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\chapter{Materialism}\label{chapter-59-materialism}}



\epigraph{``Victory in war comes by three parts: fighting, diplomacy and
strategy. No single third is sufficient to bring victory alone, and each
is neglected at great peril.''}{Extract from the `Ars Tactica', famed military treatise of Dread
Emperor Terribilis the First}



It was a nice afternoon, if you discounted all the dying.

As the opening strokes of the second battle for Lauzon's Hollow fought
under my command began to reverberate, I sat on high chair and watched
as I absent-mindedly tore into a late midday meal. A meat pie, still
warm with the juices splattering on my armour when I bit deep. The
prelude had, to my mixed pleasure and wariness, unfolded largely as I'd
planned. The band of five under the Silver Huntress had blown open a
hole on the top of the western hilltops, allowing for both gates opened
into Arcadia to hit the armies hidden beneath the hollow hills directly.
Pickler had cracked open the hills beforehand, of course, since I wasn't
in the market for just making cavern lakes: the entire point had been to
wash out the enemy army.

``How many inside, do you think?'' Akua said. ``At least twenty thousand
by my count.''

The shade stood upright at my side, in an intricate gold-accented dark
dress and veil whose occasional flickering betrayed the gate had taken a
lot more out of her than she liked to admit. It'd taken even more out of
me, of course, since Akua drew Night through my own connection to it.
She could manipulate outside stocks of it just fine, as she had at the
Princes' Graveyard when she'd called the eclipse, but otherwise she was
also limited by what my body could stomach. Which was, at the moment,
essentially nothing. Two large gates, precisely aligned to parts of
Arcadia and for some time? And in broad daylight, to boot. No, I was
effectively out of the fight until sundown and that meant so was she.

``Between that and twenty-five,'' I replied. ``They weren't making full
use of the caverns as a tactical asset otherwise, it would have been a
waste.''

``I wonder what general it is that faces us today,'' Akua mused. ``Not
Trismegistus himself, surely. He rarely takes the lead in such a direct
manner.''

Not that the Hidden Horror's consciousness wouldn't be flitting around
the battlefield all day, anyway, along with his will. But Akua was
right, Neshamah didn't usually serve as his own general -- with good
reason, since he was not a particularly outstanding one. Undead did not
truly learn, after all, and he'd not been a military man while alive.
His tactics were all imitations, something he was aware of and meant he
usually used Binds or Revenants as generals instead. It was typical of
his brutal streak of pragmatism that the Dead King would raise anew the
commanders that'd been most troublesome to him and bind them to his
service. I did not doubt he was the overall strategist of the Kingdom of
the Dead's campaigns, mind you.

On the grand scale, the one beyond tactics, there really wasn't a thing
in existence that could think the way the King of Death could.

``The Prince of Hannoven mentioned the Princes of Bones usually commands
all local undead as well as his own Grey Legion,'' I noted. ``But I've
seen no sign of him. It might be the Pale Knight, though admittedly he
seemed more a champion than a general to me.''

Or it could be a hundred other unseen trembling souls, none of which
we'd even slightly sniffed out. We'd not yet dug so deep in the reserves
of Keter that the Dead King had to be stingy with generals, to my
enduring displeasure. I kept tearing into the meat pie as the battle
began in earnest, the Third Army under General Abigail sounding the
horns and beginning to advance. By now the tide of water flowing out of
the caverns and the hollow was beginning to die out, swallowed by the
thirsty ground and turning it to mud.

``Maybe ten thousand scrapped by the water,'' I said, sharpening my eyes
with Night as I studied the field. ``I'd hoped for more.''

``The remainder are buried in mud, in disarray and often weaponless,''
Akua replied. ``Your hunting hound in the Third will make good sport of
them.''

``She's meant to a lot more than that,'' I muttered.

Mind you, I didn't expect the Third to wipe out all those downed undead.
The Third Army only made up the centre of my host's formation, with the
Procerans under Beatrice Volignac making up the left wing and the
Levantines under their Blood making up the right. I expected she'd bite
off a hard chunk while advancing, falling upon it while it was not yet
recovered, but she'd have to spread out the Third to get them all and
that was the last thing either she or I wanted. After all, in the end
the Third Army was \emph{bait}.

