not to get into a pissing match with another legion, in part because he
was \emph{the Adjutant}. The importance of Hakram being the first orc
Named in centuries had been piled on over by the messes we kept getting
ourselves in, but it was no small thing. His kind looked at him with
something like a worship, an old dream given new flesh. Orim the Grim
was an orc of the Lesser Steppes: by my estimation, being faced with an
orc with a Name instead of a Callowan girl with the skin tone of the
enemy he'd spent half his life fighting would make him more apt to
listen. My few past conversations with the man had been stilted, if
polite, so there was no relationship to call on from my side. It was
coming to regret, these days, that I'd not cultivated closer ties with
the generals and marshals that served in Callowan territory. Having a
better idea of the kind of people they were would have been useful in
planning my actions.

The Gallowborne were the last to leave Arcadia and immediately they
closed ranks around me. Tribune Farrier cast wary eyes around us,
seeking out danger in the shadows. His inability to follow me in Arcadia
had made him even more stubborn about my being accompanied at all times,
which I hadn't thought was actually physically possible. Getting him to
close the read guard had been like pulling out nails with my teeth.
Hakram took the tenth that I'd put under his direct command years ago --
Sergeant Tordis' men, though she was now a Lieutenant -- and after
offering me a nod from a distance headed west through the streets. The
largest barracks in the city were close to the wall there, and that
would be where General Orim had his headquarters. Hopefully he'd manage
to handle that situation before it become a problem. I was, after all
suddenly dumping almost two and a half thousand soldiers into a boiling
pot that had already tipped over several times.

``Royal Palace?'' Nauk said.

I nodded.

``Pass word down to your people,'' I said. ``If they see any Praesi in
this city that are not part of the Fifth, they are to put them under
arrest.''

``They won't like that,'' the broad orc said.

They weren't meant to.

``They get one chance to surrender peacefully,'' I said mildly. ``If
they resist? Kill them.''

The legate grinned.

``Aye,'' he gravelled. ``That we will.''

Nauk's kabili of two thousand split into five groups of two cohorts,
marching down the major avenues leading up to the Whitestone. The full
cohort of Gallowborne remained around me as we took the centre of the
formation with my legate's own four hundred in front of us. It wasn't
long before we started getting attention. People peeked at us through
shuttered windows, still too afraid to break curfew to come out. It was
hard to read the mood of a city in the middle of the night, but
\emph{fear} was what I was getting. With the fake Ruling Council and the
Fifth Legion openly at each other's throats, that was more than
understandable. We encountered our first patrol a quarter hour in --
drawn by ripples we were causing in the city, a pair of lines from the
Fifth came to see what was happening. They ran into the leftmost wing of
our formation but were sent straight to me for an explanation. The
Soninke lieutenant in charge saluted hastily when she realized who she
was dealing with.

``Ma'am,'' she greeted me. ``Lieutenant Tomuka, Fifth Legion.''

``Lieutenant,'' I replied pleasantly. ``You may continue with your
duties, though I believe you'll be recalled to the barracks soon. The
Fifteenth is taking over.''

``We, uh, weren't aware you were going to be coming, ma'am,'' the
Soninke said. ``Our scouting lines didn't report a force headed for the
capital.''

``They wouldn't have,'' I simply said. ``Before you return to your
patrol, I have a few questions for you.''

``I'm at your disposal,'' she grimaced.

``The usurpers in the Royal Palace,'' I said. ``How many men do they
have at their disposal?''

``Five hundred, by our latest estimate,'' the lieutenant said. ``They've
barricaded upper Whitestone and forbid access to even legionaries.''

I raised an eyebrow.

``And General Orim has allowed this?''

``The general says as long as they're holed up in the palace we won't
have to put down any more riots,'' she replied frankly. ``It's not worth
making an issue about.''

I leaned back on my saddle.

``Only five hundred, Nauk,'' I called out. ``We go in hard.''

Loud orcish laughter was my only response. I glanced down at the uneasy
lieutenant.

