webcrawl/APGTE/Book-6/tex/Ch-103.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-76-rapt}{%
\section{Chapter 76: Rapt}\label{chapter-76-rapt}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``Princes dream of victory, farmers dream of peace.''}

-- Proceran saying
\end{quote}

There would be no hiding the departure of the White Knight, so there was
no point in even trying. We did the opposite instead: all but threw a
godsdamned parade for his band, gallantly going into the unknown as they
were. We rustled up a crowd drawing from all armies, got them cheering
with a few speeches about heroism and how of course we were going to
win, just look at how Evil that fucker the Dead King was. Paraphrasing
as I might be, I liked to believed I'd seized upon the essence of the
oration. If you filled the belly of soldiers and opened up casks of
booze they'd cheer at pretty much anything, in my experience, so I had
it arranged. Because the cheering was what mattered, you see. It was
what would stick in their heads when they thought back about this.

The White Knight and four other heroes were leaving in broad daylight
and the streets were half a festival, so of \emph{course} it was a good
thing. Not something to get angry about, or afraid. Hanno and the Witch
of the Woods were both major losses from the perspective of defending
this city, and soldiers would know it deep down, but so long as we set
the tone on how they should think of their departure it shouldn't result
in a morale loss. I supposed it would be in poor taste of me to hope
that the Valiant Champion got herself killed during the adventure, you
know in a magnificent sacrifice for the sake of the world and all that
good stuff.

Thankfully I'd never been above bad taste, so I hoped my petty little
heart out.

We had fresher cats to skin, though, so I did not spare much thought for
the matter as I had no doubt that Hanno would smash that bridge to
pieces. Besides, perhaps removing himself from the turbulence of
politics for a while would help the White Knight settle his doubts.
There was nothing like a straightforward, hard-earned win to help the
world make sense again. The defence of the capital would not be as
straightforward an effort, and there was no doubt that a defence would
soon be needed: the dead were gathering in the plains below. Like rivers
coming down the hills circling the great valley at the heart of Hainaut,
undead came flowing at our feet.

We conducted sorties, at first. Every day or so we sent a few thousand
horse through the Twilight Ways and attacked some of the smaller packs
of undead, striking quick and hard before withdrawing into the Ways
before the enemy could gather in sufficient numbers to force a melee.
Even a run-in with the Archmage wasn't enough to get us to stop: the
Blessed Artificer and myself took to accompanying the sorties, and we
were usually enough to stalemate him. But after a week, we were forced
to admit that sorties were no longer really feasible. Adanna took an
arrow from the Hawk about half an inch to the left of her heart, which
was an unpleasant wakeup call, but beyond that the tactic itself was no
longer viable.

There were just too many of the dead.

I'd never really seen it put to us so starkly, how much more of the
enemy there were. Yet the city of Hainaut stood atop a tall plateau, and
it made the truth impossible to deny: the capital was like a rock
surrounded by the tides, a sea of death gathering below us. We couldn't
pick at the enemy because there wasn't anything like enemy formations to
pick at. Just a mass of walking corpses that covered the land like a
carpet of iron and bone, standing terrifyingly still. The sight of it
was\ldots{} not good for morale. It was one thing to know that we would
have to defend the city against at least fourfold our number, it was
another to see that fourfold standing silent on the field. Waiting,
watching, dreaming of that final stillness. As was so typical of the
Dead King, he'd drawn first blood before the battle even started and no
cost to himself.

Shaping our mundane defences was not difficult, or at least not
complicated. There were four stretches of wall to defend, the four
cardinal directions, and a fifth force would have to be kept back as a
reserve. The Alamans, now consolidated behind Princess Beatrice Volignac
-- who was the least powerful of them in truth, but remained the ruler
of these lands in principle -- tried to push for the `honour' of
defending the northern stretch, the great gate, but were refused. That
task would go to the Fourth Army, as the Army of Callow's siegecraft was
superior to that of any other force here. We gave them the west,
instead, since the dead were certain to try to use the butte known as
the \emph{Veilleuse} to take a proper crack at overwhelming that
rampart. The Levantines got the east and the south, as the latter was
little more than a sheer drop and so would be easier to defend.

