webcrawl/APGTE/Book-7/tex/Ch-013.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-11-descent}{%
\section{Chapter 11: Descent}\label{chapter-11-descent}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``Loyalty is not opposite of betrayal, but in truth adjacent: to
truly place a person or principle above all others is to promise injury
to a thousand others.''}

-- Extract from the prisoner's memoirs of Princess Eliza of Salamans
\end{quote}

My soldiers cheered as I rode back into camp.

I'd had a party waiting for me shortly outside the gates, led by
Vivienne herself. She'd pulled me in tight for a hug, to my surprise and
pleasure, before we took the saddle and headed away from the prying eyes
atop the walls of Wolof. I'd expected there to be something of a strange
mood in camp after I'd spent a sennight in captivity, but if anything my
sudden return seemed to have been expected. Like I'd been a given that I
would pull a trick, find a way out of the pit. It was as once oddly
touching and brute burden. Sooner or later, I thought, I would lead them
to a doom there would be no bearding. The thought of the look on their
faces then had my stomach dropping.

It wouldn't do to return grim-faced, though, so I smiled and laughed and
stopped to speak with men and women I recognized. There were more than
I'd expected. The First Army had pulled heavily from rank and file of
the Fifteenth, back when it'd been first raised, and in some ways it had
seen less action than other parts of the Army of Callow. There were
fewer holes in the ranks here than there would have been in the Third or
the Fourth.

When I first got to my tent it was to a warming sight: all of my closest
companions had gathered there. Gods, even Pickler had come and it was
even more of a chore to pull her away from her work since Robber had
died. Akua kept to the back, tactfully keeping away from Vivienne, but I
found her eyes and inclined my head. I'd speak no more of it for now,
but I'd not forgot whose scheming it would be that got me out of that
cell. Scribe was keeping her company, anyway, another whose presence
surprised me. Wine was poured, though little of it -- it was before Noon
Bell -- and I was asked about my time imprisoned. There was a great deal
of outrage when I explained I'd pretty much lived in the lap of luxury,
with good wine and interesting books.

``It figures even in a cell you'd stumble into a better bed than us,''
Indrani complained.

``Even got to maul Malicia twice,'' I cheerfully added.

I had a thousand questions to ask them, but before getting to it I
wanted a wash and a change of clothes. Pretty as mine were, I wasn't
going to keep wearing what my foes had given me. Masego insisted on
inspecting me for illness or enchantments, which I agreed to once I was
clean from the dust of the road, and most of them took the hint that I
wanted to wash immediately. Hakram lingered, no doubt to brief me on all
that I'd missed, but to my surprise so did another.

``A private word, if you please?''

I eyed Scribe with surprise. Over the length of our association she'd
made it a point to avoid getting Adjutant out of the room whenever she
reported to me, as if to make it perfectly clear that she was not trying
to usurp his position at my side. I doubted she would have broken that
custom without reason, so I slowly nodded before glancing at Hakram.

``We'll talk before the evening council,'' I said. ``I need to be caught
up.''

``And more,'' Hakram gravelled. ``The envoys.''

Ah, that. Yeah, it made sense the orcs wouldn't begin the journey back
to the Steppes until I was out of Wolof. Not only had we been meant to
speak again but there would be no point in making a deal with me if I
were to stay Malicia's prisoner.

``Bring in Vivienne for that, then,'' I said.

``I'll see what can be done,'' the orc drily replied.

He gave Scribe a nod before taking his leave, limping away on his iron
leg. That left me alone with the Webweaver in my tent, for the first
time in what must have been ages. I poured myself a cup of water with
lemon slices in it, asking if she wanted one with a cocked eyebrow. She
declined, standing rigidly before my desk. I still couldn't see her face
in more than small glimpsed, always half-faded, but from the way she
held herself I would have thought her nervous -- or at least as close to
it as a woman like Eudokia ever came.

``Now you've got me curious,'' I admitted. ``This isn't professional, is
it?''

``Not entirely,'' Scribe admitted. ``I would like to make a request of
you.''

My brow climbed up. That would be a first. I'd sometimes wondered if
there was still a woman under the Name or if she'd died when the
Calamities had split.

``What about?'' I asked.

I wouldn't accept or decline without knowing more, but I didn't actually
believe that'd been what she was baiting with her lack of elaboration.
She was, I was growing certain, genuinely uncomfortable having this
conversation. Was it about Black? No, we'd talked of that before. Of
loyalties. It wouldn't make her like\ldots{} this.

``You still have in your possession the corpse of the soldier that
Marshal Nim possessed,'' Scribe said.

``Marshal Nim can't possess shit, Scribe,'' I amiably said. ``The Black
Knight did that.''

