webcrawl/APGTE/Book-7/tex/Ch-027.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-20-malicias-plan}{%
\section{Chapter 20: Malicia's Plan}\label{chapter-20-malicias-plan}}

The Battle of Kala began with three streaks of red light crisscrossing a
dark sky.

Its prelude had taken place while most the Thirteenth still slept, hard
men with sharp swords going into tents to end the lives of the soldiers
the general staff believed would fight against rebellion. The purge was
quick and bloody, followed by men being hastily roused, and the
Thirteenth Legion began to move moments after a mage line sent up the
lights that would inform the Army of Callow of our success. The legion
left behind a significant chunk of its supplies and all of its siege
engines: I'd heartily agreed with General Holt when he'd stated that the
Thirteenth tried to leave with everything it would just get caught by
the rest of the Loyalist Legions and rout. Treachery rarely made for
strong morale, much less treachery interrupted halfway through.

The legion was not in a good position to turn on the others, no doubt a
precaution of the Black Knight's. The valley between Moule and Kala
Hills had sprouted fortifications in three sets. First the Rebel
Legions', in an angled half-circle whose curve faced the east with its
back anchored to Moule Hills. Then the mirroring sets of the Loyalist
Legions and the Army of Callow, first running parallel from Kala Hills
to the east until they reached the curve of the rebel trenches and then,
still in a rough mirror, curving around the half-circle. The Thirteenth
Legion, while assigned to the front, had not been posted facing us.
Instead it was to hold the curve of the loyalist trenches, facing the
fortifications of the Rebel Legions. That made leaving a more
complicated task than we would have liked.

It might be possible to cross the trench the Thirteenth guarded and then
march down the no-man's-land down to my army's positions to the south,
but that would be\ldots{} risky. The Rebel Legions might think they were
being attacked and start shooting. Considering two thirds of the
triumvirate of generals that'd run that army had just gotten killed and
the surviving third was discredited, I was inclined to think they were
nervous enough to start shooting without thinking if they caught sight
of movement. That left only the option of getting out the hard way:
through the camp of the Eighth Legion, which held the western half of
trenches facing my army's own. The three streaks of red light were meant
to help with that chancy business and help they did.

Within moments, torches lit up the night as the Army of Callow began an
assault on the Eighth Legion's position from the front.

General Jeremiah had offered both Vivienne and I horses, but while she
rode with the old man and his general staff I held back. There would be
retaliation when someone on the other side realized what was happening
and I needed to be ready for it. I kept to the side of the army, its
soldiers giving me a wide berth, and rode slowly as I kept an eye on the
distant camp in Kala Hills. The camp of the Fourteenth, holding the
eastern half of the central trenches, lit up with torches first at the
sound of the fighting. The camp in the distance was not far behind,
though, and maybe a quarter-hour later the rebel positions were alight
as well. I shaped an eye out of Night and tossed it up above, keeping an
eye on the battlefield as armies began to move.

Surprise was working to our advantage. The loyalist sappers had built
their walls cleverly, keeping much of the half-road behind them, but
that'd been turned to our advantage. The Thirteenth moved briskly down
the road and smashed into the side of the Eighth's camp by surprise even
as the legion was mustering to face an assault from the wrong direction.
The rebels were staying out of it for now, probably wary of dipping a
toe in this without having a better read on the situation, and I chewed
on my lip as I loosely kept pace with the Thirteenth. I'd started
trailing behind, wary of the hammer blow I'd expected but wasn't coming.
My little eye in the sky was beginning to glimpse the shape of a rout,
meanwhile.

The Eighth had been taken by surprise, out of position and attacked from
two sides. Goblin munitions deployed to hold the trenches had stopped
cold the advance of the Army of Callow but General Wheeler couldn't
afford to pull away those men else General Zola would resume the
charges. When the Thirteenth ran into the first few companies thrown
hastily in its way it had slowed, but it had now smashed its way through
them and the Eighth's positions were collapsing. Too many of its
legionaries were only half-dressed, and some enterprising souls from the
Thirteenth had set fire to parts of the camp. Gods, at this rate we
might actually destroy the Eighth as a fighting force. That'd be quite
the coup, if one we'd not dared to hope for.

