webcrawl/APGTE/Book-5/out/Ch-136.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-88-testament}{%
\chapter{Testament}\label{chapter-88-testament}}



\epigraph{``Reputation is as rope: it can be either a lifeline or a
noose.''}{Eudokia the Oft-Abducted, Basilea of Nicae}



Asking Archer why the Hells she'd just killed that soldier that would
have implied in front of all those people I had at best partial control
over her actions. Which, while true, wasn't something I wanted to remind
the League of right now. So instead of looking surprised or angry I
allowed my face to slip into a cool mask, flicking a seemingly
disinterested glance at the dying man. Indrani, eyes cold, left the
blade in his neck and plucked at the hand still holding the parchments:
a long, thin needle was brought into the moonlight by careful fingers.

``See,'' Exarch Prodocius frothed, ``her thugs murder our attendants
without-''

The Nicaean soldier that'd been dragging him back slugged him in the
belly. He wheezed out in pain, looking like he was about to vomit.

``Poisoned,'' Archer idly said, sniffing at the needle's tip.

She casually ripped her longknife clean of the soldier's neck, snuffing
out his life with the casual flick of the wrist.

``Merciful Gods,'' Basileus Leo Trakas croaked. ``Queen Catherine, I
swear on the Heavens that I had nothing to do with this. I would
never-''

I looked at the young man in fair pristine armour, his hair perfectly
coiffed and his eyebrows impeccably plucked. What I saw beneath the
façade was fear. The ugly kind that clawed desperately at your insides
trying to get out. It'd been there before we ever began speaking, I
thought, perhaps even before he'd set out with this procession. But
where it had been mastered before, now it had slipped the leash. No,
that one did not have the stomach to try to kill me.

``A personal guard of the Basileus of Nicae just attempted to murder the
Queen of Callow,'' Akua calmly replied. ``Your guilt can be debated, Leo
Trakas, but your responsibility is beyond doubt.''

Would the needle have pricked me, if Archer hadn't intervened? Possibly.
I wasn't sure it would have killed me, though. I was hardly immune to
poison, but Akua ought to have been able to keep me alive long enough
for Sve Noc to come to my side and purge the blight. Was this Malicia's
doing? It was a sloppy attempt by Wasteland standards, though I'd been
cavalier enough it'd nearly succeeded anyway. If there was someone who'd
notice I had a habit of going ahead to negotiate with others with only
slight escort, though it would be the Empress. If it'd been Masego and
Vivienne with me instead, would the needle have broken my skin?

It sent a shiver up my spine I could not be certain as to the answer.

``No doubt this was the work of one of your many enemies,'' Exarch
Honorion dismissed, cutting through my musings. ``Pay reparations,
Trakas, and let us return to the matter at hand.''

The smug look on the man's face had me itching for a blade in my hand.
Someone had just tried to kill me and he thought throwing a few coins at
me like I was a beggar with a bowl would end the matter? My fingers
clenched. If he could not curb his tongue, perhaps a curse that silenced
it would remind him of -- no, no I \emph{could not}. I breathed out,
tamping down on the heat in my blood. I was being provoked and it was
not an accident. Prodocius might be terrified, but this one was not. Did
he know something the other Exarch-claimant did not, as the likely
favourite of Malicia among the pair? Black had been scathing in his
opinion of the man's intellect, it might just be foolishness and
arrogance.

``Secretary Nestor,'' I said, tone calm. ``The weapon that was used,
does the Secretariat have record of precedents for its use?''

The white-haired man, who'd been looking at the work of one of his
scribes over the young woman's shoulder, turned his gaze to me and
dipped it before turning to Indrani.

``Lady Archer,'' the askretis said, ``has the tip of the needle been
dipped in a substance that is green and viscous, yet dry as leather?''

``That's about right,'' Archer frowned, then sniffed again. ``Smells
like rotten meat, too, but with something flowery mixed in.''

Her senses had rivalled some of mine even when I'd been Sovereign of
Moonless Nights, nowadays even with Night lending me the occasional edge
it wasn't even a contest.