``I was not brought into the full battle plan,'' the shade idly said,
``but it seems to me that you are taking great risks with the array of
your forces. The Third is pulling heavily ahead, and your left wing
is\ldots{} undermanned.''

She wasn't wrong. Black would have blanched at this kind of battle
array, which was a stark departure from the traditional Legion doctrine.
My centre was a steady ten thousand legionaries and my right wing a
wildly overstrength seventeen thousand Levantines, while my left wing
was a mere six thousand Procerans. Mostly Volignac soldiers,
principality troops, with some fantassins. The rest of the Proceran
troops had been sent out to clear the lowlands with the drow under Ivah,
after all, and had yet to return to the field. But then the three minds
behind the modern Legions, Black and Grem One-Eye and Ranker, had built
that model to smash mortal armies.

Fighting the Kingdom of the Dead was a different kind of war. One where
the enemy did not tire, where being outnumbered at every turn was a near
certainty and the enemy's arsenal bore a few more nasty surprises
tailored to undermine your strength with every passing battle. I'd
adapted to this war, though. Learned how to wage it.

``We came to Lauzon's Hollow to achieve two things,'' I said. ``Seizing
the pass itself and destroying the army defending it.''

We couldn't just do one, unfortunately. Even we forced out the army and
took the Hollow, we needed to destroy the enemy's fighting force here:
even it retreated weakened, we couldn't afford to have it at our back
while we moved on the capital. It'd be child's play to cut our supply
lines if even just a few thousand raiders stayed loose around the
Hollow, and we were already outnumbered by the enemy so I was
reluctantly to shake loose a garrison force to leave behind.

``The single worst way to achieve those objectives is assaulting
Lauzon's Hollow,'' I said. ``Taking fortifications is a war of
attrition, and the moment the battle ends up in the narrow pass this
becomes a slugging match that Keter will win nine times out of ten.''

I'd seen battles turn that way before. The Dead King and his generals
just began throwing corpses at us, well aware that even if the battle
itself was lost they'd still win the war by effectively destroying our
army in the trade-off. No, fighting in the pass was something I wanted
to absolutely avoid -- it was why our original campaign plan had called
for the forces under General Pallas to strike at the Cigelin Sisters
further north tomorrow and then swing south to pincer the enemy here as
soon as they'd secured the fortress. That plan had obviously gone out
the window since, but the underlying reasons for making it remained.

``Yet you are, in fact, assaulting Lauzon's Hollow,'' Akua drily pointed
out.

``No, I'm not,'' I grunted. ``We cracked open the hills, Akua, so now
instead of fighting just at the mouth of the pass the battlefield got
extended. These are proper grounds for classic Legion warfare, they just
happen to be at the front of a pass.''

``Which the opposing general will notice,'' the golden-eyed shade said.
``Why prevents from retreating deeper in, where the pass narrows and
your advantages evaporate?''

``Bait,'' I grimly smiled, ``set out in two parts.''

I finished the last of the meat pie, scarfing it down and licking the
warm juices off my fingers. I pretended not to see the disapproving look
thrown my way under the gauzy veil. In the distance, as the Third Army
began plowing through the dead washed up by the waters, reinforcements
began pouring out of the pass. Skeletons, yes, but also constructs. It'd
be a hard fight. And as the dead who'd washed up on the flanks of the
Third clawed their way out of the mud, still a disorganized horde, the
enemy general did exactly what I'd wanted them to do: they sent out the
horde in waves, trying to flank and even envelop the Third Army before
the reinforcing wings could arrive. The enemy had committed.

The enemy's siege engine atop the hills began unleashing some deadly
surprise, pillars of black stone, but Archer was with the Third and I'd
left heroes floating: one of them would nip this in the bud before it
turned too bad, providence good as ensured it.

``You seem pleased, which implies this dawning rout is exactly what you
intended,'' Akua noted. ``Which fits better with my appraisal of Abigail
of Summerholm than that of the overeager general who struck out too far
ahead I am currently looking at.''

I shrugged.

``It holds up, you know, for someone who's looked into our armies,'' I
said. ``If someone else had rushed too far it might be a trap, but the
\emph{Third}? I named them Dauntless personally, they've served as my
vanguard in half a dozen war and they're commanded by a rising star
among my commanders -- but a young one, who never went to the War
College. Malicia will have records of that, which means the Dead King
has them as well. If this were Hune rushing it'd be suspicious, but
\emph{this}?''