Neither of us were particularly comfortable matching that Name to anyone
but Amadeus of the Green Stretch, but best we got used it. I did not
think it likely he would ever resume his old Name, which meant that even
if Marshal Nim survived the tussle over the fate of Praes someone else
would step in and fill those shoes. Scribe conceded the point with a
nod.

``I would like for it to be passed into my custody,'' Eudokia the Scribe
said.

I blinked. That, uh, hadn't been what I was expecting. I wasn't sure
what I actually \emph{had} been expecting, but it was emphatically Not
That.

``Masego's studying it,'' I finally pointed out.

Or at least he'd been doing so when I'd been captured. It'd been too
much to hope he would be able to give me the aspect that'd done this,
but I wanted at least an understanding of the mechanics involved.

``He believes he has already learned all he can,'' Scribe said. ``I
believe he would be amenable to closing the matter, should you ask
him.''

Huh. She wouldn't even have needed to spy on him for that, I reminded
myself. Zeze considered her like an aunt of sorts, he would have simply
\emph{told} her if asked.

``So I feasibly could give you the body,'' I acknowledged. ``And we're
going to walk right past why I should -- for now anyway -- to ask
instead why you'd want that corpse in the first place. What are you
going to use it for?''

She had to know I'd ask, I thought. I was not exactly known for my
policy of handing over dead bodies to Named without asking questions.
She had to have known, and still she hesitated before answering. That
was fascinating to me\emph{,} given who I was dealing with.

``I want to Inscribe it,'' the Scribe said.

I swallowed a grin. Oh my, that'd definitely been an aspect. I was
finally getting a peek at the juicy secrets of the Calamities, was I?

``And what does that do, exactly?'' I asked.

``When I first began to us the method,'' Scribe quietly said, ``it was
little more than a trick. I could make my words\ldots{} weigh more than
those of others. Make them linger where they were written.''

\emph{But tricks improve}, I thought, and this one she'd refined until
it became an aspect.

``By the time I met Amadeus,'' Scribe said, ``I could make eyes and ears
of vermin. Sometimes I could even Inscribe instructions onto others that
they would be beholden to obey.''

I calmly set down my cup on the desk. Living people, living creatures.
Yet she was now asking for a corpse.

``You can make corpse-puppets,'' I said. ``And the higher quality the
corpse, the better the results.''

``The first one I made was a puppet,'' Scribe said, and I glimpsed a
faint smile. ``Little better than undead. Yet when I was destroyed, I
retrieved the corpse and found that what I had inscribed could be
retrieved. That there was more. The inscription had changed. I used the
changes, and so the second was\ldots{} something more.''

I breathed out a soft, incredulous laugh as it all fell into place.

``Gods Below,'' I said. ``You madwoman. You actually made a
\emph{Named}, didn't you? By fucking accident.''

``We began calling him Assassin after the fourteenth iteration,'' Scribe
told me. ``Wekesa helped me with the inscriptions that made it coherent
enough for sapience, based on the contract Tikoloshe was bound by.
Quickly enough we realized that the primary limitation was the quality
of the base material. Most bodies could only carry part of the
inscription before they began to wither. ``

``So you used dead Named,'' I said.

Assassin \emph{had} died over the years, I thought. Dozens and perhaps
even hundreds of times. And every time the Scribe had retrieved the
corpse, ripped out the inscription and shoved a refine version into
another dead hero's corpse. Gods, had that been what my father did with
all the Callowan heroes he'd nipped in the bud? Dropped them in some
crypt, stashed away until Eudokia needed more materials? I was as
appalled by the desecration as I was impressed by the brutal pragmatism.

``This one was possessed by a Black Knight,'' Scribe said. ``I will only
be able to Inscribe seven parts in ten, at most, and there will be need
for extensive\ldots{} surgery so the resulting entity has a human
silhouette. But he would be a match for the Assassin we were using in
the decade prior to the Conquest, by my estimation.''

I could think of a way or two to use such an asset, I thought, but I
still far from sold. It would, for one, not be \emph{my} asset.

``How much control on the entity do you have, after you Inscribe him?''
I asked.

``It cannot refuse a command from me,'' Scribe said, then grimaced. ``I
fear you do not fully understand, Queen Catherine. I do not simply write
words on dead flesh when I do this. I give of myself. It is the
wholeness of the aspect. He cannot act against what I make of him,
because there is nothing else to the entity.''