``Wyvern venom made into a paste with periwinkle blossoms,'' Nestor
Ikaroi said. ``Known as the `Taste of Redress', brought to our records
by the Magisterium's profligate use of it during the latter years of the
Stygian Spring.''

``A wild assertion, this, and without proof,'' Magister Zoe said. ``It
is known, however that, a substance like the one you describe can be
readily obtained through Mercantis. It would have no current ties to
Stygia even should it truly have roots there.''

``The Secretariat's records are without fault,'' Secretary Nestor coldly
retorted. ``And the use of the Taste and needle is the signature of the
Manifold Laments. Killers for hire alleged to be based in the League.''

``My own grandfather was slain by the Laments, Queen Catherine,''
Basileus Leo told me. ``I would never bargain with them.''

``You spineless cowards,'' Exarch Prodocius snarled. ``How can you even
know this wasn't her doing from the start? How \emph{eager} you all are
to lick Callowan boots.''

``Catherine,'' Akua murmured, low enough only Archer and I might hear.
``This is a noose. I know not how or why, but this is a noose. A
situation like this does not fall into place by happenstance.''

Yeah, I was starting to agree. Something was wrong here. Leo Trakas
still didn't know about his fleets being broken and stolen, yet he was
strangely desperate to get Penthes on his side. I understood he needed
allies, but why would he need them badly enough to risk provoking me? He
could hardly afford any more enemies, much less one that was a member of
the Grand Alliance. And the two Exarch-claimants had to know they were
playing with fire by coming after me this hard. Especially in the wake
of an attempt on my life, when it'd be damnably easy to accuse them of
having a hand in it. I was missing something.

``Mind your tongue, Prodocius,'' Magister Zoe Ixioni warned. ``It is the
mark of a weak stomach, to grow drunk from the scant power you wield.''

The Helikean generals, still mounted, watched all this unfold in stony
silence. Unconcerned or indifferent, not that it made much of a
difference. I could see, stepping out of myself for a moment, how this
was going to unfold. The young Basileus had too many enemies, and just
given me slight, so though it was plain to all that Penthes was a stone
around his neck he'd have no choice but to try to salvage the Exarchs.
If he lost a metaphorical finger bringing them out of this untouched,
they'd owe him badly enough they should be halfway-reliable allies.
Especially if they were without other allies of their own and
antagonizing most everyone else in the League. Bellerophon was a beast
most prone to devour itself, and likely to fall into that old habit in
the wake of this mess. Atalante had quite literally walked away from
this coalition and Delos was positioning itself as aloof. Helike was,
well, it was hard to tell what Helike was at the moment.

Exarch Honorion had earlier accused General Basilia of being an usurper
of some sort, but then he was hardly the most trustworthy of sources. On
the other hand, if Kairos Theodosian had truly massacred most his kin
and there was no true claimant left to the throne of Helike it would not
be surprising that whoever consolidated control over the army became the
ruling authority of the city-state. Theodosius had risen to kingship in
such a manner himself, and if I recalled correctly General Basilia was
highborn. Either way, for now it looked like she was the one speaking
for Helike and she seemed utterly disinclined to step in and stabilize
the situation. If Basileus Leo was trying to emerge as the saviour and
leading light of the League in the face of chaos, then Helike would be
at best uninvolved and at worst likely to spike any of his efforts
simply to ensure Nicae didn't emerge as the preeminent power among the
League. Stygia, I thought. I'd not accounted for Stygia.

Magister Zoe was here for the Magisterium. Given that yesterday she'd
made assurances to Hakram that even if Stygia made treaties of
assistance with the Tower it had no intention of ever lending military
support, I'd bet they were planning to use Malicia's `protection' as a
deterrent against the rest of the League while offering only token
compensation for it\emph{. For that protection to be worth anything,
though, they'll have to make it public}, I thought, then hesitated. Had
they already? Bellerophon and Atalante holing up, Helike looming and
Nicae's old Stygian foes promised assistance by the Tower. Leo Trakas
was seeing the League fall apart around him after his fleets had ravaged
Ashur, and realizing that in the wake of the glories promised by the
Tyrant he'd been left out in the cold. Penthes alone was offering a
hand, and though there were fools they were fools with coin, a largely
intact army. The kind of ally that would give an adventurous Stygia or
Helike pause. I stepped out of myself and looked at the world the way
Leo Trakas would.

