Chapter Seventeen

Compromises in War

The scent of fresh blood was one Tresdin knew well. She'd known it ever since the fall of Old Stonehall twenty-seven years ago, when Vrogros the Underlord of Aziyog had opened a rift to the surface and invaded her home.

Only fifteen at the time, Tresdin had taken up a sword and joined the fight. She had fought her way to the Underlord himself. She had volunteered to serve the Bronze Legion, to fight, though she had been assigned as an errand runner since women did not fight in Stonehall.

But she had fought. She had fought the Underlord himself and dealt him a grave wound, destroying his avatar and forcing the rest of the Abyssal Horde to retreat. Old Stonehall had been lost, but enough people, including Emperor Galanius, had survived to forge new alliances and build New Stonehall. For her part in snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, Galanius had seen fit to eventually make Tresdin the new Commander of the Bronze Legion, the only Stonehall woman to be given a military position in centuries.

She'd led numerous campaigns to restore strength to her nation since then, the scent of fresh blood a constant companion.

Urthic Laste looked up at the source of the scent. 'I see that Sorla Khan is eager to live up to her reputation.'

The freshly flayed skin of a human, a slave most likely, hung from a standard, wavering in the gentle breeze ushered in by the vents above. It was still dripping.

'It's a display.' Tresdin stated. 'She is warning us and her own that if she is crossed by anyone, they will suffer for it.'

It also transpired that the rest of their banners were made from tanned skin—the flayed flesh of the leaders of every settlement they had razed. It was not unheard of for the population of a town to flee as soon as they caught sight of those banners. Not that running often saved them.

The Lord Regent, second only to the Emperor, leaned on his staff—a badge of office as much as it was a crutch. He was actually much older than Galanius, having served the Emperor's grandfather and then his father. He had penned many new parts of the Stonehall Cartularium, including the Death Bounty–something considered infamous and barbaric by Stonehall's softer neighbours.

Urthic was no more disquieted by the sight of the flayed skin and banners than Tresdin was. He had witnessed the destruction of old Stonehall, and had personally overseen the execution of many men and women: criminals, traitors, rebels and dissenters, as well as prisoners both military and political. Only the other day, he had overseen the beginning of a month long incarceration in one of the hanging pillories above the city, the prisoner whipped, stripped and held upside down, subject to the elements and any curious beasts. He had been a member of the Council, and he had criticised Galanius' decision to ally with Shabarra. Thus, he had paid the price. If he survived his ordeal, he might be less inclined to question the Emperor.

Tresdin had brought along other members of the Bronze Legion. Not enough to be considered a threat, but enough to show a sensible degree of caution. Enough to deter the foolish.

Sorla had been posted into a corner by the gates, once a training ground with a dedicated barracks. The former occupants had been sent to man the border forts, in preparation for the inevitable war with the Imperium. Though Galanius and his advisors thought it unlikely, there was always the risk of a pre-emptive strike.

Not all of Sorla Khan's army could fit into the space. The majority were camped outside. Sorla had brought many of her best warriors inside with her, perhaps prepared for some sort of treachery. She did not trust easily.

Tresdin herself had led the Bronze Legion against the Bloodmist Army at Roseleaf. The battle had gone poorly for her, and she had been forced to withdraw. Sorla may have been violent, merciless and interested only in conquest, but her unpredictability made her truly dangerous, and she was more cunning than she seemed to be, or at least she had clever advisors. And she was willing to make at least temporary alliances with outsiders. Lorlin Lasan had proven that before, having been hired to sabotage Tresdin's lodestones during the Battle of Roseleaf.

'Remain calm, Legion Commander,' Urthic ordered. 'I know of your enmity towards Sorla Khan, but in this war, she is our ally. Your vengeance will have to wait.'

'It can wait.' Tresdin agreed. 'Though I think that it's a shame that she could not have butchered Rix, and the rest of the vhoul scum who turned on us.'

'Rix knows the strengths and the weaknesses of the Bronze Legion. That is why he was able to evade Tyber, and you too. But his time will come, sooner or later.'

'Sooner, I would have hoped. Rix personally slew Marcus, and my soldiers still demand vengeance.'

'Right now, Rix is a minor nuisance, and Belasanno will snare him soon enough.' He gave her a sidelong look. 'Surely you will be glad to see Belasanno again.'

Tresdin did not respond. Her attention was now focused on the oglodi guards Sorla had stationed outside the command post, the building she had taken for her own use. They were large, hulking brutes, even by oglodi standards. Tresdin noticed that they watched her and her soldiers keenly, weapons in hand, though not raised to strike.

One of them held up a meaty hand, the other held his weapon across the doorway. 'You will wait here, Stone-dweller. The Khan will see you when she is ready.'

Another display.

Tresdin rested the butt of her glaive against the flagstones. Her soldiers appeared to be at ease, but Tresdin knew that they were ready to fight. They always were.

The smell of cooking meat wafted out of the command post as Sorla Khan stormed out, looking sullen. She was taller than Tresdin, but Tresdin had felled much bigger threats—one of them being the Underlord.

'What do you want?' Sorla demanded. The Khan apparently was not one for niceties or courtesies. 'Have you come for a rematch? I was not the one who fled at Roseleaf. I have nothing to prove.'

Urthic stepped forwards. 'We are not here to settle such arguments. You won the Battle of Roseleaf, that is not in dispute.'

Tresdin smothered her resentment. As much as it displeased her, Urthic was right. There were going to need Sorla Khan and the Bloodmist Army to defeat the Imperium.

'We may not have been allies before,' Tresdin said evenly. 'But now we have a common enemy.'