When I had fought Akua in the depths of Liesse, when I had passed
through the Fourfold Crossing she laid out before me, I had glimpse of a
life in which I had kill the Assassin. Goblinfire had done it, masses of
it. \emph{It's not a metaphor when she says she invests her aspect}, I
realized. \emph{It's physically in the corpse.} Practically speaking, it
was probably why the construct could mimic Named abilities to some
degree. The `Assassin' wouldn't have aspects of its own, but it wasn't
just flesh and power either. Not exactly. \emph{So if the body's
destroyed with goblinfire or demons it probably ruins her aspect too}, I
decided.

``Does Malicia know?'' I asked. ``Ranger?''

``Ranger does,'' Eudokia said. ``Malicia does not. She is aware that
Assassin has `died' in the past, but believes him to be a manner of
wraith possessing bodies.''

Which wasn't even entirely wrong, as tended to be the case with the best
lies. Huh. That would be a trump card up our sleeve dealing with the
empress. Which was probably why Scribe figured I might agree to let her
make it. \emph{And it wouldn't be a real Named}, I thought. That had
implications, considering the other opponent I was facing here in Praes.
An entity with some of the abilities of Named but who could not be
manipulated or predicted the way they could? That was a rather more
tempting offer than just another knife to pull on the Dread Empress of
Praes. The trouble remained, of course, that in the end it wouldn't be
\emph{my} sleeve that card was up in. It'd be Scribe's tool, and
Scribe's loyalty to me was not on solid foundation.

Her enmity with Malicia was very real, though, I judged. It was what
she'd broken with my father over. And she despised the Intercessor as
the architect of Sabah's death. Could I trust her, though, to use this
almost-Assassin to match those threats instead of pursuing her own
goals? I took my cup, sipped at it for a bit as I felt her study me.

``And what do you want to us the thing for?'' I asked.

``I would like to assassinate Malicia,'' Scribe frankly said, ``but I
recognize that there are political realities and that the Tower is
likely too well-defended for an incomplete Assassin. Instead I would
commit him under your command to offensive operations against her
cause.''

That was believable enough, but why would a lie from the Webweaver's
mouth would be anything else? Best to be blunt, I decided, and avoid
misunderstandings.

``I'm not comfortable with giving you that kind of power when you have
no personal loyalty to me,'' I honestly said. ``Especially when we're in
Praes. And while I don't doubt you could grant me partial control, I
don't have the time to handle that on top of my other
responsibilities.''

To my mild surprise, she nodded without seeming particularly offended.

``I understand,'' she said. ``In other circumstances I would have
offered that Adjutant be placed in stewardship over the entity, but
given his coming departure I would venture that Vivienne Dartwick is now
the best candidate.''

First my right hand and now my successor. She'd picked the names well,
couldn't deny that.

``And you'd surrender part of the control without argument?'' I said,
somewhat skeptical.

``I recognize the investment in trust and resources you are making,''
Scribe calmly said. ``I will not pretend offence, though I \emph{will}
remind you I can do significantly more damage to the Grand Alliance with
a few letters bearing your fake signature than a dozen Assassins.''

I was not unaware of that, but `I didn't cut your throat with this
knife' wasn't much an argument for giving someone a sword either.

``So what is it you do want?'' I pressed.

``The right to brief Princess Vivienne on operational opportunities and
present targets of my own,'' Scribe immediately said.

Ah, there it was. Even after she'd been evicted from leadership of the
Eyes here in the Dread Empire by Malicia's own spymistress, the
Webweaver still had more spies here than Callow did. That meant she'd be
able to indirectly guide what we used Assassin for by simple dint of
often having better information than we did. I hummed. She could also
simply go back on her word and use the entity for whatever the Hells she
felt like doing, of course, but that wouldn't be like her. \emph{And
though you might yet betray me}, I thought, \emph{even if you do it will
be to Black.} I simply couldn't believe he'd order her to use something
like the Assassin on anyone dear to me.

``Hierophant will supervise,'' I finally said.

As much because I wanted someone I trusted in that room as because if I
robbed him of the opportunity of witnessing that he'd sulk at me for
months. Even through the aspect I saw a surprisingly girlish smile light
up Eudokia's face, as she eagerly agreed and began to thank.

I could only hope, I thought, that I had not just made a grave mistake.

---

The gold and grain began reaching us half past Noon Bell, after I'd
washed and Masego had declared be to be in the fullness of health.

It was only good sense to check the merchandise when you bargained with
Praesi, so I unleashed Zeze and Akua on the goods while I got caught up
with my informal council. There'd been next to no skirmishing in my
absence, as it turned out, and Juniper believed what few blows had been
traded to have been accidental. Patrols running into each other by
happenstance, nothing intentional. As I'd expected it had been Akua --
with Vivienne along for formal authority -- who'd conducted the
negotiations that'd pressured Sargon into my release. High Lady Takisha
had been most eager to get her hands on the Sahelian library.