``I'd suggest sending a runner to any patrols in the area,'' I told her.
``Wouldn't want anybody caught in the crossfire.''

``I'll kick that up the ladder, ma'am,'' the Soninke said
noncommittally.

Oh well. It didn't particularly mind an audience, truth be told. It
might remind General Orim exactly who he was dealing with, when we sat
down to have a little chat.

``Dismissed, Lieutenant Tomuka,'' I said, spurring Zombie the Second
ahead.

A single line of Gallowborne broke from formation to follow me as I
headed for my legate. Even when surrounded my other legionaries they
didn't feel I was quite protected enough, evidently. Nauk was in hushed
conversation with one of his officers, a Taghreb with the marks of a
commander on her armour.

``Nauk,'' I said, interrupting him. ``Scout reports.''

The orc turned to me after clasping his second-in-command on the
shoulder.

``Three barricades,'' he said. ``About a hundred people on each. We're
assuming the rest will be inside the palace.''

I hummed. It would be smarter to wait until we had some flanking
positions before making an assault, but I wanted this done with as
quickly as possible. These people were too unimportant for me to able to
spare much effort on them. I doubted the enemy had anything in their
employ that would be able to handle an assault by legionaries, anyway.

``I'll take the central one with the Gallowborne,'' I said. ``Staggered
hit on the other two.''

``You're hogging the good stuff, Cat,'' the orc complained.

``Well, this ought to make up for it,'' I said, ``If they don't
surrender, Legate, I want you to \emph{make a point}.''

``We flagging them as not citizens, then?'' he pressed eagerly.

By Legion regulations, Imperial citizens -- even those in rebellion --
could not have their corpses eaten after death, unless their will
specifically stated otherwise. Even at the height of the Liesse
Rebellion, the people who'd taken up arms had qualified as citizens. The
Tower, after all, claimed all of Callow as its own.

``By my authority as the acting head of the Ruling Council, I strip any
hostile forces inside Laure of their citizenship,'' I replied after a
moment.

That was a way to get my point across, sure enough. Corpses with their
faces chewed off and missing limbs might would appal most the city, but
it would send a message to the High Lords: \emph{fuck with Callow under
my watch and I'll take the gloves off.} It was about time they started
catching up to that truth. The Taghreb commander paled at my words, but
she knew better than to comment. I glanced at Tribune Farrier.

``Muster your men, John,'' I ordered. ``We're taking the lead.''

``Gladly, Countess,'' he said, a hard look on his face.

Farrier had never thought much of Praes, and though he'd come to have a
rough sort of camaraderie with the men and women of the Fifteenth his
opinion of the Empire at large had taken a sharp nosedive when news of
what had happened in Laure spread. He'd made it abundantly clear in the
past that he followed \emph{me}, not the Tower, and he'd not changed
that stance by an inch in the months since that declaration. Nauk's
cohort split to allow us passage and I led my personal retinue forward
at a brisk pace. It wasn't long before we entered the pale facades and
sprawling gardens of the Whitestone, and from there it was only a matter
of time before we ran into the barricade.

The Ruling Council's hirelings had picked a good spot. I'd give them
that much. They'd propped up crates and carts between an iron fence
surrounding a garden and the high wall of what must have once been a
noble's compound. The avenue was narrower than most, and I could see
from atop Zombie that even at this hour the barricade bristled with
pikes and crossbowmen. The latter of those weapons was as clear an
indication of the origin of the soldiers as the skin colours I could
discern in the dark: Callowans and most other Calernian nations fielded
bows, not crossbows. And certainly not the lever-action crossbows whose
designs were the work of the goblins of Foramen's Imperial Forges.
Household troops, then. Not mercenary pushovers. I set Zombie at a trot,
gesturing for the Gallowborne to stay behind as I closed in on the
barricade. I could see the enemy soldiers stirring, crossbows being
brought to the fore.

``Disperse, citizen,'' a man's voice called out. ``By order of the
Ruling Council of Callow, this section of the city is closed off.''