The Lycaonese and the Second Army were kept back as the reserve, in
deference the casualties they'd already taken in the campaign. As for
the Firstborn, though on parchment they belonged to the reserve as well
we had particular duties for them. We were not blind to the Enemy's
favourite ploys, or above turning them to our own advantage.

It had been in the air for days now, but it was the Crows coming that
told me we had reached the knife's edge. The Sisters had first come to
me in my dreams, always perched on my shoulders as I stood on the edge
of a hundred different drops and flying away as I fell. Then one fateful
dusk it was all with eyes who were able to see them circling the skies
above the capital. Sve Noc had come to Hainaut in the\ldots{} flesh, for
lack of better term. Though I was First Under the Night, it was the
Firstborn they'd come here to tend to -- as was only natural,
considering near every drow south of Serolen was currently quartered
within the walls of the capital. The Firstborn were largely holed up
along the eastern shore of the Bassin Gris, the broadly oval pool of
water at the heart of the city and feeding the waterfall at its southern
tip.

Rumena had pushed for it, mentioning that most drow had once lived in
cities or towns that'd been near underground lakes or rivers in the
Everdark. It'd been a risk putting them near the Levantines, considering
the Dominion folk were just as touchy and prone to duelling, but putting
them with the Alamans near the western shore would have been even worse.
Alamans reputation among the Firstborn had taken a sharp dive downwards
after it became broadly known that the Langevins of Cleves had planned
to backstab them over territorial gains even while they were fighting to
defend the lands of that family. Not that the Firstborn were usually
above a spot of backstabbing, famously, but even by their standards
that'd been a tad egregious.

The cohabitation with the Levantines had actually gone rather smoothly
so far. It probably helped that they mostly came out at night, taking up
the majority of the watches during the dark, and so the hours spent out
and about only partially overlapped. The relative peace there was a
relief, as there always seemed to be a hundred things in dire need of
getting done and I was ever moving from one to the next. Hakram and
Vivienne did what they could to lighten the burdens, but I still felt
like I was being pulled a dozen ways at any moment. Still, I could
justify setting aside time for a meal with the Woe at least once a day
on the basis of needing to prepare stratagems against the Archmage and I
embraced the justification wholeheartedly. How much planning was
actually done varied between some and none, but it was still a balm on
my day to spend at least an hour talking with people I actually liked.
But there had also been\ldots{} changes recently, and though Akua had
not acted on them immediately -- or even shown much of a change at all
-- eventually it came to a head.

``Your patronesses have offered me power for fealty, did you know?''
Akua asked me one evening.

We'd already polished off dessert and both Indrani and Masego had
wandered off -- they had shared quarters, but neither of them actually
slept there regularly -- after Hakram went to solve a jurisdiction
dispute between Princess Mathilda Greensteel and the Fourth Army over a
Lycaonese soldier in her service who'd palmed some of our supplies.
Vivienne had excused herself after I opened a second bottle of wine,
noting she still had correspondence to see to, and that'd left me alone
with Akua Sahelian.

``I figured they might,'' I noted. ``They tried the same with Masego.''

And I expected Akua to decline for much the same reasons he had. Praesi
had no issue with gaining power through contracts and sacrifices, but
submission was another thing entirely.

``Alas, I am not so eager to surrender my soul anew,'' Akua said.
``Though given my current straits the offer was more tempting than it
would have been once upon a time.''

I half-smiled, sipping at my wine. Some pale Proceran thing, from
somewhere in their south.

``Is it really that hard?'' I asked. ``Power always comes with strings.
I always thought it'd be restful, to be without them for a while.''

She dressed, I had noticed, somewhat more modestly now. Still with an
eye to grandeur, she'd always had that much, but the red and white gown
she wore tonight was high-necked even if it was closely cut. I'd been
somewhat surprised she could still change her shape even without Night,
but Masego had been all too willing to tell me that was actually a
consequence of her nature as `shade' rather than anything born of Winter
or Night. In most circumstances a soul split from a body, which was what
Akua was, would either pass into the world beyond or be remain as either
some sort of diminished apparition. Those rules, though, applied largely
to people who \emph{hadn't} cut out their own soul the way Akua had when
she'd been a teenager.