Akua had even tied up the affair neatly by ensuring the three tomes
she'd sent south as proof that we did have the library were precious
enough the High Lady of Kahtan wouldn't be too miffed by our ending the
negotiations. It was a nice touch, and I told her as much.

Sepulchral had been handled more by Vivienne, though, and there the
talks had been rockier. Not for any misstep on my heiress' part, but
because Abreha Mirembe had wanted more than simply the arsenal the
Sahelians kept in their vaults: she'd wanted a formal alliance between
us, as well as the backing of the Grand Alliance. Vivienne had put her
off by saying we couldn't agree to that without the First Prince's
permission and the backing of all four remaining great lines of the
Blood, which Sepulchral had recognized for the putting off it was.

``She warned us that the time for sitting the fence is coming to an
end,'' Vivienne told me. ``That the civil war will be coming to a close
soon, one way or another.''

``Or another yet,'' I mildly said.

High Lord Sargon hadn't been wrong, when he'd implied that Sepulchral
was about as trustworthy as a hungry tiger. I'd been happy to throw her
the occasional bone so far because she was a thorn in Malicia's side,
but I was not enthused as the notion of Abreha Mirembe holding the
Tower. She'd probably hold off on backstabbing us until the end of the
war on Keter, I figured, but she'd be trouble in the years that
followed. Dread Empress Sepulchral would have no real interest in
reforming the empire into something less poisonous to everything it
touched, and I honestly suspected that she'd pull out of the Liesse
Accords at the first opportunity.

That was not acceptable to me.

``We will need to take inventory of the coin and grain as they come,
Catherine, but I believe in both cases our expectations were lower than
the reality,'' Aisha told me. ``Wolof's treasury, in particular, appears
to have been fuller than we thought.''

``My cousin has been sacking the hinterlands of Askum rather
relentlessly,'' Akua noted. ``It would not be surprising that he aimed
to steal wealth along population.''

That or Malicia had been propping up his reign with gold. As had been
pointed out to me last year, given that she still drew taxes from most
of Praes, half her army was gone and most foreign markets were closed to
her the empress was actually sitting on a lot of gold she didn't have
that many uses for. Solidifying the position of the High Lord she'd
soulboxed would have been a good investment for her.

``How much are we talking, Aisha?'' I asked.

``If the wagons are all carrying the same amount of coin, we would be
looking at around a million aurelii,'' the Staff Tribune replied.

I let out a low whistle. In the year after Second Liesse, when the shock
of the second largest city in all of Callow and the crisis that'd
followed was still hitting us the hardest, my tax revenue for the entire
Kingdom of Callow hadn't actually been much higher than that. I let that
sink in for a moment.

``Well,'' I finally said, ``I suppose that makes up for the ransom money
being stolen back.''

That got some smiles, the good mood infectious. It'd been a \emph{long}
while since out treasury had been quite so full.

``We'll give a cut of the loot to Razin and Aquiline,'' I decided. ``As
they helped us take it.''

Maybe a tenth? Much like my own countrymen Levantines tended to get
pissy about anything they saw as charity -- the pride of our fellow
poors, I amusedly thought -- so I might have to end up calling it an
early wedding gift. The gold ought to help them strengthen their
position in Levant after the war, too, assuming we all made it there. I
would repay my debt to Tariq Fleetfoot in full, one bite at a time.

``So who was it that tried to rescue me, by the way?'' I asked.

``Indrani led the attempt,'' Vivienne said. ``But Masego, the Silver
Huntress and the Barrow Sword went as well.''

I let out a small whistle. Not a bad lineup, for a jaunt like this. I'd
have to ask Archer how far she'd made it, for Sargon to find it worth
filling my cell with guards.

``I suppose I ought to encourage that,'' I drawled. ``And since we're
rich, we ought to throw a feast before all the gold's gone. Tonight.''

``A fire?'' Juniper asked, leaning forward.

``It's been too long,'' I agreed.

My soldiers would get rewards of their own, extra rations and ale casks
being broken out to celebrate our successful `siege' of Wolof, but
tonight I'd share a fire with my friends.

---

We did it \emph{proper}.

Akua found us a good place, slightly away from the camp but not too far.
Indrani and Hakram dug the pit, Vivienne got the benches and Pickler
started the fire. I went with Aisha to obtain a few drinks -- some of
them smuggled, but we knew those tricks -- while Juniper began to roast
the pig. Masego rustled up a few wards, just in case, and we got old
Legion cooks to make us a pot's worth of the old staples from the War
College. By the time the sun came down, we'd claimed our hilltop and
seats as Juniper began cutting into the pork and the usual haggling
began.