I grinned.

``Why, Akua, this isn't a trap,'' I said, ``it's an opportunity. One
Keter has seized quite eagerly.''

So the dead had come out swinging from the pass in the distance, pouring
reinforcements and trying to swallow up the Third before the seemingly
feet-dragging Procerans and Levantines caught up and handled the flanks.
From an outside eye, that tortured formation -- one wing too storng, the
other too wing -- would have been forced on me by politics and a fear of
trouble in a shared command structure, not more tactical considerations.
I'd split the wings by nation of birth and was now paying the prince for
it, neither Levantines nor Procerans too eager to follow the lead of a
reckless Callowan general.

But the Third held, because the Third always held, and so the jaws of
the trap closed.

``So now you hurt them,'' Akua said.

As if bid by the hand of gate, the ballistas of the Army of Callow began
to sing. I saw the understanding dawn in Akua's eyes, for though she was
not exactly a veteran commander she was clever and well learned in
matters of warfare. The enemy had to reinforce through the pass, its
entrance now stripped of all fortifications by the thorough work of Lord
Soln, which meant my sappers knew exactly where the killing fields ought
to be set up. The copperstone ballistas pounded the enemy into dust,
again and again and again, as the flanks caught up to the Third and tore
through the still ill-prepared undead brought there by the waters.

And so the enemy general slowly came to realize it had been baited into
filling a box -- the once-caverns, the mouth of the pass -- where its
numbers were being made into a disadvantage. The fighting with blades,
after all, only happened between the first ranks of the dead and the
living. The fire of my siege engines burned swaths behind this, and
would cost Keter easily fivefold the casualties the rest of my army
would cause it. Akua stayed silent for a long moment, taking it in.

``I sometimes forget how deeply unpleasant a general you are to face,''
Akua mildly said.

I snorted. We'd never faced each other as commanders of armies,
actually, as she'd been the general of her forces at neither the Dead
Dawn or the Doom.

``An inspired trick,'' she continued after a moment.

Such direct praise was rare, coming from her, and I allowed myself a
sliver of enjoyment before setting it aside.

``I'm hardly the first to use it,'' I dismissed. ``Jehan the Wise did
the same with the banks of the Wasaliti at the Battle of the Sparrows,
and Terribilis to the Third Crusade at the Danse Macabre.''

``Both being famously unskilled generals, of course,'' Akua amusedly
replied. ``What terrible company you keep.''

``Battle's far from over,'' I grunted. ``Bit early for boasting.''

My eyes returned to the field as time inched forward torturously. By
now, I thought as the lines held on both sides and the copperstones
burned bright, the enemy general would be realizing this was not a
sustainable position for them. I still hadn't sent out my reserves, the
entire Second Army and nine thousand drow, and there was no sign of my
running out of copperstones. On their side the horrible siege engine
atop the hills did not have an angle to fire down on my troops, and if
the fighting continued until after dark -- which it seemed like it might
-- then I'd have nine thousand Firstborn to send after them.

The obvious answer would be to retreat deeper into the pass, since it
restored the reason why the enemy army was at Lauzon's Hollow in the
first place: being able to hold us off with the pass. I'd turned it
around on them by baiting them to fight at the mouth of the pass, but
they could write off what they'd committed and retreat, resuming the
defence deeper in.

``Why aren't they retreating?'' Akua said, putting her finger on the
pulse of the question.

``Can they \emph{afford} to?'' I replied with a hard smile. ``Count the
corpses, Akua Sahelian.''

The enemy had outnumbered us one hundred thousand to seventy thousand,
when the campaign began. After the first day of fighting at the Hollow,
we'd lost a little over two thousand and the dead a minimum of six
thousand along with a significant portion of their swarms. Now throw in
the ten thousand or so they would have lost to the water, then maybe
another ten thousand lost in the killing box over the early afternoon.
Meanwhile, I'd count maybe another two to three thousand dead on our
side over those same hours, which meant we'd be down to around sixty
five thousand while the enemy had been brutally dragged down to mid
seventy thousands. If my opponent wrote off the troops holding the mouth
of the Hollow and retreated, my side might have numerical
\emph{superiority} when the assault continued deeper in.