Retribution was coming, that could not be denied. Ashur would neither
forget nor forgive, had deep ties to the Grand Alliance even after
withdrawing from it, and the ancient shield that was the League of the
Free Cities was falling apart. The League's treaties to resist outsiders
together must be shored up and the foundations of the arrangement made
firm again after the debacles abroad -- all under the leadership of
Nicae, preferably, since no one else seemed willing to take up the
mantle. If this could not be done, though? Then Basileus Leo was in
desperate need of allies that would keep the wolves away from his door
while he figured out a way to avoid losing his throne to a Strategos and
keep retaliation from laying waste to Nicae when the balance swung back
the other way. Either way, to him, Penthes was the key. And Penthes was
owned by Malicia, who had carefully been setting her schemes in place
even as I fought my way through Iserre. Now she was bringing them to
bear one by one. \emph{So how do you want to use them to hurt me,
Malicia?}

``Though Exarch Honorion misspoke, he is yet a leader of his people,''
Leo Trakas intervened. ``Threats help none of us, Magister Ixioni.''

``The Magisterium seeks no help from Nicae,'' Magister Zoe disdainfully
said.

``Already found yourself a backer, have you?'' Archer said.

Indrani was, with her usual nonchalance, putting her foot in a dispute
that might have been best left to the League itself. Without knowing
what Malicia had planned, any step taken here might be a blunder.

``What right does a vagrant from Refuge have to ask questions of of
us?'' Exarch Prodocius scornfully laughed. ``Still your wagging tongue,
girl.''

\emph{Merciless Gods}, I thought, half-awed. She was going to kill him.

``Archer,'' I got out.

Halfway through drawing her blade, Indrani reluctantly stilled.

``Your choice of allies speaks poorly of you, Basileus,'' Akua said.

A swing in the dark from her, as it seemed she'd come to the same
conclusions as me through reasonings of her own. Both of us were
watching the younger man, and both of us saw the same thing: the twitch
of a repressed grimaced, followed by a resounding absence of denial.
\emph{So he's pursuing these idiot accusations because Penthes --
meaning Malicia -- put him up to it}, I thought. \emph{They're backing
him so long as he pushes me tonight, most likely.}

``Another chattering peon for the Black Queen,'' Exarch Prodocius
snorted. ``Are you to threaten violence as well, when reminded of your
place?''

Here I had no worries. Archer, for all her keen perceptiveness, was not
meant for affairs like this. I'd not hesitate before sending her along
with heroes for something, or soldiers, but restraint in the face of
provocation was simply not the way she'd been raised. If someone
slighted the Lady of the Lake, she killed them. If someone took offence
to that, \emph{she} \emph{killed them too}. Indrani might not have the
age or reputation to be able to get away with that the way the Ranger
did, but she'd been raised to think that way regardless. Akua, though?
Prodocius could spend all day tossing the worst insults he could think
of at her and she'd hardly blink. Akua Sahelian had been playing more
dangerous games with more dangerous men since before she'd had her first
moon's blood. Still, the way Prodocius and Honorion were constantly
antagonizing my two obviously dangerous companions was genuinely
surprising me. Prodocius in particular, as the terrified white of his
eyes still showed.

``Gods Below,'' I slowly said. ``What can the Empress \emph{possibly}
have on you that'd put you this deep in her grasp?''

Akua, at my side, went still.

``And now you accuse us of being in the service of your foes,'' Exarch
Honorion mocked. ``As if you were not merely seeking an excuse to-''

``Still Water,'' Akua spoke in Kharsum. ``The Tyrant helped Malicia, you
said, but Helike does not border the Empire. Where did the alchemical
compounds come through? It would not have been small quantities,
Catherine. The Empress would have needed assistance to keep it quiet.''