She was stable, and even somewhat in control of her own nature -- her
appearance and movement at least -- because the split had not been
accident. She had taken a knife to her soul long before I put a bloody
hand through her chest.

``Hypocrite,'' Akua chided, though with more amusement than anger. ``You
have clawed desperately for power ever since your first taste of it,
Catherine. Your only doubts were I finding a form of it that was not
personally distasteful to you. You rhapsodize on powerlessness like a
queen lauds the virtues of the common farmer -- but without, I notice,
ever retiring to live on a farm.''

I flipped her off, earning a smug smile, but did not outright deny her
words. While I might be intending to abdicate queenship over Callow, I
didn't exactly intend to make my sword into a ploughshare afterwards. I
still had a few decades in me handling the rise of Cardinal and the
steadying of the Accords. I drank of my wine, leaning back into the seat
I'd years ago stolen from Arcadia, and cocked a brow at her.

``So what are you going to do?'' I asked.

She went still, as if surprised. In that moment, it struck me that I'd
not seen Akua wear any jewels since that night on the rooftops. A riot
of elegant clothes yes, and the occasional veil, but never once
adornments of silver and gold. Golden eyes watched me, hooded, and I
stopped to wonder at the fact that even dressed in a simple gown she
still looked as much royalty as any woman bearing a crown I had known.

``You do not offer words of caution?'' she asked. ``Warnings about the
price of seeking power?''

Thin veil that they would have been, covering up the fear of what she
might do should she gain strength again.

``It's not another cage, Akua,'' I said. ``Only larger and with bars
harder to see. I meant it.''

``And should I desire to leave, here and now?'' she harshly asked.

``You are,'' I simply said, ``not my prisoner.''

Her hands clenched, those long and deft fingers you saw so often on
mages.

``Would you have spoken the words,'' Akua bitterly said, ``if you
thought I might leave?''

\emph{You will}, I thought. \emph{Before it's all over, you will.
Because that's what fate is, Akua Sahelian: the recognition that, no
matter how many doors there are, there was only ever one you were going
to take.}

``If it is my blessing to leave you want,'' I said, ``then you have
it.''

Without another word, she rose from her seat. I met her eyes in silence,
not moving a finger, and she left the room without a single look back. I
poured my glass full again and waited, but she did not return. I wasn't
sure how long passed as I stayed there, seated and silent. I wondered,
for a moment, if she'd truly left Hainaut. \emph{No}, I eventually
decided. She'd not yet the crossroads in her story. I finished my glass
and hoisted myself up, wandering under moonlight. I could have gone to
have a look at Adjutant's arbitration, but why bother? It was Vivienne I
sought instead. She wasn't far, considering she was quartered in the
same guildhall as I was: easier to guard, if we were both there, and it
wasn't like we were lacking room. It might have been for letters that
she left, but it wasn't what I found her doing.

Magelights lit up the salon she'd claimed as her work room, but instead
of being seated at a desk she was on her feet. A thick plank of wood
with targets painted on it, circles and squares of various sizes, was
propped up against an empty bookcase and I watched with a cocked eyebrow
as the heiress-designate to Callow palmed a knife and threw it. It spun
with a sharp sound, the tip tearing in the middle of a painted red
circle at least half an inch deep. I clapped and she turned to roll her
eyes at me.

``It's a knife trick, that's all,'' she said.

I shrugged. I was a decent hand with a throwing knife myself, but not as
good as her -- not without relying on the unnatural dexterity and senses
a Name could lend you.

``I didn't know you were keeping your skills sharp,'' I said.

I'd known she still carried knives, obviously, but that was just plain
good sense.

``Knives are easiest to practice,'' Vivienne admitted. ``Henrietta
Morley has been on me about learning to use a sword passably, but I've
only kept at it long enough to avoid skewering myself.''