With one legion gone and one switching sides, the Black Knight would be
--

``Ah,'' I grimly smiled as power bloomed in the heights to the north,
``\emph{there} you are.''

Night swirled around me in thick currents, terrifying my borrowed horse
into trying to buck me off until I stole away a sliver to force calm
into his simple mind. I wasn't seeing magic accreting anywhere yet, but
it was only a matter of time until the enemy mages- my thought was
interrupted by a subtle wave of power shivering across the Thirteenth.
Instant. It'd been quick enough I'd not been able to do a fucking thing.
And now legionaries were dropping to the ground, one after another. Like
puppets with cut strings, just\ldots{} falling to the ground.
\emph{Weeping Heavens}, I thought. What was this? The sorcery seemed to
strike as if by random: it dropped ten soldiers in one company,
thirty-three in another and then none in a third. Heart in my throat, I
rode to a fallen soldier and unhorsed.

The rest of his tenth spread to make room for me, faces full of fear,
and I swallowed a wince as I knelt in the dust by the dead man. Except,
I realized a heartbeat after I undid the straps of the legionary's help,
this was neither a man nor a corpse. The dark-skinned woman under the
steel was still breathing, if faintly, though she looked sick and she
was shivering with fever. I laid fingers on the side of her neck and
found the skin slightly shrivelled but the pulse steady. I heard the
soldiers around me began to salute and turned to cast a look at the
approaching mounted silhouette of the fair-haired Kachera Tribune of the
Thirteenth, Sally Thoms. She saluted me, after a beat of hesitation.

``Your Majesty,'' she said, stumbling over the unfamiliar address. ``The
general sends me to ask if you have any insight on this curse. It is
crippling our offensive.''

I looked away, my lone eye turning to the shallowly breathing woman I
was still laying a hand on. Something about this was niggling away at
me. The suddenness of the effect, unlike any war magic I'd ever seen,
and the shrivelled skin. There was something familiar about this,
somehow, but where would I have\ldots{} Suddenly I breathed in.

``Tribune,'' I said. ``The rations your legionaries have been eating,
where have they been coming from?''

She looked surprise.

``You think us poisoned?'' she asked.

My look grew impatient and she swallowed.

``Part is from our own stocks, ma'am, but half has been coming from the
supply depot in the main camp,'' the Kachera Tribune said.

And there it was, good as confirmation. General Jeremiah had said that
the Black Knight had not believed we'd approached him, but evidently
she'd taken precautions anyways. And not just her, because I \emph{had}
seen this magic before. Just never used like this, and I moved my gaze
back to the downed legionary so that the officer would not see triumph
in my eye and misunderstand. I let it linger though, the taste of
victory. Allowed myself to enjoy it. Because the last time Akua Sahelian
had used that ritual, she'd left a few thousand Spears of Stygia dead
and shrivelled husks before using the power to open a Lesser Breach.
Now, instead, she had chosen to spare lives. To incapacitate instead of
kill, even when the incentives were \emph{many} to do otherwise.

All these corpses could be undead, right now, with the power she would
have gotten back. Or she could be hammering away at the Thirteenth with
a spell powerful enough that even I would struggle to protect the legion
from it. Instead she has stayed her hand. Proved she was not the same
woman she had been at First Liesse, even in the face of greater gains
than those for the taking back then.

``I've seen this magic before,'' I said. ``It won't kill them or
continue to drain them. Light or healing sorcery should be able to fix
most of the damage.''

I followed her back to the general staff, after, though I sent up
another Night eye to gauge the situation. Our overwhelming advantage had
turned to ash in our hands in a matter of moments. At a guess I'd say
that maybe a quarter of the Thirteenth had dropped under the ritual,
punching holes everywhere in its formations and causing widespread
chaos. The Eighth was using the time to consolidate its position and I
could already see the Fourteenth moving towards the melee to reinforce.
Considering the Army of Callow's attempts to breach the trench were
still a bloody stalemate -- Zola had gotten men to the palisades, but
Wheeler had gotten his mage lines in position and was torching
everything in sight -- this now had the potential to go very badly for
us.