And it fell into place. Penthes, who had grown rich from trade with the
Empire. Penthes who controlled one of the branches of the Wasaliti
river. Penthes, whose last Exarch-claimants were two venal and corrupt
men who'd been chosen to survive from all the many there once were by
two people: the Tyrant and the Empress. They'd been accomplices to Still
Water being used on the Nicean fleets, I realized. And now, too late,
they were realizing that with Kairos dead and Malicia untouchable in the
Tower they might end up taking the blame for that. For murdering
thousands of Nicaeans, yes, and breaking that city's naval power. Worse
yet, for betraying a member of the League to a foreign power while the
Free Cities were at war and under the rule of a Hierarch. If it came
out, they'd have no allies. Even if Penthes itself did not turn on them
most the League would end up coming after them.

If Malicia said nothing, she owned them. If Malicia said something she
\emph{still} owned them, because who else could possibly protect them?
Mind control was not needed when you had that kind of leverage on
people. It would be redundant.

``Why is she having them come after me so hard, though?'' I replied in
the same. ``It makes no sense, Akua. She gains nothing out of those two
getting on my bad side, by virtue of being her creatures they were
already there. I might as well not-''

I swallowed my tongue. I might as well not be there. Because it wasn't
about me, not really. None of this had been from the start. I'd been
thinking of these people as the tool Malicia was using against me, when
in fact \emph{I} was the tool Malicia was using against \emph{them}. A
Nicaean soldier had just tried to kill me not because the Empress had
believed it would work -- although I doubted she would have complained
if it had -- but because it burned a bridge between Callow and Nicae.
And the Penthesians were going after me because the Basileus needed
them, and the more he defended them the more at odds he and I became.
Fuck me, she was trying to flip the League wasn't she? Leo Trakas would
go home and find his fleets were gone and his reign going to the dogs,
and so to avoid losing his throne and possibly his head he'd need to
rely on his friends. His \emph{Penthesian} friends, who unlike Stygia
had not openly declared for Praes. The Tower had seeded the sickness,
then offered the remedy.

Penthes, Stygia, Nicae. Bellerophon and Atalante were removing
themselves from the flow, Delos wouldn't got at it alone and how
difficult could it possibly be for Malicia to spark a civil war in
Helike if the Tyrant had left no clear successor? She'd run the
southeast of Calernia, more or less, and with the fleet that'd been
broken by Still Water she'd have leverage over Ashur as well. And all
she needed to get this all started was for a Catherine Foundling, a
woman with a known temper, to get angry after someone tried to murder
her in the middle of diplomatic talks. Gods, but I hated dealing with
Malicia. Even now I couldn't even fucking be sure there wasn't another
layer to this plan that I'd missed. And I still wasn't sure how to step
back from the ledge even now that I might have caught the scheme.
Walking away was giving her the win, but my word alone wouldn't convince
the Basileus that his Exarch allies were playing him.

It was exactly the kind of thing I \emph{would} say if I was trying to
collapse the League so it couldn't be a sword at my back anymore.

``If I may be so bold, Your Majesty,'' Secretary Nestor said, ``might I
ask for a summary of the words that were shared with your advisor? None
of the attending scribes speak the language.''

I flicked a glance at the old scrivener with the tattooed cheeks. It was
a genuine request, not a hint of any sort, but it still had me thinking.
Could it be that simple? I'd spent all this time trying match Malicia at
her chosen field and gotten dirt in my face for it again and again. But
that was fighting this war the way she wanted it to be fought. Hanno had
warned me, hadn't he, that I was still thinking like I was a villain
needing to threaten and fight everyone into doing what needed to be
done. The latter part of that, where he'd said the might of Judgement
would carry the day, had been wrong. But he was right that in some ways
I still thought, first and foremost, like a warlord under siege from all
directions. But I wasn't that anymore, was I?