``I still have sword spars with my guards on occasion, but I'm not as
keen on it as I used to be,'' I admitted. ``I don't fight the way I used
to when I was seventeen.''

``Knives always came easiest to me, back when I was the Thief,'' she
said. ``Mind you, I learned more out of a month of regular lessons on
that with Robber during the Iserre campaign than out of several years of
kicking around as Named.''

I stared at her. She'd picked up lessons from \emph{Robber}? Well, she
wasn't going to be winning any prizes for chivalry anytime soon but I
figured she'd probably be quite good as slitting throats if she were
ever in a bind.

``What'd you even bribe him with?'' I curiously asked.

``Two months of knowing where Hakram kept his aragh stash,'' she
grinned.

``That would have done it,'' I snorted.

I limped across the panelled floor until I could run a finger against
the knife stuck in the plank, easing it out and testing its weight.
Well-made, and if it wasn't goblin steel I'd eat my own hand. I flicked
it at her, and to my pleasure she snatched it out of the air.

``So why'd you start?'' I asked.

More than once I'd tried to push her into picking up a weapon, back when
she'd been the Thief, but she'd always been reluctant. Even back when
she'd despised the Legions, she'd been less than sanguine about killing
us. I honestly couldn't remember her ever seeing her take a life outside
of a battle.

``The same reason I started learning Mthethwa,'' Vivienne said, sitting
against the edge of her desk. ``I used to be envious of how the rest of
you got it spoonfed, did you know? Masego was raised by the Warlock and
`Drani by the Ranger, you got the Carrion Lord as a tutor and Hakram had
an entire aspect prodding him so he'd always know what you needed him
to.''

She smiled mirthlessly.

``Me, all I got what the scare of my life from the Assassin and a few
years of running, making sure never to stay anywhere long enough the
Eyes would be able to find me easily,'' Vivienne said. ``Gods, Indrani
was raised in the middle of the fucking woods and somehow she still knew
four languages and her classics in Old Miezan. So I was a little bitter
about it, but mostly I used it as an excuse for why I was dragging
behind.''

I hid my surprise. I'd known she'd had some issues with how she felt
different from the Woe, but honestly I'd figured it came more from her
late arrival and well, to be blunt, being used to siding with people
that were just \emph{better} than us. Morally speaking, at least.

``But then Masego kept devouring books,'' Vivienne smiled. ``Indrani
started spying on woodworkers in Laure, you and Hakram started studying
Chantant. And what did \emph{I} do?''

``You essentially put the Jacks together from the ground up,'' I pointed
out.

Courtesy of Aisha and Ratface we'd long had some contacts in Callow and
Praes, but we'd been hopelessly outmatched by the Eyes and the Circle
until Vivienne folded the Guild of Thieves and the Guild of Assassins
into her Jacks and began turning our old mess into a proper network of
spies.

``And I did good work,'' she agreed. ``But you were all improving
\emph{yourselves}, and I was spending more time on excuses about why I
wasn't than figuring out how I could do the same.''

I wouldn't throw stones there. I might not have enjoyed learning
Chantant, but part of the reason I'd been able to force myself to was
that the other most arguably useful thing I could teach myself was basic
magical theory and I would have preferred eating a ball of goblinfire.
If Akua hadn't been particularly skilled at keeping the lessons I
requested of her interesting, I'd probably still have some major swaths
of ignorance there.

``After Hakram got through to me, I guess it was harder to swallow the
excuses,'' Vivienne continued. ``So I started looking at doors I'd left
closed. This was one, so was Mthethwa. It's also when I set to thinking
about what good could be brought to Callow, instead of lingering on all
the evils still needing to be cut out.''

I slowly nodded, clenching my fingers and unclenching them.

``I'm sorry, Vivienne,'' I quietly said. ``I had no idea.''

``I'd hope so,'' she smiled, ``you were the last person I wanted to
know, Cat. You'd just taken me in, I didn't want to be the dead
weight.''

``You never have been,'' I frankly told her.