``I \emph{am} a princess, nowadays,'' Vivienne attempted. ``Of Callow,
too. Arguably-''

The rib chops were dropped unceremoniously into her plate as I cackled
along with Indrani.

``This is borderline treasonous,'' Vivi whined. ``What do I have to do
to get a shoulder cut?''

``Be named Aisha Bishara,'' Hakram drily noted.

``It's a little sad when being royalty doesn't even get you on the right
side of nepotism anymore,'' I said, but then I caught Juniper's hard
stare being turned on me, ``-is what I would say if I shared her
opinion, which is obviously wrong.''

I got a satisfied nod for that, letting out a breath for that. I'd
gotten used to juicy tenderloin cuts, I wasn't going to let pride get me
demoted back to chops. After we'd gotten our plates filled according to
the arcane and mysterious system Juniper had developed over our years of
companionship -- Zeze got downgraded to leg for having suggested using a
magical fire while Indrani got bumped up to fillet for having actually
listened during briefings for a whole week -- the bottles got opened the
drink flowed freely. Aragh and ale, mostly, but some wine too. Nok pale
for Akua, to Aisha's profuse mockery, and Vale summer wine from my
personal stock.

It was a reality that invitation to these little fires had come to be
seen as a prize, a mark of favour from the Black Queen and her inner
circle, so while I wasn't going to spoil the whole thing I'd made some
concessions to the inevitable. People came by, staying for a time before
leaving. Razin and Aquiline were first, curious to try pork cooked in
the orc way, and though they wanted to hear of my captivity at first the
ended up spellbound by a tale Aisha told about ancient Taghreb legends
that claimed her people had some kinship with those of Levant, that
they'd been brought west on great ships by strange and cruel gods. It
was why Taghreb disliked ships to this day, she told them.

I thought it more likely that the whole living in a desert thing had
inspired a healthy dislike for seafaring, but what did I know?

The older Named came by, after that, and with them both Grandmaster
Brandon Talbot and General Zola. The Refuge crowd, Silver Huntress and
the Concocter, kept close to Archer. Akua caught the latter's interest
by speaking about some of the potions her family had accrued over the
years and they ended up in an animated discussion in what I believed to
be tradertalk, but Alexis the Argent and Indrani mostly spoke to each
other in stilted, stiff tones. They didn't argue, I saw, but it was
hardly a triumph of diplomacy. \emph{They're trying, though}, I thought.
\emph{Or at least Indrani is.}

Juniper and I got into it with General Zola, who'd fought at the Doom of
Liesse under General Afolabi. She'd been a supply tribune, then, but
their legion had gotten into enough a mess during the battle that it'd
been all hands on deck. Pickler actually seemed to be enjoying a talk
with Brandon Talbot, to my surprise, though what little I overheard told
me why. Marchford had been his home long before it was my personal
fiefdom, and it was Pickler I'd once ordered to rebuild the defences
there. The walls had been pulled down after the Conquest, but I'd had no
intention of leaving my holdings so vulnerable.

Hakram and Ishaq were quietly talking on the other side of the fire,
which I considered to be a situation well in hand. The Barrow Sword saw
Adjutant as a peer of sorts, and that meant Hakram could work him I ways
I could not. I wanted him disposed to pitching in for the peace in
Levant after the war, so preparing him for it early was important.

The last to visit were the kids, well after the others, and though I'd
expected Sapan to stick to Masego's side as a barnacle the way she
usually I instead found that she and Arthur Foundling wanted to hear
from me. Like the lordlings my captivity was of interest to them, but
more than that they were rather excited by the way High Lord Sargon had
been forced to release me even as I lay in his power.

``Look,'' I said, ``there's nothing wrong with a good sword. Stabbing
the right people can get a \emph{lot} done, don't ever let anyone tell
you otherwise, but if you want a win that lasts longer than a season
you've got to use other levers. The stuff that actually makes the world
go round.''

``Was it not your use of the Night that forced him to surrender?'' Sapan
skeptically asked.

``I could have stolen his treasury with Night and it wouldn't have done
a thing,'' I shrugged. ``The man who taught me, he was a stark believer
in the victory of cleverness over power. I'm not as much of a purist --
Gods know I use artefacts much more than he'd be comfortable with -- but
he was right that power doesn't mean much unless you know how and where
to apply it.''

``Because it was politics that forced the High Lord to bend,'' Arthur
Foundling frowned. ``Not power.''

I nodded.

``Night let me take his library, clean out his vaults,'' I said. ``But I
knew what to take because I knew what was important to him. The power
wouldn't have meant much without the second part.''

``The Carrion Lord taught you this?'' Sapan asked, a little hurriedly.