``It is called Still Water,'' I said. ``It is a sort of alchemical
poison developed by the Wekesa the Warlock that lingers in the body of
those who imbibe it and, afterwards, requires only a ritual trigger to
kill and turn into undead all those poisoned. Those undead in fact
resist healing by Light, though they remain mindlessly violent without
guiding by necromancers.''

``The First Prince of Procer sent word of such a weapon, before the
Tenth Crusade was declared,'' Nestor Ikaroi acknowledged. ``Do you then
confirm its existence?''

``I do,'' I flatly said. ``It was used on the city of Liesse by the
Diabolist. And once more since by Dread Empress Malicia on the war
fleets of Nicae.''

In the wake of that there was only silence, and the scratching of
Secretariat quills. My gaze found the two silent generals of Helike, who
were both unsurprised and watching me closely. Had the known? I couldn't
be sure, but General Basilia was said to have been Kairos' favourite.
And if nothing else, his will might have contained such secrets. So now
I had a choice to make. Either I dragged Helike into this by revealing
the Tyrant had a in this, or I kept my silence on that. The Exarchs
might try to drag Helike into this anyway, but who'd believed them at
that point? Might be enough to stir Helike to war if they tried, too,
which was not ideal but still better than Malicia sinking her claws deep
into the southeast. It would not be just, to spare them the consequences
of helping such a great and traitorous massacre. But if kept the Dead
King from devouring Calernia, I could live with having abetted that
injustice.

``That is the leash the Tower has on these two,'' I said. ``They helped
smuggle the alchemical brews into the League's territory. Advisor Kivule
was reminding me, Secretary Nestor, that the Empress would have needed
local collaborators, individuals of authority hiding her tracks to
achieve such a thing. It allowed for an explanation for the continued
hostility of these `Exarchs' to Callow, for it is no secret that their
mistress is my enemy.''

``Advisor Kivule, is it? She would know of Still Water, no doubt,''
Exarch Honorion sneered. ``I had not intended to speak to this, but this
filthy mudfoot intriguer leaves me no choice. Prodocius and I
entertained envoys from the Tower, is true. I'll not deny it. For Dread
Empress Malicia meant to warn us of a plot to destroy the League and
incite war with Praes: this advisor that masquerade before us is no fae
nor drow, she is the Diabolist herself. Akua Sahelian, the Doom of
Liesse.''

Malicia had caught on? No, of course she'd caught on. Black had too, it
would have been fairly obvious for anyone in the know as those two were.
And from there it was information that could be passed to her agents,
like those two. But why did she think it would -- oh, \emph{fuck}.

``It is not the Empire that struck at the fleets of Nicae, Basileus
Leo,'' Exarch Honorion said. ``It was the Black Queen using the foul
alchemies of the foe she enslaved. What a neat scheme she planned, is it
not? The League sundered and at war with the Empire, her enemies clawing
at each other even as she bent Ashur to her will.''

\emph{Malicia}, I seethed. Hellgods, I had not wanted to kill someone
that much in a \emph{very} long time. Could I deny Akua? No, that'd be a
mistake. Too many people knew, or at least suspected, and when it came
out she truly was Akua Sahelian it'd lead people to believe I was lying
about not being behind Still Water's second deployment as well.

``Are you seriously accusing Catherine Foundling of using something like
Still Water?'' Archer said, sounding somewhere between amused and
offended. ``She fought a war over the last use.''

\emph{Mistake}, I grimly thought.

``You would have us believe it was the Dread Empress who has possessed
such means for decades and never once used them?'' Exarch Prodocius
said. ``We've all read the reports from the Battle of the Camps.
Thousands dead from reckless sorceries! All of Iserre was almost
destroyed because of a weapon that once lay in Callow, and we are to
believe the Black Queen would \emph{balk} as such a ploy?''

Leo Trakas was the key to this, I decided. Delos was unlikely to lift a
finger either way, and Stygia would back the winning horse. And the
Basileus did not look like he knew who or what to believe, right now.

``You then make the accusation that Callow was able to brew such
alchemies, then seed them unseen in the fleets of Nicae?'' Akua said.
``How mighty you believe us to be, Exarch.''