The smile turned fond, but it was nothing more than that. It was, I
thought, a devil she'd already faced. There was no uncertainty left
there.

``It was hard to be angry with you about it, when you shared secrets so
readily,'' Vivienne said. ``I'd been with a band before, and even among
heroes tricks are not often simply \emph{given} when asked. It was one
of the first things I liked about you, that you didn't hoard your
knowledge.''

``They weren't my tricks to start with,'' I shrugged.

She shook her head, as if amused.

``It's one of the reasons follow you, Cat,'' Vivienne said. ``You don't
think of it as cheapening you, when you help others get stronger.''

I cleared my throat, almost embarrassed.

``And to think I'm the one who's been drinking,'' I teased.

She chuckled.

``Get the bottle, then,'' Vivienne said. ``I've got a letter to Duchess
Kegan to finish, but when I do it occurs to me it's been ages since
we've played shatranj.''

Gods, I was \emph{definitely} finishing the bottle then. I'd take away
from the sting of defeat. And still, as I limped out of the room, I
found I was smiling.

---

I did not see Akua the following day.

Much as the thought dug at me from the side, I let it pass. Thankfully,
there was quite enough to busy myself with. We'd sent a few outrider
companies far in the valley through the Ways to have a look at the
situation there, and the answers were not promising: the dead were
almost finished gathering. We'd be facing an assault soon. I delegated
more and more to generals and commanders, instead focusing on the Woe.
If we wanted to kill the Archmage without losing one of ours in the
process, we needed a solid plan. Thankfully I'd had a few ideas, and
there was a reason that even now he'd finished working on the new gates
Masego barely bothered to sleep. I'd asked him to make anew a breed of
artefacts his father had once made for the Calamities, and later on once
for myself at the Camps, and he'd taken to the request with a
grief-tinged fervour.

``The spellcraft behind these is fundamentally akin to scrying,'' Masego
said. ``Which means they won't work outside the walls.''

Proper scrying didn't even work within the walls, even behind the cover
of the city wards, but as I understood it the `paired stones' worked
just differently enough the interference would be minimal.

``The Lady mentioned the Carrion Lord liked to use these,'' Indrani
mentioned, chin resting on her palm.

On the table were four pairs of polished, smooth stones. One was meant
to be kept inside the mouth and the other in the ear, the former to
speak and the latter to hear.

``Father made them at Uncle Amadeus' request,'' Masego agreed. ``Though
he found them an interesting challenge, he always said. Their limitation
as an artefact was that there was a single `master' pair, which was the
sole that could both receive and send sound to every other pair.''

Which Black wouldn't have minded, since his core strategy when the
Calamities fought was typically to keep Warlock out of sight and call
him down like some sort of magical artillery. The master set went to the
Sovereign of the Red Skies, and there was really no need for anything
more complicated. My father had always been wary of complexity, when
Named fought. Fragility was to be avoided at all costs in his tactics.

``Yet you've improved the design,'' Hakram said.

Masego clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

``I have changed it, certainly,'' Hierophant said. ``Improved is a
premature assessment.''

The other object on the table was, I suspected not by coincidence,
something that rather looked like a legionary's backpack. The
resemblance was only a surface one, however, as though there was straps
to make it easier to carry the artefact itself was mostly wood and
copper. A sort of large rectangular box, it was covered with neat sets
of runes set around incrusted stones. By the box a flat stone with
carved Miezan numerals from one to four was waiting, and what looked
like the mouth-stone from a paired set. The Warlock Wekesa had preferred
a simple, smooth design to his artefacts as that fit the tactics and
philosophy of the Calamities. Masego, at my behest, had created
something a little more sophisticated. Aware of the fragility of such
designs, we'd acted accordingly and focused it all in one place: this
master box, until someone found a better name for it.

``So this lets us talk to each other instead of simply to the master
set,'' I mused, eyeing the box.

``Inaccurate,'' Masego sighed. ``Which is why we will require Hakram to
field it.''

Adjutant had been studying the box all the while, eyes narrowed.

``The incrusted stones each pair with one of the ear ones for you?'' the
orc asked.