A Taghreb had risen atop a crate, and he'd been the one to speak. An
older man, scarred and with a curved scimitar at his hip. He looked
liked he could be Aisha's uncle, though one from the ugly side of the
family.

``There is no Ruling Council,'' I said. ``Only two Wastelanders who
illegally seized power and botched it so badly they have to hide from
rioters.''

``General Orim acceded to our demands to stay out of this area,'' the
man replied impatiently. ``You will be written up for disobeying orders
if you press us any further.''

I snorted.

``Look at the symbol on the shields of the men behind me,'' I said. ``Do
they look like they're part of the Fifth?''

A golden noose on a field of red was what he'd find. My personal retinue
had not existed for long but there were few people in Callow who
wouldn't recognize their heraldry. They'd made something of an
impression, in Marchford and Liesse.

``Gallowborne?'' he said. ``The Hells are you doing this far north? No
matter. The Ruling Council passed a decree forbidding entrance into the
city to any legion but the Fifth. Your presence here goes against the
Tower's law. Your general should fuck off south to play with the
fairies.''

``If Juniper was in command, we wouldn't be talking,'' I said. ``You'd
be eating your third volley. But I'm a soft touch. You get a chance to
surrender before I string you up above the city gates.''

The Taghreb laughed.

``And who do you think you are, girl?''

Huh. It'd been a \emph{while} since the last time someone hadn't
recognized me. Or basically fed me a line just asking for a witty
retort. If I'd been in a better mood, I might just have toyed with him a
bit. I wasn't. I wasn't angry either, just\ldots{} irritated. That I had
to lose hours dealing with the greed and stupidity of short-sighted
fools when I should have been dealing with the monsters torching my
homeland.

``Countess Catherine Foundling of Marchford,'' I said. ``The Squire.''

``And I'm the fucking Empress,'' the Taghreb mocked. ``I'm just hiding
the tits under the-``

I called on my Name, forming a spear of shadows, but something\ldots{}
bled into it. The power I'd gotten from Winter, the one that had grown
tendrils into my soul when I became the Duchess of Moonless Nights. I
abandoned that working and turned my will to the enemy commander
instead. Shadows coiled around his neck, coming into existence, and
there was a sharp sound. His head popped off his body and fell to the
ground where it shattered into shards of ice. Well, that was new. Not
worth having my heart literally ripped from my chest for, but it would
come in useful.

``I've got another half-dozen titles,'' I continued calmly. ``I won't
bother to list them out. Now that idiocy killed your commander, who's in
charge?''

``\emph{Fire,} you fools,'' a woman's voice hissed. ``Before she kills
us all.''

``The hard way it is, then,'' I sighed. ``GALLOWBORNE, FORWARD!''

I formed a panel of shadow in front of me to catch the crossbow bolts,
frowning at how easy it was. It didn't take any less power than it had
before, I noted as the steel-tipped projectiles thudded into the
makeshift shield. The well was just deeper than it used to be, deeper
than it \emph{should} be in a transitional Name like mine. Weaker than
the kind of power I'd felt in the Duke of Violent Squalls, but not by
that much -- and wasn't that a terrifying thought? That kind of a gain
never came without a cost, and I wasn't sure what I'd be paying with. If
I ended up losing my soul because of fae shenanigans, I was going to be
\emph{pissed}. I just knew that stealing it back would be horrendously
difficult, and I didn't have the time to spare to murder my way back
into a semblance of humanity with all the other things going on. The
enemy didn't bother shooting at me again after it was made abundantly
clear they might as well be aiming at a wall, instead aiming their
crossbows at the raised shields of my retinue.

I wasn't having any of that.

Dismissing the shield, I called on the power a third time. I'd shot
bolts of shadow out of my hand before, and even learned how to
strengthen or weaken them: this time I poured as much as I could into
the working without it blowing up in my face, and loosed the projectile
at the foot of the barricade's centre. The resulting explosion of wood
and screams had me blink in surprise: I'd essentially pulverized three
feet of barricade and assorted people with a gesture, and I wasn't even
winded yet. \emph{Yeah, definitely sitting down with Masego to have a
talk about this.}

``Plug the gap!'' the same woman's voice called out.