She knew he'd have an answer to that, he wouldn't have risked this
otherwise -- and his words were likely Malicia's, anyway, who would not
make this elementary a mistake. Akua was baiting out the last part of
their tale, so that we might see if there were holes to poke in it.

``An animal like you has no place in this conversation,'' Prodocius
harshly replied.

The Basileus of Nicae raised a hand to end this before it could
escalate.

``As part of the evidence for the accusations laid against the Black
Queen was the secret meeting she had with King Kairos in the city of
Rochelant,'' Basileus Leo said, tone cool.

He was start to lean towards believing Penthes, I realized. Because he
wanted to, because it'd be easier, because Malicia was brilliant woman
and it was a skillful lie.

``And to hide evidence of your malice, you then sold the Tyrant of
Helike to his enemies among the Grand Alliance,'' Exarch Honorion said.
``I will not pretend the man was anything but a bad seed, but your
treacheries are worthy of contempt.''

Gods, but she was good. It did not make me hate her any less, but she
was good at this. Even through as feeble a tool as those Exarchs,
Malicia was still hitting all the right notes for the Basileus. I could
see it in his eyes. I breathed out. I was not only a warlord, now. I had
allies.

``Are you willing to repeat your accusations before a truthteller?'' I
flatly said. ``The most skillful of our age is in Salia. I am more than
willing to do the same.''

Akua almost began to move before she ceased, and in the Night I read her
uneasiness. I had made a mistake of my own, it seemed.

``A transparent attempt,'' Exarch Prodocius sneered. ``You've sunk your
hooks in the Grand Alliance, corrupted even rulers as respected as the
First Prince. The Grey Pilgrim will say whatever you want him to say,
lest you turn on Procer.''

I almost laughed at the notion that I could force Tariq to do anything,
much less bend the rest of the Grand Alliance to my will, until I caught
the look on their faces. Not Akua or Indrani, but the delegates of the
League. Over half a hundred people were here, some of the most
influential people in the League, and after the lunacy Prodocius had
just spoken not a single one of their faces expressed \emph{disbelief}.
Fear and hesitation, anger and doubt, but none of them believed it to be
absurd. Because they weren't looking uphill and seeing me, I realized as
my stomach sunk. They were looking at the victor of the Camps and the
Graveyard, who'd strung along heroes and villains and dealt death to
thousands. My reputation, these days, was enough to cow thousands of
charging horsemen. I knew this, I'd \emph{relied} on it.

Malicia was relying on it too.

My grip tightened around the yew staff. I'd fought wars, struck deals
with the Everdark and the Kingdom Under, compromised and warned and did
everything I could to keep this continent from falling apart. And still
the Empress, who hadn't left the Tower in a year, was strangling me with
my own fucking achievements. Malicia, though, would be Malicia -- a
praise and insult both. What had my blood boiling was how eager these
people were to be manipulated. To believe the worse of me and in the
same breath decide that the \emph{Dread Empress of Praes} was looking
out for them. And they had their reasons, and it was one of the finest
liars alive who was making a game of them, but still it\ldots{} stung.
That I always had to be patient and careful and let things go, while the
rest of them could just fucking blunder along and let the rest of us
pick up the pieces.

I could kill them, I knew.

The Night was but a thought away. They had mages, but I had Archer and
Akua Sahelian at my side. It wouldn't even be difficult or need to be a
slaughter. Honorion and Prodocius were owned by the Tower, but Penthes
itself wasn't -- the Empress would have influence, but hardly rule. I
could snuff them out like candles and there went this ploy. Gods, there
was so much I could do if I simply took off the gloves. All these
soldiers heading south, all this insistence on backstabbing and
bickering when the Dead King was seeking to kill us all, it could end.
It'd be as simple as telling the people here, over the smoking corpses
of Malicia's tools, that they could march north to fight Keter either
living or as corpses in my service. If their armies objected? They had
no Named left to match me. I'd open portal over a battalion aligned with
a large lake or a sea, then repeat the process every half-hour until I
got an unconditional surrender. The Grand Alliance would whine, but the
whining would end when I ensured our back was secure and brought a fresh
army to the table.