Zeze smiled, visibly pleased.

``Correct.''

``The box is relay of sorts, then,'' Hakram mused. ``Only there will be
a complication, one that requires active administration.''

``Isoka's third principle of scarcity,'' Indrani drawled. ``Can't use
two spells that use the same parts of Creation in the same place at the
same time.''

Masego beamed at her and she preened.

``So the spells that transmit the sounds can't be used simultaneously,''
Adjutant said. ``You will need me to either serve as a relay for
planning, or establish a connection between two sets of stones.''

``That'll be one part,'' I said. ``Our great trouble with the Archmage
so far has been that it's fucking impossible to get at it. When it knows
Named are close it puts up a storm around itself, and then it usually
falls into a certain pattern.''

``One major offensive spell at a time, keeping an eye on the opposition
in case it can breach its defences,'' Adjutant slowly said.

``We'll be coming at it from different angles, simultaneously,'' I said.
``That means we need someone who can actually figure out what it's
preparing to hit us with, and where. That will be you.''

As additional prizes, it would also significantly lower collateral
damage -- if we could catch large-scale spells before they wrecked the
inside of the city, we could counter them -- and keep him out of the
direct fighting. Hakram wasn't a fool, he was aware that he was in no
shape for a scrap with Named, but this approach meant that he was still
fulfilling a role and an important one to boot. I'd not invented this
for him, I'd just told Masego that we were in a position to have someone
dedicated to handling the core artefact if it improved its uses.
Adjutant looked at me for a long time, then slowly nodded.

``My Name seems to approve,'' he gravelled, then shook his head and
changed the subject. ``Have we decided on a final roster for the
combat?''

``Everyone in this room,'' I said, ``and one more.''

``Akua?'' Indrani asked. ``Viv's not in a place to brawl with a Scourge
these days.''

``I was considering the Squire,'' I admitted.

``No,'' Hakram said, without missing a beat.

``Look,'' I said, ``I know-''

``\emph{No},'' Indrani flatly said.

I scowled.

``No,'' Masego snickered.

``I didn't even say anything,'' I protested.

``The kid's not ready for a fight of that calibre, even if he wasn't a
replacement the Heavens are trying to line up for you,'' Archer said.
``It's not happening, Cat, let it go.''

I grit my teeth, but found no takers at the table. Fine. I'd find
another use for him.

``The either we bring in Ishaq or Akua,'' I said.

``Akua's a stronger hitter,'' Indrani frowned. ``And muscle's useful,
sure, but the Barrow Sword's not used to working with us the way she
is.''

``I cut Akua loose from the Night,'' I said. ``Along every other binding
I had on her.''

A flicker of surprise form Archer, but that was all.

``Good,'' she simply said. ``About time.''

Tense, I studied the other two. Masego looked puzzled but largely
indifferent, while Hakram\ldots{} thoughtful, but not angry or
disappointed. Either of those would have stung. He gave me a look that
made it clear we'd be discussing this at some point, but did not
otherwise pursue the matter.

``I'd still prefer Akua either way,'' Indrani added. ``That's why she's
not been around, isn't it? She went to find some fangs.''

``Good odds,'' I agreed. ``Though she didn't tell me before going. She
could just have left.''

Indrani rolled her eyes.

``Sure she did,'' Archer said. ``Zeze?''

``I would prefer her to the Barrow Sword as well,'' Hierophant said
after a moment. ``Even if she regains only middling power, her state as
a shade means she can ignore a great many traditional magical
defences.''

My gaze moved to Hakram.

``I prefer Ishaq in the abstract,'' Adjutant said. ``You already have
spells, steel is what you lack. But in practice, he'll be more useful as
the chief for a band of five.''

I breathed out. Well, that was a rather strong endorsement for her.

If she returned.

---

Dusk found me on the ramparts, looking down onto the plains below with
company.

``The Dead King's making a mistake,'' I said.

Tariq stood at my side, rheumy eyes on the sea of death below.

``Is he?'' the Grey Pilgrim mused.

