webcrawl/APGTE/Book-5/out/Ch-125.md.tex

\hypertarget{interlude-rise-rise}{%
\chapter*{Interlude: Rise, Rise}\label{interlude-rise-rise}}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{\nameref{interlude-rise-rise}} \chaptermark{Interlude: Rise, Rise}

\epigraph{``A treaty is fooling all the people at the right time, an
alliance is fooling the right people all the time. A war is when all the
people are fools all the time.''}{Prokopia Lekapene, first Hierarch of the League of Free Cities}



The Carrion Lord's spoken Chantant was flawless, the First Prince
grudgingly admitted. Almost entirely without accent, too, and it was the
tongue the most people in the hall would speak so it'd been the canniest
choice. After such an incendiary claim it was no surprise that the hall
fell into disarray, a hundred whispers filling the room as loudly as any
ringing shout. There were many faces that Cordelia Hasenbach could have
watched. The Dead King, the Enemy incarnate, was seated and still not a
hundred feet from her. The `Firstborn', whose unknown tongue and strange
disposition married to the sudden strategic importance made increasingly
important to understand. Even the Carrion Lord himself, who she
\emph{had} watched for some time as he had that terse, charged exchange
with the Dread Empress in some eastern tongue. The pale man's face had
turned corpse-like halfway through, like a mask made of wax.

Malicia's inhabited body was not so expressive, but she'd seemed shaken
as well. Perhaps there truly was genuine sentiment between the two of
them, Cordelia thought. It hardly mattered, with monsters like those.
The First Prince's gaze had left them before the end, though, turning to
the tanned woman leaning back into her seat at the same table. Catherine
Foundling's face had not lost any of the sharp angles that meant no one
would ever call her a beauty, but where before she'd seemed sullen there
was now a certain\ldots{} carefreeness. The Black Queen's eyes had
always been what softened her mien to something short of severe,
Cordelia considered, but now instead of wild swings of emotion or utter
iciness there was an unsettling candidness to what could be glimpsed in
them. The First Prince had found her personable, when spoken to
face-to-face, which she had not expected.

Which made it all the more chilling that the sequence of events the
Black Queen had so offhandedly predicted last night was coming to pass
so unerringly.

Cordelia Hasenbach was not above admitting when she had made a mistake,
and her early assessments of Queen Catherine had been very much
mistaken. She'd taken the lapses in etiquettes, the strange asides and
poorly-kept temper to mean that the Black Queen was mediocre diplomat,
and in truth little more than a charismatic warlord whose grip on power
was maintained by terror in blood. Considering the other woman had since
wheedled support out of the Kingdom Under -- the likes of which had not
been seen since Triumphant's day! -- and somehow become the foremost
religious figure of the drow and then leveraged this into the Everdark's
entry into the war, it would be absurd to keep believing as much. And so
much of this was absurd already, Cordelia grimly thought. How could
anyone have a pitched battle with the Dominion and somehow come out of
the slaughter in good odour with the Blood?

No, Foundling was not a mediocre diplomat. She simply disdained the
usual means of diplomacy, which had seemed the same when it was through
these that Cordelia interacted with her. Her Liesse Accords, which
admittedly she professed to be as much the work of Vivienne Dartwick and
Hakram Deadhand, were also a diplomatic solution coming from a woman the
First Prince had once considered a canny, dangerous thug with an army.
It was necessary to reassess what she'd once thought of the Black Queen,
for though she was now an ally only a fool kept both eyes on the stag
when hunting with a wolf. Cordelia had known all of this, or at least
thought she did. Yet looking at Catherine's Foundling calm face, the
barely-veiled sympathy she looked at the Carrion Lord with, she could
not help shiver. For all that the Black Queen had yet to even address
the hall, every person here had so far danced to the tune of her choice.
Cordelia set aside the thoughts and the wariness, striking at the table
as her majordomo loudly called for order. The noise withdrew, leaving a
palpable sensation of absence in its wake.

``We recognize the words of the Carrion Lord,'' the First Prince said.
``Yet let it be said, and known, that this conference claims not the
authority to install or depose rulers.''