Gods, it would be so \emph{satisfying}. To order something instead of
barter and beg, to just order something and see it get done. And even if
Malicia had laid some kind of clever trap behind it all, well,
cleverness only got you so far in the face of overwhelming strength.
What exactly \emph{could} she do, if it was Praes and Keter against the
rest of Calernia? And all I needed to do was just\ldots{} reach out. Sve
Noc would approve, if anything. And the thing was, hadn't I done it all
the right way? I'd let the heroes take their swings, taken the whipping
without complaint. I'd helped the same Procerans who had meant to carve
up my home for a meal, sacrificed and bargained to keep the Dead King
from killing hundreds of thousands. I'd done it all right, and at the
end of the day Malicia could still just upend it all with a snap of her
fingers. And if it was this\ldots{} weak, this fragile to do things the
\emph{right} way, then what was the point? If it didn't work better than
being a bloody-handed tyrant, if it was \emph{objectively worse}, then
why was I putting myself through all this? I was not going to let
Calernia die because I needed to clutch to the delusion that I was a
decent woman. I would not.

I took a step forward, Night coiling, and my leg throbbed with pain.
\emph{Do not forget}, it whispered. \emph{That this was never a game.
That you make mistakes}. And most of all, and my fingers clenched white
to hear it, the pain whispered one last thing: \emph{do not forget, that
there must be more than ruin}. I paled, leaning against my staff. Gods,
the pain was agonizing.

``Cat,'' Archer whispered, looking at me with worry.

I gestured harshly. \emph{Do not forget}, my leg throbbed.

``You'd really do it, wouldn't you?'' I said.

The two men that would be Exarch of Penthes milled about uncertainly.

``Let thousands of your own people die,'' I said. ``Birth civil war in
the League. Gods, you'd gamble with the fate of Calernia itself -- all
because you were foolish and greedy and you're afraid to die.''

I looked at the two of them and saw something that it was not in my
power to mend. In anyone's power to mend.

``Go,'' I said. ``Leave. I have nothing left to say to you.''

It emboldened them, I saw. The resignation in my voice. They'd poured
poison into the ear of anyone who would listen and not been chastised
for it.

``How petulant you are when unmasked,'' Exarch Honorion mocked.

``We'll survive without you,'' I said, gaze sweeping across the entire
lot of them. ``\emph{Despite} you, if we must. So let your records state
this, Nestor Ikaroi: when Death came for Calernia, men and women rose to
meet it. From the Blessed Isle to Segovia, from Levante to Rhenia, they
came when the call sounded.''

I spat into the snow.

``Death came for Calernia, and when steel was bared to turn it back the
League of Free Cities was nowhere in sight,'' I said.

Quills moved against parchment, the scribes of the Secretariat recording
the words spoken. Cloak of Woe tight on my shoulder, I let out a misty
breath and looked at the sky. I was done here, wasn't I? If diplomacy
could mend any of this, let Cordelia Hasenbach take care of it.

``And?'' General Basilia said.

The other Helikean, pale-eyed and straight-backed, let out a hissing
breath.

``Yes,'' General Pallas. ``\emph{Yes}. The blood quickened.''

``Then we part ways here,'' General Basilia said, saddened.

I would have left, had Archer not put a hand on my shoulder. Indrani was
smiling.

``Will you not flee back to your barracks, Helikeans?'' Exarch Prodocius
called out. ``Your little intrigues are of no import to us, and the
cripple no longer-''

General Basilia unsheathed her sword, which had the man flinching.

``I speak now the will and testament of King Kairos Theodosian, Lord
Tyrant of Helike, the Unbroken,'' General Basilia said, voice echoing
across the plains.

Prodocius flicked a glance at the sword and swallowed whatever he'd been
about to say.

