webcrawl/APGTE/Book-6/out/Ch-073.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-53-joust}{%
\chapter{Joust}\label{chapter-53-joust}}



\epigraph{``War, that most glorious of horrors.''}{Bastien de Hauteville, Proceran general}



Keeping pace turned out to be pretty tricky.

Zombie's wings weren't actually what allowed her to fly, since they were
nowhere strong enough to actually lift a horse her size -- much less
with two riders on her back -- but Masego had never actually been able
to give me a clear answer about what exactly \emph{did} allow her to
fly. There'd been a lot of talk about natural domains and the inherent
structural differences of the fae, but the bottom line was that he
couldn't really explain it. There was at least \emph{some} grounding in
Creational laws, though, since Zombie did use the wings to steer around
and adjust her flight. It made her flight pleasing to the eye, an
extraordinary thing but not unnatural to behold.

The Summoner's creature was his own work, on the other hand, and not a
being stolen from Arcadia. It was his own craftsmanship on display and
it hardly equal to even a lesser god's, to say nothing of Above and
Below. His wyvern-thing's wings moved, but the advance of the creature
itself was jerky and only tangentially related to the way they batted.
If anything the sight brought to mind the way I'd used to shape
footholds out of ice in fights, if said footholds had then been
forcefully dragged forward by magic. The flight was largely stable,
though, and the Silver Huntress had a lot more room to stand at the back
than Archer did on my own mount.

I suspected frequent use of this construct would make it more `natural',
as if the repeating conflict between magic made flesh and Creation was
grinding the shape down into a compromise appeasing both.

For now, though, my main concern was ensuing that when the wyvern-thing
pulled forward it did not take the other two Named out of my
Night-working. If they left the illusion, our enemy was likely to
scatter into every direction: it'd be impossible to stop them from
flying over the column then, we just didn't have the flyers for it. The
sun was eating away at the illusion, slowly but surely, but I'd woven it
with the personal blessing and attention of the eldest of the Sisters:
it'd hold until I no longer needed it. Which promised to be soon, as the
enemy's shapes grew from blots on the horizon to discernable
silhouettes.

Leaning forward against Zombie's mane as Indrani's arm around my belly
loosened to let me, I began to count to the smaller undead birds. The
buzzards had been raised from the remains of birds, it was visibly true
with each, but they'd not all been of the same size and so Keteran
necromancers had expanded the frames of those who'd been too small. Made
of bare bone and `feathers' of dead wood framed with dulled copper, they
were quicker and tougher than the actual dead birds the Dead King
occasionally threw at us in flocks. I found thirteen, taking my time to
find them all. None strayed far from the fat construct between them, the
\emph{vulture}.

At least a dozen feet tall, all bristling bones and thick folds of dead
animal skin, the abomination watched the world with too-large wet red
eyes: old blood long gone sour, made into something farsighted by ugly
rituals. Its large and leathery wings beat the air, not quite hiding the
rows of insect-like segmented legs under it. Each ended in a long spike
of steel, which the construct could strike forcefully enough with to
punch through plate -- I'd seen it run straight through a knight, once,
and toss her away like a ragdoll as the horse panicked. It was the
`bald' patch atop the head, where plaques of iron had been nailed into
the skull to protect it from easy shattering, that'd earned the creature
the sobriquet of `vulture'. It was no wyrm, capable of tearing through
an entire battalion in moments when catching it unawares, but vultures
were no laughing matter.

``Thirteen buzzards,'' I called out. ``Think you can handle that much?''

``Please,'' Indrani snorted into my ear. ``It could be twice as many and
it'd make no difference. Should I put an unraveller in the vulture just
to make a point?''

``We're keeping them a surprise still,'' I declined.

A sharp whistle -- it would not leave the sphere of my Night-working and
give us away, the miracle was a very cleverly made one -- drew my
attention. The Silver Huntress wanted to speak, it seemed, and so I
pulled at the reins to bring Zombie closer to the Summoner's creature.
The wind would make it hard to understand the heroine, otherwise.

``There's something hidden on the vulture's back,'' the Huntress called
out. ``A refraction trick, I've seen it used by the dead before.''

I did not ask her how she'd picked the detail out at such a distance,
since it was exceedingly rude to ask another Named about their aspects.

``Does it work up close?'' I called back.