As if she'd been going through with it before she could think better, I
decided with a grain of amusement.

``He did,'' I replied. ``I'd say it's a shame he's mostly remembered for
the number of Named he's killed, but that would be ignoring the fact he
probably cultivated that reputation very much on purpose.''

``He conquered Callow, ma'am,'' Arthur quietly said. ``They say it was
the governors that did most the ugly deeds, afterwards, but he's the one
who handed it all to the Empire.''

``He's a monster,'' I calmly agreed. ``But he's also one of the
cleverest men I've ever met, and ironically enough perhaps the best
chance we have for peace between Callow and Praes in the coming
decades.''

It was why I meant to see him climb the Tower, even now. I could trust
my father with the Dread Empire, to curb its worst instincts and tangle
it so deeply into the bonds of peace with Callow that it would not be
able to free itself of them without breaking. Neither Malicia nor
Sepulchral were acceptable alternatives. The trouble was that I was not
so sure the man in question wanted to claim the Tower. Maybe at the
Salian Peace he had, but it'd been over a year since. And the way he'd
left\ldots{}

The conversation strayed to lighter subjects after that and eventually
we sent the kids to bed. That left only us, as it was meant to be, and a
second round of bottles was opened. I clenched, suddenly, when I felt
Robber's absence like a gut punch. How many ghosts were out there, just
beyond the light of our fire? Nauk. Ratface. Hune. I pulled at aragh to
chase the thought away and had succeeded in claiming a pleasant degree
of inebriation when I caught sight of one of the phalanges approaching
Hakram to whisper in his ear. Seeing he had my attention, he gestured
for us to move away from the fire and dragged in Vivienne as well. Once
we were slightly away from the others, he wasted no time.

``Word from Scribe and the Jacks,'' Adjutant said. ``Armies are moving
towards us.''

My eyes narrowed. He wouldn't be meaning the forces under Marshal Nim,
which had already been headed our way for some time.

``Sepulchral?'' Vivienne asked.

He nodded.

``But more,'' Hakram said. ``The deserters as well. They've decamped
from the Green Stretched and they're in close pursuit behind the
loyalists and the rebels.''

Well, it looked like I was overdue a talk with General Sacker. Half the
point of becoming her patron was being warned of things like this in
advance. I breathed out, trying to parse it out in my mind's eye. The
armies of the empresses would reach us weeks before the deserters were
in sight, if not months, but they wouldn't have begun to march without a
reason. They wanted a piece of this too, in some way or another.

``Northeast of Askum, northwest of Ater,'' I finally said. ``That looks
to be our battlefield.''

Deep in the Wasteland, which was bloody campaigning grounds for all
involved. I wasn't looking forward to that.

``Agreed,'' Adjutant said. ``And it means I can no longer delay my
departure. Come morning, we must speak with the envoys and I will leave
with them come noon.''

I grimaced. I wanted to refuse. I'd just come back and already he was
leaving, but I knew it was not a sensible answer. There could be no
replacement for Hakram, no one who would mean what he did to his people
or who would know my mind as well.

``Tomorrow,'' I reluctantly agreed.

He must have caught my displeasure, for he squeezed my arm comfortingly
with his skeletal hand.

``We still have tonight,'' Hakram said. ``Let's not spoil it yet.''

I silently nodded, and after a moment he moved away. Vivienne lingered.
I looked up at the night sky, the stars spread out as far as the eye
could see and the moon glaring down as a pale eye. At least these days I
did not feel irrational hatred at the sight of it.

``Beautiful night,'' Vivienne quietly said, looking up as well. ``Moon's
almost full.''

``It is,'' I murmured. ``It'll turn soon.''

Tonight or tomorrow, but no later.

---

Well past Midnight Bell we began winding down, the drink and heavy meal
taking their toll.

Usually we would have slept there, and some of us \emph{had} fallen
asleep, but we were outside the camp and in enemy territory still. Wards
or not, it would be a risk. So instead everyone was roused and we began
making our way back to the palisades, Hakram carrying a half-asleep
Vivienne on his back to Indrani's vocal amusement. I hung back with
Masego to make sure nothing had been left behind, and after he took down
the wards I torched the entire hilltop with blackflame. We were mere
miles away from Wolof, the beating heart of sorcery in Praes, so I
wasn't going to be taking risks. I was mostly sober by now, having
tapered off drinking near the end, so I did not feel vulnerable enough
to rush back. I'd intended to walk back with Zeze after he took his last
look, but when he did I found that someone else had stayed behind. Atop
the burned hill, a golden-eyed shade was standing among the ash. My
heart clenched.