``It's a pivotal battle with our backs up against the wall,'' I said.
``We're surrounded and outnumbered. I know I warned your lot about
getting cocky, Pilgrim, but I expect that they'll cut through the lesser
chaff of Revenants likes knives through butter.''

That was the way those stories went, wasn't it? The lone company of
paladins on the hill, scattering the faceless evil hordes. The few
stubborn souls on the wall, keeping dawn from failing one more time.
Creation loved a last stand, loved to turn them into victories --
ruinous ones, often, but victories nonetheless.

``I am not so certain, Black Queen,'' Tariq said. ``You knocked a gate
into the wall we have our backs against.''

I cast a look at him, found his face solemn.

``You think the gate tips the scales the other way?'' I frowned. ``It
shouldn't. We could flee through those, sure, but we're not getting
reinforcements. What we have is what's here, and we're severely
outnumbered.''

``It is not as simple as that,'' the Peregrine murmured. ``It is not
about what the gate brings as much as its existence. The stands we make,
Catherine, they are not\ldots{} strategic. Measures. That is what brings
them power, you see. It is not a scheme, a trick.''

\emph{An empty prayer}, I thought.

``So you're saying that the gate muddles that,'' I tried.

``Is the Dead King trying to take Hainaut to destroy us and blow out the
last candles of hope,'' the Grey Pilgrim said, ``or because a twilight
gate is a great war prize?''

I took a moment to let that sink in, reaching for my pipe and stuffing
it. I had to turn around, as the wind blew back the first mouthful of
smoke into my face, and I leaned against the crenelated rampart as Tariq
kept looking below.

``If it's the candles, we win it,'' I finally said. ``But a prize? He
gets to win those. He \emph{has} won them before.''

I pulled at the wakeleaf, troubled. It was not an angle I'd considered.

``Creation is a fickle mistress,'' the Grey Pilgrim said. ``It can be
hard to tell what yarn it is she will spin. We are not without a tale of
our own, I reckon. One about how a defeat here is the end of the
Principate, the first step to the ruin of Calernia. Such stakes bring
attention, and attention here is to our advantage I would think.''

He glanced at me, arching a white brow.

``It's been hinted to me that Below's less than fond of the Dead King,''
I acknowledged. ``Mind you, he's one of their greats. If they put the
finger to the scales here, which I'm not sure they will, I don't think
it'll be in his favour.''

He nodded, as if he'd expected every word. Considering the angels
whispering in his ear, he might have.

``And so it is not a mistake, I do not think,'' the Grey Pilgrim said.
``It is a gamble, instead. A roll of the dice. And even in defeat, he
loses nothing here he cannot afford to lose.''

I almost objected that if we deal him grievous losses defending the city
we'd be able to roll up and expel him from the entire principality of
Hainaut, hopefully as a prelude to the Gigantes warding up the shore,
but I got what Tariq actually meant. There was nothing down on the
plains below that wasn't ultimately expendable to Keter, because
everything but the Dead King was expendable to Keter. If this war ended
with every undead made ash save for Neshamah himself but all his
opposition buried, that was still a victory for the King of Death. His
empire of death could always be rebuilt. He had all the time in the
world. Us? Not so much. Even a sufficiently costly victory for us here
played to his advantage. Every veteran soldier we lost here was one more
conscript in the ranks when we came for Keter, every trick and artefact
used here one fewer up our sleeve.

Attrition had always been the Dead King's favourite trick, that slow and
insidious poison for which there was no cure.

``It still feels like a mistake,'' I murmured. ``I don't know why,
Tariq, but it does.''

Like I was standing on the edge again, cold fear in my stomach as I
looked down at the drop.

``He trains it in us,'' the Grey Pilgrim said. ``Finding the shadow of
our defeat in every action we take. It must be fought, Black Queen, else
the war will be lost in our heads long before he wins it on the field.''

I breathed in deep of the smoke, blew out a long stream of smoke that
the wind curled away into nothingness. Tariq was not wrong. I knew that,
agreed with it even.

And still it felt like the damned dreams, right before I fell.