``Yes,'' she shouted. ``Needs disruption. Light works.''

I frowned. There weren't a lot of things the Dead Kings would bother to
hide on the back of something as visible as a vulture. Either he'd sent
out mage Binds, which he was always careful about protecting, or there
was a Revenant riding that thing. The first we could handle easily, the
second might get\ldots{} complicated. Some Revenants were no more
dangerous than a necromantic construct, simple champions to use against
Named, but there were some who'd kept the better part of their fangs
even in death.

``Archer will handle the buzzards,'' I yelled. ``Disperse the trick on
my word, we'll attack together.''

Zombie knew Indrani well and even liked her -- she kept offering her
oats that the godsdamned dead fae horse \emph{did not need} -- so there
shouldn't be an issue leaving her on my mount's back. The Silver
Huntress gestured to make it clear she'd heard, then retreated further
on the wyvern-thing's back. Like Archer she'd come with her bow already
strung and a quiver of arrows that were more or less the size of
javelins. Unlike Indrani, though, she preferred a short spear to a pair
of longknives. It was just as silver at the bow, and no doubt just as
heavily enchanted.

I waited until we'd gotten within a hundred feet of the enemy. By then I
could almost make out the trick the Huntress had mentioned: there was
a\ldots{} glimmer on the back of the vulture, whenever it shifted one
side or the other. I leaned back towards Indrani.

``You ready?'' I asked.

``Give me a moment,'' she said, pressing a kiss into the side of my neck
for good luck.

She put a hand on my shoulder to help herself upright, standing on the
saddle with a gleeful grin and nocking an arrow. Gods, I hoped she
wasn't about to die a very stupid death just so she could have a better
field of vision when shooting. She tapped my shoulder to tell me she was
finished, and I turned to find the watchful eyes of the Silver Huntress.

``\emph{Now},'' I shouted.

She nocked an arrow of her own and smoothly drew, silvery Light
gathering at the point like a blinding star, then casually released. My
working shivered under the cold burn of her power, hollowing from the
inside even as the sun attacked it from the outside, and shattered
entirely even as the arrow left the confines of my illusion. In the
heartbeat that followed, things happened so quickly I almost couldn't
parse them -- the buzzards began to scatter, Indrani loosed an arrow,
the vulture tried to evade to the side and the silver arrow struck true.
Two silhouettes were revealed, and neither looked like a Bind.
\emph{Fuck.}

I cursed in every tongue I knew. Time for a brawl, then.

I breathed out to steady myself, then threw myself to the side.
Swallowing the scream that was trying to fight its way out, I forced my
eyes to stay open and gauged the distances even as I drew on Night.
\emph{One, two, three, four and\ldots{} there}. The gate into Twilight
opened below me me even as a second silvery arrow swatted a leaping
Revenant back onto the vulture and a fourth buzzard dropped. I dropped
through the warmer sky of the Twilight Ways for a heartbeat before
pulling at the Night and wrenching open another gate, resuming my fall
about two feet above and three feet in front of the vulture.

That repositioning trick had been a \emph{bitch} to learn even with
Komena helping me.

I dropped down, eyes wide open and cloak trailing behind me, and before
I'd even landed atop the construct my enemies gave answer. A blackened
longsword's point came at me in a thrust, exquisitely timed to go
straight through my unprotected throat even as my feet touched the
ground: I slammed my dead wood staff against the ground first, and the
clap of Night that rippled out messed with the timing. Before the
armoured Revenant -- in impeccable knight's armour, I glimpsed, down to
the faded heraldic swans of House Caen on the shield -- could properly
turn the thrust into a cut I landed in a crouch at its feet, fingers
sliding down the length of my staff.

``Afternoon, Neshamah,'' I drawled, and rolled forward before the
Revenant could bash in my head with its shield.

Right behind the first enemy the second had been waiting for me.
Tattered robes and a breastplate of dull green light were all I caught
before the points of the trident coming for my chest got a lot more
pressing a consideration. Laughing I leaned back, earning myself half a
moment -- just long enough to unsheathe my own sword and slam the side
of it into the blow. The dead Named pushed the lock one way and me the
other, only my grunt breaking the silence. The Revenant was stronger
than me, pale dead eyes staring down through a ratty hood, but Night
pulsed through me and with a savage grin I slapped aside the blow --
just in time to see the Dead Knight about to run me through the back
most unchivalrously.