Tonight, then. I'd almost hoped it would be tomorrow.

``You go on ahead,'' I told Masego.

He frowned at me.

``Are your certain?'' he asked.

He could see her as well, of course. But it wasn't Masego's way to
meddle in what he saw as the personal affairs of his friends. I breathed
out.

``I am,'' I told him.

And he did not ask again. Hesitantly he brushed a hand against my arm
and I smiled at him. Nodding and wishing me a good night, he began
trodding back to camp. I murmured it back then turned to the hilltop. I
limped my way back up through the ash, falling in at Akua's side as if
it were the most natural thing in the world. The two of us stood there
for a moment, looking up at the night sky. She was the one to break the
silence.

``There is a place I would like to show you,'' she said. ``Not far from
here.''

``Cityside or waterside?'' I asked.

``Closer to Sinka,'' she said, and her eyes asked the question again.

I nodded. It had, I thought, the weight of the inevitable to it. We made
our way through the darkness, sure-footed on small and winding paths. It
was beautiful, out here. The sight of the orchards touched by moonlight,
dappling the ground, the lights of Wolof in the distance as we went
downhill towards the Wasaliti. There was little wind but the night was
cool, and the thin breeze was enough to lazily stir leaves. We'd not
broken the silence as we moved, her leading and I following, but as we
crossed a cove of palm trees she began to talk.

``I did not find it myself,'' Akua said. ``It was shown to me, when I
was a girl of thirteen.''

``Who by?'' I asked.

She laughed, the amusement lighting up golden eyes as I caught a flash
of pearly teeth.

``Some boy who thought he might become my consort,'' she said. ``Alas,
his hopes were greater than his charms.''

``And I bet you were just the sweetest girl,'' I drily replied.

``I was not so terrible, back then,'' she smiled. ``Not so artless as to
be taken in, yet hardly the sharpest of irons.''

She would have spoken the last part of that sentence with a touch of
reverence, once. No longer. It was, if anything, disdain. But then Akua
Sahelian was, in her own way, one of the finest liars I had ever seen.
She had made a game out of charming my inner circle, and largely
succeeded even when some of them had spent \emph{years} despising her.
As Aisha had once warned me, that was the famous peril of the Sahelians:
they were so charming and so useful that even the cleverest let them in.
And then they turned on you. So how much of it was Akua's truly held
beliefs and how much of it the face she wore when around us? There was,
in the end, only one way to tell.

The crucible. Trial by fire.

``I barely remember what I was like at thirteen,'' I admitted. ``Feels
like a world away.''

``Much like you were at seventeen, I imagine,'' Akua mused. ``Swagger
covering vigilance, looking every gift horse in the mouth twice. And, in
your own way, dangerously insightful.''

I coughed to hide my embarrassment. That was the closest she'd come to
giving me a genuine compliment -- one not wrapped in anything else,
honest praise -- perhaps since we had first met.

``And terribly easy to embarrass, of course,'' she teased.

``I wouldn't have been that easy to fluster,'' I snorted. ``For one,
unlike you \emph{I} was the one taking the boys to dark corners.''

Girls, too, but not as many. I'd tended towards boys when I'd been
younger.

``And yet I'm told the redheaded mage you took as a lover had to be the
one to seduce you,'' Akua said.

I'd noticed that she usually avoided using Killian's name. Or talking
about her at all, really. Not that it was hard, considering most of my
closest friends tended to avoid the subject. Even Juniper, who was not
known for shyness or tact, had not hazarded to venture an opinion on
that whole debacle.

``It's different when it's someone under your authority,'' I replied.
``I thought there was something there, but I didn't want to\ldots{}''

``Overstep?'' Akua suggested.

I hummed, not disagreeing. In a way. From the moment I'd held command of
the Fifteenth I had been both a villain and the apprentice of the Black
Knight, both positions that in many ways made me untouchable. It would
have been the easiest thing in the world to abuse my position if I cared
to, and arguably I had. I'd been very much against Legion regulations to
sleep with my own Senior Mage, for one, but rules applied to Named in
Praes more or less only when people higher up the ladder said they did.
And in my case, Black had been more supportive than anything.

``I'm also not great at taking hints sometimes,'' I admitted.

``Truly?'' Akua said, tone drier than a desert.

I rolled my eye at her. We swerved to the north well before reaching the
shore, to my surprise, still we into the cultivate parts of Wolof's
surroundings. The side of the hill where she led me, though, was
cracked. Old scorch marks still blackened the stone, from some ancient
battle, and she guided me through the broken grounds until we reached a
tall flat stone covered with moss. Akua passed a hand against it
affectionately.

``You'll have to help me move it,'' she said.