``With me dies the line of Theodosius, at last conquered by death. I
name no successor and offer no legacy, save for the following words,''
General Basilia said, and her eyes were wetly shining, ``\emph{Ye of
Helike, do as you will}.''

``Oh, would you shut up with the-'' Exarch Honorion began.

He did not finish, for General Basilia rammed her sword through his
throat. Half the soldiers on the hill had swords in hand before a
heartbeat has passed, but the dark-eyed woman only laughed. She ripped
the sword out and flicked blood onto the snow. Penthesian soldiers
crowded around the other Exarch protectively, shields raised.

``\emph{Murderer},'' Exarch Prodocius screamed, voice gone shrill with
fear. ``How dare you, you-''

``Tyrant?'' General Basilia said. ``I suppose we shall see. You may
consider this a declaration of war, Prodocius. Penthes can hang you as a
traitor to the League and servant of the Empress, or it can burn. It
makes no difference to me.''

``Are you mad?'' Basileus Leo yelled. ``Do you not understand the
consequences of-''

``Tell me, you pathetic worm,'' Basilia nonchalantly said. ``What will
you do, if I ignore your petty threats? What have you ever done that I
should fear you?''

``I'll not allow you to run rampant, Helikean,'' the young man snarled.

``Then beat me, Nicaean,'' General Basilia grinned.

And she had, I thought, so very little in common with Kairos in body.
She was well-formed and made like a soldier, not striking save perhaps
those sharp cheekbones but not in the least ungainly to look at. Yet
when she grinned that grin, all pearly white teeth and daring, for a
moment I would have thought\ldots{} She reined in her mount, offered us
a salute of her sword, and rode back to her soldiers. The young Basileus
let out a shout of anger but did not pursue. He barked out orders in
tradertongue and his soldiers clustered with the Penthesians once more,
beginning a quick march back to the rest of his force. He offered no
farewells, and I had said all I intended to say. Secretary Nestor
Ikaroi, however, remained. Along with his scribes. They stood in
silence, watching. Waiting. General Pallas dismounted. Under the pale
moonlight she came to stand before me, tanned and grey-eyed and
inscrutable.

``My name,'' she said, ``is Pallas Messene. I am a general of Helike,
raised to the rank by the Tyrant himself, for a score I have been a
soldier and leader of soldiers.''

``You know,'' I replied, ``how I am.''

``I have seen it,'' General Pallas agreed. ``I tonight I saw it again.
Once you called me and those under my command a \emph{worm in the
flesh}, Black Queen. You deemed us servants of Keter, and stripped us of
all the strappings of \emph{kataphraktoi}.''

``And of a bone as well,'' I calmly said, ``for the lives in my service
you took.''

``Bones mend,'' General Pallas said. ``Armaments, horses, they can be
had again. Pride is not to easily bartered back.''

``That is not in my power to return,'' I said.

`'It is,'' the grey-eyed woman disagreed. ``In keeping to my oath, I
spilled blood to the benefit of the King of Death. I weep not for this,
for I swore to a Theodosian and there can be no higher calling. And yet
I would even the balance, with oath given anew.''

She knelt, dark-haired and stone-faced, in the snow.

``Every wound I dealt, I deal anew,'' Pallas Messene spoke. ``Every
battle I fought, I fight anew. Let spears shatter and swords break, for
my oath will not. Let there be no rest nor relief until the war is won,
and should death take me let me rise in indignation, for I am a daughter
of Helike and we were borne unconquered. I swear to this, Black Queen of
Callow: until the King of Death knows oblivion or I do, my sword is
pledged to your war.''

Behind her, three hundred cataphracts dismounted under moonlight.

``How many?'' I asked.

``Half,'' she said.

``Half the \emph{kataphraktoi}?'' I said, surprised.

That was near two thousand soldiers.

``We do as we will, now,'' General Pallas smiled, looking up at the
night sky. ``He gifted us this.''

After a long moment, she met my gaze.

``Half the army of Helike, Black Queen,'' she said. ``If Death comes,
let it learn the same lesson as every other army under the sun: there is
Helike, and there is \emph{the rest}.''