Silver light rammed into the side of its head, blowing off half the
steel helm and revealing blond locks on a beautiful face.

\emph{Dead Knightess}, I mentally amended, and deftly twirled my staff
to smash it into the exposed flesh. Too slow, I cursed, her shield
coming up and even the Night I'd slid down the staff splashing out
harmlessly against it. I narrowly parried a thrust from the trident and
withdrew to the side prudently -- that light breastplate wasn't that of
a warrior-Named by my reckoning -- but not \emph{quite} swiftly enough.
When lightning streaked down the trident's length and lashed out at me,
it caught the edge of my cloak. The Mantle frizzled the magic, but did
not shatter the spell: it twisted around, answering the Revenant's will,
and struck my sword-hand.

I bit down on my scream, limbs convulsing, and dropped my sword against
my will.

A blow from the back hammered into my shoulder, cutting deep as the
Knightess put the full weight of her strength into it. Blood spurted and
I was driven to my knees, but I let out a bark of laughter through the
sting: painful as that had been, it'd broken the lightning spell's hold
on me. The hand freed by dropping my sword went up as I drank deep of
the Night, then closed my fist. As if a dragon had breathed in the air
was sucked in by the funnel I'd crafted, drawing both Revenants in, and
with a hard grin I spun my staff: blackflame roared out in a wheel. Both
retreated, Robes doing being than Knightess whose exposed face was
caught, but their relief was short-lived.

With a furious cry, the Silver Huntress entered the fray by smashing a
shining spear into the Knightess' side. Pulling at my breastplate so
it'd stop digging into my wound, I rose and offered Robes a wink.

``Hey,'' I said, ``do you want to see a magic trick?''

The Revenant stiffened for a moment. Wait, was this one of the perfectly
conscious ones? They were exceedingly rare.

``No,'' the Dead King replied through another mouth.

In the same moment, uncaring that there were also Revenants atop it, the
vulture flipped upside down. Gods, Neshamah really was such an ass even
when you discounted all the horror and mass murder. The Huntress still
blew part the Knightess' shield in a streak of silver, scoring deep
burns into the plate behind it, but I had to trade taking a shot at
Robes for crafting a tendril of Night and catching the heroine by the
waist, throwing her upwards. That cost me, as Neshamah-in-Robes got off
a spell before I finished crafting a veil of Night for my own defence:
there was a boom of thunder that struck me like a physical blow,
rattling my bones, and then my vision went white as a column of
lightning erupted.

Would have caught me for sure, if a creature looking like a large
ghostly pufferfish hadn't suddenly formed right in the path of the
spell.

\emph{Shit}, I thought, changing the veil from a defensive one form one
that'd obscure my presence before I was done changing it. \emph{I might
actually have to be polite to the Summoner for that.} From the corner of
my eye I caught one, two, three silver streaks -- the Huntress had
somehow taken her bow even while being thrown upwards and her arrows
hammered into the Knightess mercilessly. Neshamah-in-Robes did not bat
an eyes, beginning to weave a large web of lightning streaks around the
lot of us -- like a large, loose net. Clicking my tongue against the
roof of my mouth disapprovingly, I opened a small gate into Twilight
near the edge of the net and allowed it to close.

The Dead King, visibly irritated through his puppet's face, gathered the
lightning streaks into a spear of spinning threads and tossed it at the
Silver Huntress. I let myself keep falling, Mantle of Woe flapping
around me, and pulled on the Night. I grinned as a silver arrow tore
through the point of the lightning spear, hollowing out the centre,
though it was an unpleasant surprise to find that the outer layers had
kept shooting forward. I saw movement from the corner of my eye again,
though, and kept working on my miracle with a pleased smile. Zombie
glided down past the Huntress gracefully, Indrani catching her old
comrade by the scruff of a neck.

They went into a dive before the spell could catch them, though the Dead
King was already preparing another spell -- lightning was pulsing around
him, erupting from the frame of the Revenant in spikes. And still I
waited, carefully shaping the Night.