Interest piqued, I put my back into it and we toppled the stone to the
side. It revealed a narrow, uneven passage going deeper into the hill.
Akua glanced up at the sky, as if checking on the height of the moon,
and nodded.

``Now is the best time,'' she said. ``Come.''

It was uncomfortable squeezing through the passage and the stone tore at
my clothes some, but aside from the burn of my bad leg there was little
to hinder me. To my relief the passage led to some sort of broader room,
pitch dark -- not that the darkness was trouble for me, blessed by the
Sisters as I was. Here I could stand to my full height, and Akua almost,
but it was still small. She showed a low fold in the stone to our left,
though, and after crawling for a foot or so I followed her into a small
cavern. I stopped almost immediately after rising, stunned.

It was not a large cavern, perhaps twenty feet wide, and most of the
ground was covered by water. The sides had been scarred by spells, like
the outside, but here the heat of the spell used has turned entire
swaths of stone into something like smooth glass. And what brought it
all together was the long opening in the ceiling that looked up straight
at the night sky: the moon and stars were reflected perfectly on the
water and the walls, as if we had crawled through the earth only to
somehow stumble onto a slice of firmament. Akua leaned against wall,
water lapping at the stone not far from her feet, and offered me a
gentle smile.

She did not say anything, or need to.

I came to stand at her side, enjoying the coolness of the stone. There
was no warmth from her, either, though we were almost close enough to
touch. She was yet a shade, and a shadow had no warmth to share. We
stood there for a long moment, silent and unmoving, as the stars and
moon ghosted on stone and water. Eventually I felt her moving closer to
me, and said nothing. My stomach tightened.

``Until tonight,'' Akua quietly said, ``I was the only person in all of
Creation to know of this place.''

I did not ask what had happened to the boy. It was Praes. I knew well
what had happened to the boy who had once wanted to be consort to a
Sahelian. And I knew, too, what it meant that she had brought me here.
Shared a wonder and a secret with me, asking for nothing. But, perhaps,
hoping. We had toed the line closer and closer, as the years passed, but
the line had always been there. Tonight she had not even touched me, and
still somehow it felt as if it had been crossed. I turned enough to look
at her but not to invite more. She'd always been gorgeous. I'd thought
as much from the first time I'd glimpsed her in that tent.

Often, though, she made a spectacle of it. Magnificent dresses and
jewelry, seductive smiles and teasing words. Right now, though, I found
not a trace of it on her face. I could barely even make out what she
wore, save that it was a dress, and there was nothing seductive about
the look on her face. It was, I thought, longing and perhaps something
like hunger. There was nothing veiled about it, and the nakedness of
that realization had my stomach clench with desire and something else. I
did not move, either closer or further away. A moment passed, heavy, and
my arm tensed as she slowly began to lean closer -- eyes on mine,
asking. And I answered the question by turning away, looking down at
that field of stars she had stared with me. I did not see her
expression. Did not let myself see it, else I hesitate.

I must carry it out to the end, even if it stung. Especially if it
stung.

``Even now?'' Akua quietly asked, voice ailing.

``Even now,'' I got out.

``I had thought it would be different,'' she whispered. ``There
is\ldots{} I chose you over my \emph{family}, Catherine. My home.
Everything I've loved since I was a girl, save for my father -- and even
his death I set aside, refusing vengeance on your own for it.''

``I know,'' I said, wretchedly.

But her folly had been the death of Liesse. One hundred thousand lives,
every single one of them in my care. \emph{My care}. Even if the Gods
Above and Below had demanded of me forgiveness of Akua's folly, it would
have been the same answer. I was who I was, and in the end that was a
creature of long prices.

``It's not something you can win,'' I murmured. ``That's not how this
works.''

Because that was the last thing that needed to be stripped away from her
so she could truly enter the crucible: the thought that if she was kind,
if she was good, if she fought for the cause the two of us might have a
future together. It tasted like ash in my mouth to rip that out of the
unspoken between us, but it must be done. The silence stretched out.

``There is no \emph{end} to it, is there?'' Akua finally said. ``The
shadow cast by that day. No sun that will chase it out.''

I smiled mirthlessly.

``We all live in it still,'' I replied.

And always would. I still avoided looking at her, oddly ashamed, and so
it was in utter surprise that I felt soft, cool lips press against the
corner of my mouth.

``So we do,'' she said, moving away.

Her golden eyes shone. Could a shade cry? I did not know.

``I would like you to leave, please,'' Akua Sahelian said.

I didn't argue. All I could wonder was if this was the way Hanno had
felt, back in the day, when he flipped his coin and it spun in the air.
Before it had landed.

---

By morning she had not come back, as I had known she would not.