I still had Night at my fingertips but I was hesitant to use it. It'd
leave us exposed to a counterstroke from enemy mage cadres and I could
solve one of our two problems at most. Either I'd slow the Fourteenth or
blast our path south open, but I couldn't do \emph{both}. Now quickly
enough, anyway. I was still weighing the risks when I got to General
Jeremiah and found that the choice had been made for me.

``Princess Vivienne is leading my cavalry in a delaying action against
the Fourteenth,'' the old man said. ``I if I might-''

I raised a hand to interrupt him, looking through my eye in the sky
again. There she was, leading six hundred heavy cavalry against the
Fourteenth's vanguard. The enemy looked to have been sloppy with
composition, they'd gone heavy on crossbowmen and too light on regulars,
but she was still outnumbered more than three to one. I held back my
wince. I'd have to trust her, then, and do my own part. The Night eye
turned to the positions in our way south. The trench and palisade were
facing the wrong way to stop us, but General Wheeler was the veteran
commander of a sapper-heavy legion: already there were stakes and
mantlets put up in our way. Mage lines were waiting behind lines of
regulars, the enemy general's intent plain enough to read. Now that the
battle was turning in his favour, Wheeler wanted to keep us contained
here until reinforcements arrived and we could be surrounded. Time for a
reminder of who he was dealing with, perhaps.

``I have come a long way, through winding paths,'' I spoke in
Crepuscular, voice rising in prayer. ``Yet behold this barren realm,
this crown of ruin!''

The Night roiled around, like a wind made of darkness, and I felt talons
biting into my shoulders. I felt Komena smile against the side of my
neck, pleased at the destruction to come.

``Let me match horror with horror, might with might, and know no master
in this.''

My limbs were trembling and the general staff had all backed away,
looking at me in a mix of terror and fascination.

``So let the sun weep and the Crows have their due,'' I smiled, ``for in
the end all will be Night.''

I'd only used this working once before, in Hainaut, and as the sky lit
up with black fire I was reminded as to why. My vision swam, but I
forced myself to finish it: I raised my hand, snapping my fingers, and
the Hells were unleashed. A young black sun exploded, streaks of flame
tearing through ground and men and shielding spells as screams filled
the air. Black flame began to fall in a heavy rain, leaving only a
horror of the dead and dying where once the Eighth had stood in our way.

``Your Majesty,'' General Jeremiah carefully said, ``are you-``

I spat to the side, wiping my mouth. It tasted like vomit, though I'd
not thrown up, and this wasn't even done. I raised my staff, the old
general instantly going silent, and after pointing it at the horror
swept it through. As it passed the black flames guttered out, leaving
behind only great trails of smoke. I spat to the side again, leaning
back tiredly in my saddle. Gods, my bad leg burned.

``Get your legion moving, Jeremiah Holt,'' I rasped out. ``I don't have
another one of those in me, not for a few hours.''

It was another hour before we made it to safety, a full quarter of the
Thirteenth Legion left behind either as corpses or prisoners, but we
made it. I waited at the edge until our Princess made it back
victorious, a makeshift banner for her knightly order flying high as
thousands of throats cheered themselves hoarse.

Now the real battle could start.

---

By midmorning the lines in the sand were drawn.

The wounded had been seen to, the dead burned. I did not bother to send
envoys to the Rebel Legions after I saw four crucified bodies hoisted
atop their palisade: the same four Jacks who'd supposedly assassinated
General Mok and Jaiyana Seket. I didn't know who was in command, Sacker
or one of Malicia's plants, but whoever it was they were hostile. Yet
the rebels had not returned to the loyalist fold, if the way both armies
kept the trenches facing each other manned was any indication. It'd be a
battle with four sides to it, not three. Our attempts to reach out to
Sepulchral came to nothing: the Rebel Legions were running patrols and
west of Moule Hills and shooting at our people on sight. I sent a pair
of riders to take the long way around, but it'd be hours before they
were anywhere near the Aksum camp and hours more before they could
return to us with anything useful. No, when it came to Sepulchral's
intentions we were still running blind. That had me somewhat uneasy.

``We've gamed out the engagements with all possible stances on her
part,'' Juniper told me, unmoved. ``Whether she stays holed up or goes
on the offensive, she'll tie down largely the same number of loyalist
troops anyway.''