The vulture swung around, one of those deadly legs catching the
Knightess and slamming her onto its back before moving so that the Dead
King's puppet could lightly land on the back. Just before the feet of
Neshamah-in-Robes could touch the vulture they threw their spell -- a
ball of lightning that began to expand massively the moment it left his
hands -- I struck at last. Thin tendrils of Night shot out of me by the
hundreds, ripping through my veil and revealing my position, but even as
the Dead King turned towards me the first tendrils sunk into the flesh
of the Revenant he was using. He began to cut at them with the trident,
but there were too many and he was too slow.

``Here it is anyway,'' I smiled, and snapped my fingers.

Robes' silhouette shivered for a moment, then grew sunken as I hollowed
it out from the inside with acid. Without bones and runes to anchor the
necromancy, the Revenant collapsed within moments and there was simply
nothing the Dead King could do about it. Which was good but I was still,
unfortunately, rapidly hurting towards my death. That, uh, hadn't
stopped while I was scheming. Fortunately others had noticed, and within
moments the Summoner had brought around his wyvern-thing and even guided
it to sweep me so I wouldn't break my legs landing on it. I gave him a
thankful nod, then breathed out and opened a gate into Twilight in front
of me.

A heartbeat later I stepped out of another gate onto the back of the
vulture even as the Knightess turned to face me, longsword raised. She
was a better swordswoman than me, I figured, and at the moment I didn't
even have a sword. The Revenant reached behind her back, beneath a faded
cloak, and to my surprise unsheathed another longsword. But instead of
approaching me with both blades, she threw the fresh blade at my feet.

``A knight even in death, is it?'' I mused out loud.

I was offered a salute, flat of the blade against her forehead, and
nodded in return. I bent down to pick up the blade, shoulder wound
stinging and already pulling on Night, but the expected betrayal never
came. I was tempted, for a moment, to just blast her anyway. She might
have been Callowan, once upon a time, but now whatever she might believe
she was only a tool of the Dead King. And yet, as blood seeped down onto
my breastplate and I watched this fair-haired killer standing across
from me, I realized with a start that I wanted to beat her with a blade
in hand. Wanted to give her that bit of dignity before oblivion took
her, if I could. I spun the longsword, once and slowly, and though the
weight was a little off it was no great hindrance.

``Catherine Foundling,'' I introduced myself. ``Queen of Callow.''

The pale dead face twisted into a smile.

``Aubrey Caen,'' she rasped. ``Knight Errant, once.''

I left my staff of yew standing, knowing it would not fall, and took a
limping step forward. The air was crisp, this far up, and the
afternoon's fading light cast us in relief as the wind howled around us.
She took a step of her own, grip two-handed and pommel held above her
head as she approached. I kept my guard low, knowing I'd not be faster
than her to the strike -- my kill lay in avoiding her blow and striking
while she was extended. And beyond the cold bite of the wind, beyond the
howl, I felt a warm breath against the back of my neck. A large thing
looming behind me, fangs bared and eyes patient.

I smiled. \emph{Approve, do you?}

The woman who'd once been the Knight Errant darted forward and struck
with blinding quickness. I pivoted to the side, the same way another
Knight had once taught me, and let the blow pass me -- but one of her
hands left the sword and she elbowed me with a steel-clad elbow. Or
would have, if I'd not pressed the flat of my blade against the blow and
pushed her back. She almost stumbled but turned it into a lateral swing.
It found a parry waiting as I turned her blade and ripped it off her
grasp. She was Named, even if dead, so she snatched it out of the air:
but not before I slashed at her exposed face, drawing a deep bloodless
cut across it.

I watched her, eyes unblinking, and felt something well up in me. Not
Night, not power that was borrowed. It was all me, something born of
Catherine Foundling and nothing else. My limbs felt limber, my hands
steady, and when the Revenant struck again I knew she'd move before she
did. The overhead cut was slapped aside, falling harmlessly beyond my
shoulder, even as I struck her chin with the pommel and then, as she
rocked back from the strength of the hit, measured my killing stroke
through the neck. Or would have, had she not gone eerily still.

``I am not so helpful,'' Neshamah said, ``as to provide you a whetstone
for your Name.''

The woman who had once been the Knight Errant sagged as he released her,
falling to her knees, and her dead flesh began turning to flakes within
her armour. She looked up, eyes almost pleading, and I breathed out.

Teeth gritted, I decapitated the Revenant.