``They overcommitted,'' Akua breathed out. ``If they retreat now, they
might no longer have the numbers to hold the Hollow against us
regardless.''

I turned to glance at her and caught her eye, reading there an
expectation of agreement.

``Gotcha,'' I said. ``You just lost the battle.''

I enjoyed the surprise that flickered through before she suppressed it
more than I had the praise earlier, so at least there was that.

``That's the deeper trap,'' I said. ``That instinct not to sacrifice
those troops anyway. I want the enemy in that killing box as long as I
can possibly keep them there, Akua. It's the absolute best exchange rate
of casualties I'll be able to get on this field.''

Her lips thinned.

``I am used to considering troops valuable,'' she said. ``The source of
my mistake, perhaps. It will not be shared by the commander of the
dead.''

``Probably not,'' I admitted. ``I expect they'll hesitate but come to
the same conclusion soon enough. Which is why I told you, earlier, that
my bait is in two parts.''

What would convince my opposing general it was worth sticking it out in
there? It'd have to be a prize worth those mounting casualties. Just the
losses involved in the lizard cutting off its tail to escape wouldn't be
enough to dissuade a Keteran general for long, so I'd set out fresh bait
for them to bite: my left wing, the Procerans. Under Princess Beatrice's
command stood only six thousand souls, fewer by now. Hardy Volignac
foot, mostly, but that only counted so much in a fight like this. A wing
undermanned, as Akua had earlier said. Fragile. Foolish, and I did not
have a reputation for that, so even counting on the impression that this
was a political decision instead of a tactical one I'd also gilded the
bait by putting my entire horse contingent behind Princess Beatrice's
wing.

As if expecting a breach, expecting to need buying time for my reserve
the Second Army to come prop up that failing flank.

``Come on,'' I murmured, looking at the ranks of the dead. ``Bite, my
friend. You know you want to.''

And I laughed, laughed until my throat hurt, when Keter fell for it
again. Reinforcements kept pouring out of the pass and into my killing
box, scores dying to every copperstone, and the undead sent their full
wrath against the left flank.

``Akua,'' I said. ``Pass a message for me. I want these two to prop up
the left wing: Headhunter and Forsworn Healer.''

``As you say, my heart,'' the golden-eyed shade replied, bowing.

I barely spared her a glance, my own gaze still on the battlefield.
Those three should be able to prevent the Revenants I suspected the
enemy was about to send from shattering the left flank. That was the bet
of my opposing general, after all: that it could break the left wing and
manage to collapse the increasingly exhausted Third by overwhelming its
flank and back in a massive sweep rightwards. Even if I sent out my
cavalry, at that point, the battle would be lost. Keter's game
afterwards turn to trying to inflict as many casualties as possible
while my army fled back to camp, a particular specialty of the Dead
King's army. I was not unaware this could still turn south on me, though
I trusted the lines would hold. If it got rough, I still had some cards
to play.

Beastmaster had already gone to reinforce Archer, a deadly combination
that'd allow her to kill constructs even beyond her sight, and now that
the Summoner was back I was keeping him in reserve with the brew I'd had
Concocter working on. The remaining swarms had yet to be unleashed: most
likely my opponent was keeping them back, since they'd be brutally
efficient at turning a break in my lines into a rout if they were
properly employed. When Hakram wheeled his way to my side, I held in a
wince. Not because I was unhappy to see him, but because if he'd come to
deliver the news personally they wouldn't be good.

``Beastmaster's dead,'' Adjutant told me, blunt and to the point. ``The
Pale Knight slid behind the lines.''

My fingers clenched.

``Indrani?''

``Broken army, already fixed,'' Hakram said. ``The Silver Huntress' band
reappeared just in time to drive him away, no further Named
casualties.''

``Fuck,'' I murmured. ``Too close.''

``Orders for the Huntress?'' he asked.

``None,'' I said. ``She's free to follow providence and judgement as she
pleases.''