That sounded almost absurd, considering that with the defection of the
Thirteenth in fact Dread Empress Sepulchral now commanded the largest of
the four armies in Kala -- around twenty thousand, even with the losses
of her vanguard -- but Juniper wasn't blowing hot air. The camp in the
hills she'd taken for her own had easy slopes down mostly facing the
north and east, approaches where Marshal Nim had built forts in a
since-broken attempt to encircle the camp. We expected a single legion
to be assigned to defending those forts, the Eleventh, with the reserve
being kept close just in case. Sepulchral led a traditional Praesi noble
army, which meant they were pretty shit at taking fortifications if
magic couldn't level the walls.

Good luck with that when Akua Sahelian was running the mages for the
other side.

The Loyalist Legions certainly weren't going to \emph{win} that fight,
but the Black Knight honestly shouldn't be wrong in believing a single
legion should be able to keep Sepulchral contained long enough for the
fighting in the south to be settled. If no one else intervened, anyway.
I sighed.

``Malicia will have something afoot in that camp,'' I said.

``Let the Tower have its tricks,'' the Hellhound said, ``so long as we
have the field.''

There was little more left to do save hope it would end up as she'd
said. We'd already tossed the dice, it was too late to have qualms. The
legions and our army spent the time preparing for the fight all could
smell in the air, but there was an odd sense of restraint. Like no one
wanted to be the first to swing a sword and get the butcher's ball
rolling. In the end, it was us who fired the first shot: Archer shot a
legate from the Fourteenth who'd made the mistake of wandering too close
to her range and with the woman's death rattle hostilities began. I
wasn't actually fighting, to my mounting frustration. Masego and I were
on the rampart of a fort, overlooking the battlefield and awaiting enemy
magic. We were meant to be defensive assets for now, not go on the
offensive, and though I knew the sense in it the sight below had my
nails biting into wood.

It was a bloody slaughter.

First came the siege engines. The scorpions and ballistae of the enemy
began pounding at our palisade, knocking down chunks where my mages did
not reinforce quickly enough, and our own engines replied in kind. A
heartbeat later the rebels entered the fray, and to my relief they'd
picked a side: their own. They were firing at both the Army of Callow
and the Loyalist Legions. Already I could see what Juniper had told me
about, the `box'. It was a corner, the square-shaped area where our
fortifications were facing the loyalists to the north and the rebel to
the west. The weak point of our defensive setup. Bombardment from both
sides was already taking its toll, the sheer number of engines that
facing two different sets of legions signified having an immediate
impact.

Marshal Nim theoretically had the same weakness in her setup facing our
own weak spot, but in practice she was better off: the Army of Callow
had fewer siege machines spread out over a set of fortifications just as
long.

``Are we simply going to fire at each other with machines all day?''
Masego asked me, sounding pleased. ``That sounds rather civilized.''

``No,'' I sighed. ``Now comes the bloody part, Zeze.''

Rising from their cover in the trenches, legionaries climbed over the
solid grounds and began charging at the enemy fortifications. They came
for us and we for them. Across the great line splitting the valley,
across the half-circle and its mirrors, men and women in legionary
armour raised their shields and charged. From atop palisades mage lines
began firing volleys of fireballs, crossbow companies filled the air
with bolts. Down in the no-man's-land, screams and death bloomed. It was
the kind of messy, ugly butchery that only came from well-trained forces
hammering at each other. Legionaries tried to form testudo formations to
take the edge off sorcery and arrows, but on all sides the same model of
scorpions were turned on those attempts.

Those deadly bolts punched through shield and mail alike.

``They are not winning,'' Masego said.

I turned and found him frowning. Puzzled, and perhaps a little appalled.

``No one is winning,'' he continued, frown deepening.

\emph{That's war}, I almost said.

``First we bleed,'' I said, ``and then Juniper's plans begin.''

The priests were giving us an edge, I saw as the hours passed. The body
count kept mounting and the men grew tired, but the fighting continued.
Twice rituals were attempted against us, but both times we shut them
down. Light healing did not need time and carefulness the way mage
healing did, which meant it could actually be done on the frontlines:
this was a meat grinder for everyone, but unlike our enemies we could
keep some of our men in the fight. We didn't have the numbers to fight a
war of attrition against two sets of legions, though, which was why
Juniper had made plans otherwise. So far everything had come down along
fairly predictable lines, which meant now generalship would begin to
matter.