Her head rolled and the Beast laid its head on my shoulder, its warmth
approving. It was not a knight I was becoming, I thought. My old friend
had not come out for the fight, but for what it stood for: me, standing
in judgement over others. Delivering it sword in hand. And it had earned
weight, that the Knight Errant had once been Named. I sighed, letting
the wind ruffle my hair. To my left, I found Indrani seated on Zombie's
back and gesturing to catch my attention. She'd transferred the Huntress
back onto the wyvern-thing, it looked like. I curtly signalled for her
to ride towards the back of the vulture, then limped in that direction
and snatched up my waiting staff. The construct began to spin, in
attempt to throw me off, but it was too late.

Absent-mindedly I pulled at Night, weaving a gate into Twilight right in
front of the construct as it sped forward, and leapt off its back.

Zombie caught me, Archer shuffling backwards to make room, and after
some difficulty I sat the saddle. The longsword the dead woman had given
me was not an exact fit for my scabbard, but it fit. It would have to
suffice. A heartbeat later the vulture's momentum forced it to try to
pass through the gate, where it suffered instead the Grey Pilgrim's
burning hatred for the Dead King and all his works. Quite literally, as
furious white flames devoured the necromantic construct until nothing
was left but a handful of ashes scattering in the wind. I flicked my
wrist, closing the gate shut, and finally allowed myself to feel pain
and exhaustion.

``And now?'' Archer asked.

``Now we head back,'' I replied. ``And tell the army it's time to pick
up the pace.''

The Enemy knew we were coming, so the race against time had begun.

---

I clenched my jaw so I would not hiss as Senior Mage Jendayi healed the
wound on my shoulder. I could have asked one of our priests to handle it
instead and it would have been painless, but being healed with Light
tended to screw with my ability to handle Night afterwards. Not majorly,
but enough that precision work became difficult. Better to let one of my
mages handle it, even if it stung as the flesh knit itself back
together. Still, if nothing else the pain kept my mind focused on the
here and now.

``Thank you, Senior Mage,'' I said, nodding my gratitude. ``It was
smoothly done.''

Not compared to what Masego would have done, of course, but I'd been
made clear to me over the years that this was a completely absurd
standard to hold people to. The dark-skinned woman smiled and left the
tent after requesting a check-up later tonight, leaving me to combat
report turned war council unfolding around me.

``- the Black Queen personally slew the last in an honour duel, blade
against blade,'' the Silver Huntress said.

She shot me an admiring look at that, and to my amusement so did Tazin
and Aquiline. I became a little less amused when I considered how that
little detail might have done months of work in trying to wean them of
that practice.

``A whetstone for my Name,'' I dismissed. ``Which slowly becomes clearer
in shape.''

And Gods Below, how large would the scope of it be for it to take so
long to coalesce?

``Regardless,'' I continued, ``the Dead King rode both Revenants at
different times. There can be no denying that he is now aware of the
existence of our column.''

Even our most conservative estimates had been that we'd get two days
before he caught on, so that wasn't a pleasant surprise. All those
forward patrols we'd sent to sweep the lowlands in the last few months
had failed to pay off, mostly out of what I'd consider bad luck. That
force of two thousand that Robber and the rest had wiped out had clearly
not been sent as scouts, after all. They'd not been the right make up of
dead for that at all.

``Your presence will have told him this is a serious thrust,'' General
Hune said. ``Though we've kept our numbers unclear through your actions,
so he won't be sure where our troops have been sent.''

By which she meant he wouldn't be sure if our force, the visible one,
was a distraction while another one stalked the Twilight Ways. Which was
the case, but our numbers -- seventy thousand men -- were meant in part
to dissuade him of that. Our reserve was less than half of my column,
after all, and about that for the Iron Prince's army. When he got a good
look at both our armies, which I intended to make him bleed to get, his
conclusion should be that the numbers in the offensive meant we'd bet it
all on two quick thrusts backed by Named.

``Agreed,'' Princess Beatrice said. ``Though I'd recommend we make haste
towards Lauzon's Hollow regardless. It is crucial we dictate the tempo
if our surprise attack on \emph{les Soeurs Cigelin} is to bear fruit.''