That was the main reason I'd sent out a band of five \emph{heroes},
after all. Some villains would have better rounded out their band, but
it would have diluted the effect of providence. Best to have an
imperfect force at the perfect time and place than the opposite. Hakram
stayed at my side afterwards, letting his helping hands carry the rest.
We stayed silent, but not uncomfortably so. We both had our minds on the
field in the distance. Not long after, to my surprise the Dominion began
pushing into the undead lines ahead of them. They were fresher than
either my Third or the Procerans, admittedly, and significantly more
numerous. I'd genuinely not expected they would, though, so I was
unprepared when the enemy general decided to set them back with a
decisive stroke.

The swarms came loose from the broke ceiling of the caverns, coming down
as screeching tide as the binders did their best to keep them at bay.

``Summoner and Concocter,'' I curtly ordered Hakram.

The messenger was moving before I was even done speaking. I'd positioned
them closer to the left flank, expecting the strike would come there, so
my fingers were raking the arms of my seat while the two silhouettes on
wyvernback went up from too far away as the first ranks of the Dominion
were engulfed and shredded. It got handled, in the end, but not quickly
enough. The dead pushed hard into the Malaga section of the shield wall
simultaneously to the swarm assault and it would have turned into a rout
without what I suspected to be Named intervention. Couldn't be sure at
this distance, not with armies so large and the constant streaks of
Light and sorcery.

The next helping hand that came to report to Hakram was Scribe, which
told me there were grimmer news yet.

``The Sage stabilized the break in the Levantine line,'' Scribe told us.

``And?'' Adjutant gravelled.

``The moment after the shield wall closed up, he was sniped by an archer
Revenant,'' Scribe told us. ``I believe he might have used his three
aspects over the afternoon's fighting, and become vulnerable as a
result.''

``Tell me they recovered the corpse,'' I said.

``Lady Aquiline Osena saw to it personally,'' Eudokia said.

I blew out a breath. It could have been worse. There weren't clean
victories outside the stories, I reminded myself, and stuck the course.
When the Proceran flank began wavering despite the best efforts of
Beatrice Volignac and the desperately fighting Named there -- the
Headhunter slew two Revenants and claimed their heads, according to the
reports Hakram received -- I did not panic or send orders to my cavalry.
Instead I smiled and sent for Senior Mage Jendayi, Hune's senior
spellcaster.

``Send word to Lady Catalina to prepare for the crossing,'' I ordered.
``We are nearing our moment.''

This very afternoon, after all, was when the detachments we'd sent out
were due to return. Instead of letting them come openly across the
plains, I'd instead requested for Ivah and the fantassins under Lady
Catalina to take the Twilight Ways -- I could, that way, unleash them as
a surprise when the time came. Keter would have accounted for our own
mages, there was no hiding them, but not for those that'd left with our
detachments. I could, because of this, bet on surprise with good odds.
It'd help with Proceran morale as well to be pulled out of the fire not
by foreigners but by their own kind. After the battering they'd take
today, it would do them some good.

When the first fantassin company on the left flank broke, I immediately
gave the order for the reinforcements to begin crossing into Creation. I
jolted in surprise, though, when the Third Army's shields winked out and
they began shaping offensive magics instead. Wait, had General Abigail
guessed my plan? I studied the Third's movements carefully, noting the
massing of heavy companies around the standard, and decided that she
hadn't. The gates were just now beginning to open, after all, to the
cheering of the Procerans behind them. More likely she'd been worried
about the left flank collapsing on her and acted to cut off the threat
at the source. I chuckled.

Regardless of her intentions, the timing for that charge was actually
perfect: I'd gotten what I could out of my soldiers for the day, it was
time to wrap this up.

``Send word to Summoner to pull back from the right flank and help with
the charge instead,'' I told Hakram.

``Cut loose Apprentice as well,'' he suggested. ``She'll thank you for
it.''

I mulled over that a moment then nodded. He was by my side and deep
behind our lines, and while there might not be such a thing as
\emph{safe} when fighting Keter he was not at so great a risk he could
not spare his bodyguard and assistant for a bit. I settled back into my
seat, watching the last few exchanges of the day unfold. It went better
than I'd dared hope, in truth. The enemy centre, while steadily
reinforced over the afternoon, had also steadily been culled by hours of
copperstone bombardment. I'd not anticipated that would mean it was thin
on Binds -- they'd need more Light to be destroyed, if anything -- but
that was the only explanation that came to mind as to why the undead
centre shattered like a rotten egg when the Third charged into it.