Enthusiastic approval from the Dominion's tables at that, as they'd been
understandably wary of the precedents that might be set today. For all
that Levant now stood strong compared to a weakened Procer and bloodied
Callow, it would not last forever. None of the Blood wanted foreigners
to us this conference as pretext to meddle in Dominion affairs a decade
from now, when their power waned and Procer's waxed. Cordelia waited a
beat, for her partner in this intricate dance to step in. The Black
Queen rose to her feet, demanding the floor, and a nod from the First
Prince to her majordomo had it granted.

``The Wasteland's affairs are its own,'' Catherine Foundling said, then
offered the Empress a hard smile, ``at least for now. Yet it cannot be
denied that the Carrion Lord speaks for the Legion-in-Exiles, and others
among the Dread Empire. We may not have the right to crown him, but let
us not shy from practical realities for politeness' sake.''

And there it was. The line that would allow them to hamstring Dread
Empress Malicia and bring the Carrion Lord to the table without granting
her the wellspring of Praesi support that `foreigners attempting to
place their chosen candidate atop the Tower' might otherwise garner.
Lord Yannu Marave rose and was passed the right to speak.

``The Dominion backs the right of the Carrion Lord to speak for the
Legions-in-Exile and any other who come under his banner,'' the Lord of
Alava said, his Chantant polished and practiced.

He had been the right choice, the First Prince decided. Razin Tanja was
emerging as a rival power among the Blood, and one the Grey Pilgrim was
taking an interest in, but he was young and not as skilled a speaker.

``The Kingdom of Callow seconds this,'' Vivienne Dartwick said, tone
brisk.

A moment passed as the Black Queen raised an eyebrow at the drow.

``The Empire Ever Dark recognizes the Lord of Carrion and his rights,''
General Rumena said, sounding amused.

It -- Cordelia had learned that the drow eschewed sexes, and found
insult in their use -- was smiling most unsettlingly, the pale blue eyes
that seemed universal to its kind never blinking. It was ancient, the
First Prince tell that much by a simple glance. Yet it also
\emph{looked} ancient. Given that the Black Queen had once casually
mentioned her attendant, the one they called the Lord of Silent Steps,
had been alive before the Conquest and yet looked near boyish the
princess had to wonder how long it would take for age to become so
visible among one of their kind. Centuries? A thousand years?

``Why don't you take this one, Leo,'' the Tyrant of Helike said,
grinning as he winked. ``Did I not say that I would allow other voices
than my own to be heard?''

The Basileus of Nicae, Leo Trakas, looked hesitant at the sudden offer.
The young man was unfortunately not a well-known quantity to her. Until
recently his ancient office had been the lesser of the powers in the
city-state, largely concerned with stewardship and ceremony while the
ruling Strategos truly held the reins. Strategos Nereida Silantis had
been an ally of hers, and one cultivated by half a decade of gifts and
correspondence as well as fair mediation between Ashur and Nicae. She'd
also died when the Tyrant took Nicae and in the chaos Leo Trakas had
seized great authority, preventing the nomination of another Strategos.
His victories against the Thalassocracy had since ensured he was highly
popular in Nicae, though his hold on rule was a great deal more fragile
than one would assume at first glance.

He'd be deposed within the month, should he blunder badly enough the
people turned against him. The Basileus mastered himself, after a
moment, and as Kairos Theodosian had no doubt expected him to do he
chose the safe path.

``The League of Free Cities abstains,'' Leo Trakas said.

Which left only one vote, until Procer delivered its own.

``The Thalassocracy abstains,'' Sitter Ahirom said.

The man had kept his composure, but it was visibly fraying at the seams.
As it would be, Cordelia thought. Magon Hadast might have been forced to
break alliances to repay a debt of gratitude and prevent the starvation
of his people that might follow \emph{ingratitude}, but keeping company
with Keter and Ater was nothing to be proud of. Much less when it was
becoming increasingly clear that neither the Crown nor the Tower were
quite as masterful as they'd no doubt pretended to be.

``The Principate of Procer supports the motion,'' Cordelia Hasenbach
crisply spoke into the silence. ``Four in favour and two abstentions,
the motion passes. The Carrion Lord's right to speak for the designated
peoples is accepted by this hall.''

In the silence that followed, the First Prince of Procer mused, one
could almost hear the first spark of civil war in the Wasteland.

---

It had all been going smoothly, which in Vivienne Dartwick's experience
meant the other shoe was due to drop.