I frowned. I was wary of hurrying forward heedlessly, as it happened. If
the siege of the capital of Hainaut, our ultimate objective for this
part of the campaign, was to be a success then we needed our supply
lines clear up Julienne's Highway. Getting sloppy about clearing the
lowlands as we advanced towards the Hollow was a good way to get sprung
a nasty surprise when warbands of undead lying low united, though.

``With all due respect, ma'am, the reason we're not using the Ways to
attack in the first place is that we need the highway clear for our
supply lines,'' General Abigail quietly said. ``There's no point getting
to the capital if we starve while sieging it because the bread gets
burned on the way.''

I hid a smile. She was growing into the rank better, I decided, without
my looking over her shoulder. Akua had been right about that.

``Then we split our forces,'' Lady Aquiline suggested. ``Send out large
warbands to clear the countryside of the enemy while the main column
continues its advance.''

``Split our forces while already outnumbered?'' General Hune said. ``A
recipe of the enemy to roll us over piece by piece.''

``We are outnumbered in principle, not in\ldots{}'' Ivah began then
stopped, biting its lips. ``These are not the correct words.''

It turned to me, speaking a few sentences in Crepuscular. I nodded.

``The Lord of Silent Steps means were are outnumbered in a strategic
sense, not a tactical one,'' I clarified. ``I tend to agree. With the
Twilight Ways we're quicker on the move than the dead, so we'd be able
to afford sending out detachments to clear the countryside and still be
assured we can concentrate the column before giving battle with the
central enemy force.''

At this point there was no denying that the enemy would move into the
Hollow long before we were in a position to contest it. I'd be surprised
if those one hundred thousand dead weren't already on the march as we
spoke.

``If the Enemy fights as we want him to, and sends his soldiers to the
man the Hollow,'' Captain Reinald pointed out. ``This assessment depends
on the Hidden Horror holing up in his defences instead of taking the
field.''

The two fantassin captains had been quiet in this council, aware that
out on march their influence was not the same as in camp. Not even the
snippiest of mercenaries would seriously threaten to walk in the middle
of an offensive into the territory held by the Dead King. It'd be a
death warrant for them, if nothing else.

``He's right,'' the Silver Huntress said. ``We haven't gotten eyes on
the enemy yet, Your Majesty. I'd like your permission to take a band out
for a deep reconnaissance.''

I mulled over that a moment. By a band she meant a band of five, so that
was more or less a third of the Named with this army that'd be risked on
this jaunt. Mind you, having actual hard information about where the
enemy army was would be damned useful and sending heroes into an
adventure of this sort a lot less dangerous in practice than it sounded.
I eventually nodded.

``You'll take the Headhunter with you,'' I said. ``Any preferences for
the rest?''

``The Vagrant Spear,'' she immediately said, ``and the Silent
Guardian.''

She paused for a moment, deep in thought.

``And the Rogue Sorcerer, if you have no other use for him?'' she
tentatively asked.

``Take him,'' I agreed. ``In and out, Huntress. Don't let yourself be
drawn into a scrap.''

``As you say, Black Queen,'' she smiled, offering a quick bow.

She offered another one to the room at large, and departed with haste.
My gaze returned to the rest of the war council.

``You've convinced me with the war parties, Lady Aquiline,'' I said.
``I'll detach ten thousand drow under Lord Ivah to sweep the lowlands,
as well as a fighting escort that can handle the daytime.''

It couldn't be the Levantines, I decided. They were good at light
warfare, I wouldn't pretend otherwise, but they were also a lot more
likely to let themselves be drawn into unnecessary battles than a more
discipline force. I wanted them close so I could keep an eye on them.

``I would volunteer for such a task if you'll allow it, Your Majesty,''
Captain-General Catalina spoke up. ``My company can discharge these
duties skillfully.''

I glanced at Princess Beatrice, who subtly nodded. Good, she agreed this
seemed like a decent idea then.

``Take your pick of the companies, no more than eight thousand total,''
I said. ``You will be sharing command with Lord Ivah, I'll leave the
details of the sweep to you.''

``By your command, Your Majesty,'' the fantassin replied.

``Chno Sve Noc,'' Ivah simply said, inclining its head.

I rolled my shoulder, finding it stretched taut from the healing but no
longer painful. Good work by Jendayi, that.

``As for the rest of us, we'll continue our advance at the quickest
sustainable pace,'' I said. ``Let's get to it, people -- the Enemy won't
dawdle, so neither should we.''