I watched the enemy ranks break apart under weight of the heavy
companies and almost asked Jendayi to send a signal for General Abigail
to pull back, for she was getting too far ahead, but she stopped on her
own anyway. Good, I thought. I'd kept the Grey Legion out of this so far
by making the ground muddy and so effectively making it impossible for
infantry that heavy to accomplish anything save get stuck in a mire, but
there were drier grounds further in. I had a lot of faith in the Third
Army, but there was a reason the standard order for mundane troops
encountering the Grey Legion was `retreat'. General Hune, sensing like
me that the battle was coming to a close, came my way. She made her
courtesies to myself and Hakram, then got into why she'd come here.

``Congratulations are in order, Your Majesty,'' the ogre said. ``Another
victory to your name.''

I didn't disagree, even though there was still fighting on the field.
With the Third having claimed the head of the narrowing in the pass,
enemy reinforcements were cut off so the left and right wings were just
pushing up pockets of undead against the walls of the caverns and
systematically exterminating them. It'd take a while, and the Third
would have to hold until they were done, but with the amount of Named we
had on the field we should be able to deal with any nasty surprise the
enemy had left to unleash. All that was left was for someone to sabotage
the enemy's siege engine on the hills before we could retreat, which I
was already mulling sending word to the Silver Huntress' band to do.

A moment later there was a great burst of Light in the distance atop the
hills, followed by pillars of flame, and I was once more reminded that
the Heavens had a sharp sense of humour.

``It's only half the battle,'' I finally replied. ``We still don't hold
the Hollow itself.''

``Given Keter's casualties today, and the raiding the Firstborn will no
doubt undertake tonight, there can be no question of the dead still
holding the pass by tomorrow afternoon,'' General Hune said. ``The last
swordstroke has not been granted, but it is a victory all the same.''

We'd be out raiding in force overnight, and with the full strength of
the drow: nearly twenty thousand, including several hard-hitting Mighty.
I fully intended on savaging the enemy army as brutally as I could
before dawn came and the fighting resumed tomorrow.

``We'll see it if pans out that neatly,'' I replied, ``but I take the
congratulations in the spirit they were meant, regardless. Thank you,
General Hune.''

She didn't linger after that, leaving us to our thoughts. I watched the
last gasps of the battle far away without truly looking at them. Hakram
cleared his throat.

``You look worried,'' he said.

``I am,'' I admitted. ``Something about this smells off to me.''

``It was a hard-fought battle, even if it went well for us,'' Adjutant
said. ``It is not \emph{always} a trap, Catherine.''

``Then where has the Grey Legion been?'' I quietly asked. ``The mud kept
them out, but halfway into the battle Keter should have spit out a
ritual that steadied the ground so they could fight.''

Mighty Sudone had slaughtered a great many of Keter's magelings, but not
so many that they would not have been able to deliver that particular
`surprise'. I'd had an answer waiting for it, admittedly, but with no
certainty it'd work. They'd never come out at all, though, which had my
fingers clenching and unclenching.

``Has anyone seen the Prince of Bones?'' I suddenly asked. ``We've seen
the Grey Legion yes, but the Prince himself?''

Hakram paused a moment.

``I'll find out,'' he promised.

``Do,'' I muttered.

I closed my eyes. I was missing something, I could feel it. Roland had
reported seeing a Crab, a while back, I suddenly recalled. Something to
do with that, perhaps? I couldn't see any obvious links, though.

``It's not that I don't think this isn't a victory,'' I said. ``But
there will be more to this, Hakram. We're not dealing an amateur,
Neshamah plans for both outcomes. He'll have gotten something out of
even a defeat.''

He had no answer to that, and so I left him to his work. By sundown I
had estimated casualties for both sides of the battle, rough as they
were. My armies had around eight thousand dead and maybe another
thousand crippled beyond the current ability of our priests and mages to
repair. That took us to an army fifty nine thousand strong, perhaps even
a little lower. The enemy, though? Keter had begun holding Lauzon's
Hollow with an army of one hundred thousand, and now it had barely half
that: fifty to fifty five thousand left, we believed, though the Grey
Legion counted among them. My soldiers had, without even our full army
being on the field, fought like lions and won the day. A heroic victory,
some would call it.

Now we just needed to win another hundred, and never lose.

Welcome to war with Keter.