Which turned out to be a problem, because against our predictions the
Black Knight was moving the Seventh south to reinforce her battle line.
Juniper and I had been sure the Black Knight's own legion would be kept
in reserve for hours yet, held back as a precaution in case Sepulchral
ended up giving the Eleventh trouble. Four thousand fresh troops would
be enough to breathe vigour into an attack on our defences, I thought,
and already the melee between the trenches rested on a knife's edge.

``Fuck,'' I muttered, looking at the Seventh's dust trail rising high.
``What do you know we don't, Black Knight?''

Leaving my post, I headed out to speak to Juniper and found she had an
answer for me. Not out of any prodigious insight, but because the two
envoys we'd sent this morning had turned back early and brought back
news.

``There's fighting in Sepulchral's camp,'' Juniper growled.

``I'm guessing you don't mean the Eleventh is attacking it,'' I said.

She glared at me. Fair enough. Whatever Malicia's scheme had been in
there, evidently it had crippled them as an army. It made sense that the
Black Knight felt comfortable sending her reserve into battle if
Sepulchral's twenty thousand were basically out of the fight. That was
something of a problem.

``We need to get that army moving,'' I grimaced.

``Good of you to volunteer,'' the Hellhound replied.

``Not even queenship gets me out of the shit jobs,'' I sighed. ``Should
have aimed for empress.''

Juniper snorted and gave me the Order of Broken Bells to lead. My
knights weren't going to be charging trenches anytime soon, and the
enemy's remaining horse was also still at large. I wasted no time,
saddling up and riding at speed full south. Going all the way around
Moule Hills to get to Sepulchral's camp would take hours, even riding
horses, but there was no alternative. We passed by the silhouettes of
the Rebel Legion camp in the hills, deep behind their valley
fortifications, and I noted it did not look heavily defended. Sacker or
whoever had usurped her command were putting their back into the valley
battle. I could see the sense in it, even if it was Sacker that'd given
the order.

The rebels didn't want to win the battle, they wanted everyone weakened
to their bargaining position improved. Either Marshal Nim or myself
winning would be an actual problem for them, they were sure to kneecap
whoever pulled ahead.

We kept riding hard to the north, eventually finding the same path that
Sepulchral's main host had taken to link up with its vanguard in the
heights. There were wagons at the bottom of the slope and tents too, the
camp having proved too small for the whole army of the rebelling High
Lady of Aksum. We got closer and immediately I winced: not only was
there no picket to see us coming but what looked like supply wagons were
actually being left unguarded. There were some soldiers at the bottom of
the slope, maybe a few hundred, but they were disorganized and didn't
actually notice us coming until we were in charging distance. Levies, I
thought. Rubies to piglets those poor bastards were levies wanting to be
left out of the mess in the heights.

Our arrival unsettled them but the shield wall they tried to make to
discourage a change was visibly shaky. I hadn't come here for a fight,
though, so instead I whistled for an escort of knights to follow me and
pulled ahead. It took a bit for them to realize I wanted to talk and
then choose someone who would, but eventually a pair of middle-aged
Soninke shuffled forward warily.

``I'm not here to kill you,'' I bluntly said. ``I'm here to speak with
Empress-Claimant Sepulchral.''

A harsh laugh from one of the two.

``A little late for that,'' he said. ``The old witch's finally dead.''

It was easy to get them talking after some prodding. Apparently Abreha
Mirembe had died overnight. Some had claimed it was old age that'd done
her in, but both her designated heir Isoba Mirembe and his cousin Sanaa
Mirembe claimed it to be assassination. They promptly accused each other
of the deed, which had seen violence ensue. Sanaa Mirembe, sister of the
same Fasili Mirembe who'd served Akua and died at the Doom, had proved
to have many supporters among the Aksum men. Isoba, however, was engaged
to the daughter of the High Lord of Nok: those troops had largely sided
with him. Fighting had been breaking out all day with short breaks to
negotiate, but the breaks were getting shorter and the fighting
bloodier.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Malicia had fucked up that army pretty
good. If I were a betting woman, I'd bet that Sanaa was the Tower's
ringer in that fight but I couldn't be sure. Besides, in Malicia's shoes
I wouldn't actually want Sanaa to win by too much if I wanted her to win
at all. The costlier her victory, the less of a threat she would be
after being called to heel. No, I decided, just having a ringer was too
simple to be a plot of Malicia's. Better odds she had someone under
Isoba as well, fanning the flames so that the factions would keep
bleeding each other instead of coming to an arrangement. Worse, I
couldn't see an easy way out of this. I wasn't sure I had the men to
force Isoba's claim, I thought, and even if I did it'd take too long.