The Black Knight -- she knew he held the Name no longer, but how could
that man ever be anything but the Black Knight in her eyes? -- had a
seat at the table without this conference and its heart, the Grand
Alliance, overreaching by attempting to enthrone him. Most importantly,
the careful wording the First Prince had convinced Lord Yannu to employ
had deep implications down the line. \emph{And any who come under his
banner}, the large Levantine had said, and the wording had been upheld
even if Hasenbach had been careful not to repeat it. It meant that the
Black Knight could be offered terms now, lenient ones, and that those
terms could then be made to apply to all of Praes should he become Dread
Emperor. As Dread Empress Malicia had earned little but hate from those
in this hall, any terms she might receive would be decidedly inferior.
It was leverage that might tip the scales win favour of supporting the
Carrion Lord among certain Praesi, though unless the Empress outright
abdicated it was good as certain there'd be a civil war between their
supporters.

Not necessarily a long one, given that the loyalties of the Legions of
Terror might just swing in his favour hard and early, but Wasteland wars
were always nasty stuff.

Another two rounds of the tables saw confirmed the recognition of Dread
Empress Malicia -- even the Carrion Lord voted in favour, amusingly
enough, which made the vote unanimous in favour with Magister Zoe
Ixioni's assent in the name of the League -- and another for the Dead
King. Ashur abstained on that one, as did the Black Knight, and Nestor
Ikaroi of the Secretariat voted \emph{against} in the name of the
League. Malicia was his sworn ally, however, and the Grand Alliance
delegations had all been forewarned and agreed on common action, which
meant that the majority in favour carried the vote. The King of Death
had his seat and his vote, at least for now. Not that the motions had
much power outside the strictures of the peace conference: they were a
tool to manipulate the rules of this game through formality, not
something that could be used to truly produce diplomatic results.

Vivienne had voiced the votes for the Kingdom of Callow both times,
Catherine remaining silent. She knew well what it was Cat was doing,
giving her the duty to speak for their shared home in front of every
great power on Calernia. It was as tacit an endorsement of her as a
successor there could be without Vivienne being named a princess, which
would be\ldots{} complicated to accomplish, and likely require her
adoption into House Foundling. Setting aside the thoughts, Vivienne
forced herself to sharpen her focus on the proceedings. Though the Dead
King had yet to speak a word, little more than a grim sculpture of
bones, the Empress had no shared such compulsions. With a pleasant,
sonorous voice -- Vivienne wondered if the body had been picked for it
-- she opened her part of the dance. The Carrion Lord, a mere landless
rebel, had been allowed to address the hall while the rightful ruler of
Praes had been denied the same right, she said, which was miscarriage of
procedure.

It was not an unexpected assault. Hasenbach had named it a likely
avenue, since refusing the Empress would taint the appearance of fair
proceedings and accepting would allow her to go on the offensive while
bypassing the agreed-on order of affairs. Which would otherwise keep her
contained until hours into the talks simply by speaking of very little
Praes could weigh in on.

``We recognize the words of Dread Empress Malicia of Praes,'' the First
Prince said.

Malicia's mangled puppet smoothly rose to her feet.

``The Dread Empire cedes its speaking right to the Thalassocracy of
Ashur,'' she smoothly said.

\emph{Ah}, Vivienne thought, almost grimacing. And there went the first
stumble in the plan. Tightening the vise on the opposition by hammering
home how isolated the League and the Empire were one motion after
another wouldn't work if Ashur withdrew from the Grand Alliance formally
before the talks had even begun. Sitter Ahirom rose to his feet,
acknowledging the First Prince's evenly spoken recognition of his right
to speak with a nod.

``I speak now the words of Magon Hadast, citizen of the second tier of
the Baalite Hegemony, Sitter of the Eminent Committee,'' the man said.

A heartbeat of silence passed.

``As of this day, the Thalassocracy of Ashur declares its withdrawal
from the Grand Alliance and all attendant treaties,'' Sitter Ahirom
said.