``Fire,'' Tribune Farrier's voice calmly ordered.

My own people's volley did little more damage than the sporadic fire
they'd been subjected to -- it was hard to hit a target holed up behind
cover, even a panicking one -- but it did what it had been meant to:
suppress the enemy before the first rank hit them. I spurred Zombie
forward into the gap I'd created, where the enemy was trying to form a
line, and didn't even bother to call on my Name. My warhorse trampled
his way through the fledgling formation and I spilled a man's brains on
the ground with a measured stroke of my sword. There must have been ten
soldiers around me, but they were tired and scared and facing a Named.
Well all knew how it was going to end. Within heartbeats the Gallowborne
were at my sides, methodically butchering their way through the Praesi
troops. Pikes and crossbows were no match for veteran sword and board
infantry like my retinue on the best of days, and even less since I'd
taken to occasionally drilling them muself. The skirmish was quick and
brutally one-sided, the back of the enemy formation beginning to run for
it before the front even collapsed. I waited for us to have seized the
barricade properly, then picked out Farrier from the crowd.

``Tribune,'' I said. ``Send a runner to Nauk. The centre is secure. The
Fifteenth is to advance on every front and converge on the Royal Palace.
Leave a detachment behind for our wounded.''

I glanced at the rest of my personal guard. They were not, by the looks
of it, particularly thrilled by the victory. There'd been nothing to
this fight but whimpers and dead men. Like the seasoned professionals
they were, the Gallowborne went around finishing off the enemy wounded
as the meat of the cohort resumed formation.

``The rest of you, with me,'' I said. ``Let's get this over with.''

I led and they followed. The outer gates to the Royal Palace were wide
open, and its grounds freshly tread. Evidently the runners from our last
engagement had made it here ahead of us. The gardens were similarly
deserted but up ahead I could see where the remaining forces of the
Ruling Council were waiting for us. Crossbows were peeking out of
windows on both levels of the main hall and the large gates in front
were closed. Probably barricaded from behind. I trotted up ahead again,
and ignored the hesitant hail from a window to the left. Cloak streaming
behind me, I guided Zombie to the bottom of the marble steps and stared
at the massive bronze gates.

``\textbf{Break},'' I said.

My Name flared even as the metal crumpled like parchment under my eyes,
falling apart with a sound like a gong being struck. In the hall behind,
two dozen soldiers stood shaking and pale.

``Surrender,'' I ordered. ``I will not tell you twice.''

As the Gallowborne silently spread their ranks behind me, soldiers began
dropping the swords. In the windows crossbows dipped as men retreated
and the poor fools in front of me knelt. Farrier came to my side and I
addressed him without looking.

``The two usurpers will be inside,'' I said. ``Secure them.''

``By your will, Countess,'' he murmured.

I got off my mount and offered the reins to one of my soldiers,
dismissing John's strong suggestion that I take an escort with a sharp
gesture. They would be more hindrance than help where I was headed.
Ignoring the terrified soldiers as I strode into the palace, I headed
straight for the heart of what had once been the seat of power for the
Fairfax dynasty -- and the Albans before them. The room where the Ruling
Council had once held its sessions was deserted, and the door to it
locked. Nothing the strength of the Named couldn't force open. It was
evident by even a short look that the luxurious room hadn't been used in
some time. The two Wastelanders must actually have been arrogant enough
to have used the former throne room for their audiences. Idly taking off
my helmet and shaking loose the hair under it, I set down the chunk of
goblin steel on the table with a loud thunk. My gauntlets soon followed
it, thrown carelessly as I headed for the chair at the head of the
table. I paused there, my hand on the arm of it.

``I've felt you looking since the moment I left Arcadia,'' I spoke into
the gloom. ``Come out.''

The woman slipped out of the deeper shadows in the corner, idly
strolling to the seat on the other end and plopping herself down on it.

``Evening, Squire,'' the Thief said. ``Fancy meeting you here.''