I needed that army to get marching an hour ago.

``Are they fighting right now?'' I finally asked.

``No, they're still in talks,'' one of them said. ``The moment they
leave the tent and the corpse, though, they'll be back at-''

My eye sharpened.

``The corpse is still in there?'' I pressed.

They nodded.

``It's why the truce is observed while in the tent.''

I left them to that, riding away and back to the Order. Talbot came up
to me but I ignored him, closing my eye to think. Would it work?
\emph{Could} it work?

``Your Majesty?'' Brandon Talbot asked.

I opened my eye. It was my best shot.

``Form up,'' I said. ``We're going into the camp.''

I felt the weight of his gaze on me, but he did not question the wisdom
of the decision. He was a reliable sort, Talbot. The way uphill was
difficult, but the loyalist sappers had pretty obviously gentled the
slope. It was usable, just not the kind of thing you ever want to lead a
cavalry charge up through. Or any charge, honestly. We ran into actual
defences the moment we reached the heights, at last. The division in the
camp was pretty blatant, tents and furniture having been used to make
makeshift barricades facing each other while bristling armed soldiers
faced each other. I saw -- and smelled, Gods take pity on my nose --
that horses had been butchered by the hundreds while tied and their
carcasses left to rot in the sun, but along with that horrid mess two
parts of the camp were being avoided.

The first was a pavilion the size of a small castle and enchanted to
look like one, which I assumed to have been Sepulchral's personal
quarters. It was now neutral grounds for negotiation, however long
\emph{that} would last. The second was a maze of large cages of black
iron, which only people in scarlet livery every came close to. I could
see misshapen silhouettes within, some of them snapping at the servants
in scarlet and others trying to claw their way out of the cage. Right,
Aksum. The Cauldron of Monsters, once famous for its use of monsters in
battle. At least the squabbling soldiers had been smart enough to stay
clear of that. Neither side moved to block us as we formed up on the
heights, but the repositioned to be prepared for a fight if it came down
to it.

Gods, it better not. We didn't have the room for a charge and they'd
bury us with corpses if they had to. No, I was going to put on the fancy
hat and bargain my way into that tent. The Order was just here
to\ldots{} help temptations stay at bay. It took half an hour for all my
knights to make it up in the camp but I waited it out, only then riding
forward with a small escort. Someone must have warned the squabbling
Mirembe, because both of them came out of the tent with escorts of their
own. I led Zombie towards them, pleased I wouldn't need to posture to
get that talk after all, and sped up. Trumpets sounded, and I almost
laughed at the pageantry -- did I really require that kind of
announcing? -- before I realized they were coming from too far north.

The trumpets continued to sound the alarm.

``ATTACK,'' shouts came in Mthethwa. ``THE LEGIONS ARE HERE!''

Huh, that might actually end up to my- I caught sight of movement from
the corner of my eye, feeling a ripple of magic. A small thing, repeated
many a time. A few hundred cages had opened at once, and as my stomach
dropped I saw a scaled beast the size of a battering ram slink out and
taste the air with a forked tongue. Well, I thought, fuck. Magic rippled
again but I almost laughed. What were they going to do, open the fucking
cages twice? A heartbeat later a hold opened in the middle of the camp,
the sides of it inscribed with runes.

``I really ought to know better by now,'' I admitted.

At least I knew what Akua was going to do with that stolen power from
earlier, I mused as a Lesser Breach screamed open and devils began
pouring out. I sighed, cracking my neck and loosening my shoulder. Time
to get to work, then.

After all, if it were easy what the Hells would they need \emph{me} for?

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