Few across the room were surprised, and those that were told much to
Vivienne. The Dominion had been brought into this early and the
Firstborn had only middling interest in matters unrelated to the war
against the Dead King, but the lack of surprise did come as a surprise
to Sitter Ahirom himself. It was as the First Prince had speculated,
then: Ashur was good as blind on the continent, and clutching at any
offered driftwood that would prevent it from drowning. More
interestingly, there was a great deal of surprise among the League's
delegation\emph{. Not Magister Ixioni, though}, Vivienne thought. Helike
and Stygia were traditionally kept close alliance when the League was at
war, as they fielded its finest armies and typically both benefited
greatly from strife. A Tyrant's rule also meant that Below held the
reins in both city-states, buoying Evil in the Free Cities for a span.

Delos and Atalante had both had no idea. The general from Bellerophon
still looked lost and afraid of asking questions, but the two
Penthesians were calm. Better at hiding their thoughts, or in the know?

``Penthes?'' Vivienne murmured.

``Theodosian owns and informs them, I'd wager,'' the Black Knight softly
said. ``Prodocius has an emperor's ambition and the wits of a well-bred
trout while Honorion is afflicted by that peculiar condition where one
comes to believe that gold makes up for any and all shortcomings. Scribe
has theorized the Tyrant ensured they'd be the last two claimants
because they are singularly inept at anything but banquets and
squabbling.''

``If he leans towards one we could back the other,'' Hakram suggested.

``Tyrant's too canny for that,'' Cat grunted. ``He'll have them both
convinced he's secretly helping them against the other.''

``The Empire has influence there as well, through trade,'' the Black
Knight said. ``Penthes is a dead end. Nicae might not be.''

Basileus Leo Trakas looked like someone had slapped him across the face.
He was a handsome one, Vivienne thought, though less so when his eyes
were narrowed in surprised anger.

``He doesn't know about the ships yet,'' Vivienne quietly said.
``Otherwise he'd be storming out. Trakas only thinks he's about to get
strong-armed into backing off Ashur by his own side.''

``Agreed,'' Catherine said. ``He's not smooth enough to keep it in the
pot if he gets knifed that hard and deep in the back.''

``Then we approach him during the recess,'' Hakram said. ``We lack proof
beyond the Tyrant's own words, which only a fool would take, but the
groundwork can be laid.''

``Hasenbach tried to use Nicae as a counterweight for Kairos and that
went over about as well as pepper in a kennel,'' Cat reminded them.

``If enough of the League's armies keep withdrawing to their territory,
it no longer matters that Theodosian is dominant,'' the Black Knight
noted. ``He'll no longer have the strength to collapse Procer or invade
Callow, which effectively muzzles him.''

Which would be ideal, as far as she was concerned, since acting against
the madman outright was likely to see them burned. If he could instead
be dragged back into the lesser squabbles of the League of Free Cities
until the war against Keter was brought to an end it should be
significantly less risky of a proposition. Which meant bending the
individual city-states, and that would require significantly more
pressure than the coalition had brought to bear so far.

``We need to strike while they're still uncertain,'' Vivienne said.

Catherine looked at her curiously.

``We out it now, Cat,'' Vivienne said. ``It's out of the order, but then
so was this. It ought to put them on the back foot again.''

The Queen of Callow considered it for a moment, then nodded.

``Hakram,'' she said, ``find me an in.''

The orc's brow creased as he put his superb memory to work.

``This isn't a motion, it's an address,'' the Adjutant said. ``Which
means we can ask for right of reply on if what we speak of is
associated. If the First Prince grant it, which I'd venture to assume.''

Catherine's lips quirked into half a smile and she turned.

``Do it.''

Vivienne started in surprise, looking at the woman that was both her
ruler and her friend.

``This isn't a vote, Cat,'' she said. ``It's-''

``I know what it is,'' Catherine said. ``It was your notion, and a good
one. Besides, you're the one who'll reign under it. Speak the words.''

Vivienne breathed out shallowly. But it was too late to flinch, to fear.
It'd been too late since that night in Laure where she'd chosen to bet
on the Squire. She rose to her feet.

``The Kingdom of Callow request right of reply,'' Vivienne Dartwick
said.

Cordelia Hasenbach, tall and fair and with eyes like chips of ice,
considered her for a moment.

``We recognize the words of Lady Dartwick, heiress-designate to
Callow,'' the First Prince said.

``Pertaining the Grand Alliance, as addressed by Sitter Ahirom,''
Vivienne said, ``we declare now before Gods and men that the Kingdom of
Callow is a member and signatory.''