'We don't want to join your newfound faith.'

Urthic remained hunched, but Tresdin thought he stiffened ever so slightly. She suspected that, like her, he had not fully relinquished the old gods of their nation, the likes of Zeus, Hera or Ares.

'We have a common enemy though.' Tresdin continued. 'We have fought before, and, as Lord Regent Laste said, you proved yourselves against us at the Battle of Roseleaf.' It pained her to say it, but it had to be said. Tresdin was a warrior, and she hated having to be diplomatic. But a warrior like Sorla would be more receptive to her than Urthic, a politician. 'But the Imperium has never acknowledged your prowess, they see you as primitives, not worthy of a true war.'

That had been true of Zal and Shabarra. Whether it held true for Mirana, Tresdin did not care.

Sorla ground her teeth. 'You speak truly. A war with the Imperium would be glorious, but they deign only to drive us back into the wastes, never to honour us with battle.'

'Now they will have no choice.' Urthic said. 'And together, we can crush them once and for all. It will be the greatest conquest the Bloodmist Army has ever known! And your people will be led to victory by you.'

Sorla waved her hand. 'I care not for your flattery, human. Nor do I want to waste time with chatter. My meat will soon be set on the board, and I want to eat it hot.' She growled faintly, or maybe that was her stomach. Tresdin had read somewhere that the Bloodmist Army subsisted almost entirely on meat. Apparently that sometimes included the flesh of fallen foes.

They were a means to an end, Tresdin reminded herself. They were strong warriors. That was what mattered.

'What do you want?' Sorla demanded.

'We wished to discuss the disposition of your forces.'

Sorla rolled her eyes. 'As I have told you before, I have three-hundred thousand warriors here, not including the slaves, children, beasts, chattel or the infirm. Another one-hundred thousand will be here soon.'

The Bloodmist Army was not just an army. It was a culture, a society, which always sought out battle, never settling, always moving. Those who could not fight were expected to help maintain the army however they could. Those who died on the endless march were left where they fell, to feed the carrion beasts that they may pass on their strength to other creatures. Those who could fight fought, whether they wanted to or not. It was a culture in which the strong thrived and the weak suffered.

Sorla Khan had created one of the largest armies in the world, perhaps the largest ever known. All that held it back was the lack of a firm foundation and a lack of technology. If not for the advancements of the keen, they would have wiped out the keenish nations and made slaves of any who survived.

'How soon will your reinforcements be here?' Tresdin asked.

Sorla shrugged. 'Soon. They won't want to miss the war.'

Tresdin doubted they'd get a more solid answer from Sorla. She did not want to give one, and Tresdin expected that they lacked a reliable means of keeping time besides the position of the sun.

She exchanged a glance with Urthic. 'What you have will suffice.'

Sorla's brows rose. 'For what?'

'One of the settlements under our rule is refusing to send us that which we have asked for.' Laste explained. 'That which was promised and we are due.'

Sorla did not seem interested.

'Therefore, an example must be set.'

Sorla looked up, now curious.

'The Emperor has decided that you should have the honour of this duty,' Urthic continued. 'We would ask you to take your warriors to Mistmill, and punish those who would defy us.'

Sorla grunted. 'Are you asking me to put one of your settlements to death?'

'The leaders and those who would resist. Those able to fight but unwilling to take up arms are to be brought back here, so that they may take their place among the helot-soldiers.'

Tresdin had voiced her dislike for this plan. Any phalanx could have done this, and with far less bloodshed. She despised cowards and traitors, but using the Bloodmist Army was excessive.

At the same time, she understood the need. Without an enemy to fight, the Bloodmist Army would grow bored. A disaster in the making. The last thing Galanius needed or wanted was them attacking the city out of sheer boredom. Losing Mistmill was a small price to pay, especially when the horde was more useful than a few extra conscripts.

'And the rest?' Sorla Khan asked, already sounding eager, and no doubt hoping for one particular answer.

Urthic smiled coldly. 'You may do with them whatever you please.'

'Good.' Sorla seized her spear. 'My warriors and I are spoiling for some sport.'

'My soldiers could secure Mistmill with ease.' Tresdin muttered as they strode back towards the palace.

'They could, I have no doubt of that.' Urthic said. Tresdin was walking slowly to allow him to keep up. The man could have requested a palanquin, but he preferred not to. 'But Sorla Khan and her warriors crave battle, and their thirst must be sated now and then.'

'It sets a poor example. It implies that we cannot enforce the law by ourselves.'

'Legion Commander, you of all people should know that alliances demand compromise. The implications will matter little when we have achieved victory.'

That was probably true. The fall of the Helio Imperium, a faction widely regarded across the world as one of the most powerful and prosperous empires of all time, would mark Stonehall's greatest achievement. That the Bloodmist Army had helped in the deed would be little more than a footnote. Tresdin knew what was expected of them, and that they would die in droves, used only to waste the arrows of the Imperial Legions and weaken their lines.

'Perhaps we would be better served sending them to deal with the dragons rampaging on the borders.' Tresdin suggested.

'I have no doubt that they would relish such battles,' Laste said. 'However, it would be a waste, and seeing the horde on the borders would risk drawing out the Imperial forces before we are ready to face them. Let the dragons indulge in their bloodlust, it is of little consequence to us.'

Tresdin knew that he was right. Recently, a number of dragons had started to ravage small settlements and poorer holdings on the outskirts. The Invoker had mentioned something about their "Eldwurms" being "lost", whatever that meant. Nobody seemed to consider it important, and Stonehall was losing little of value in the process, nothing worth sending troops to deal with, especially not now, when they were preparing for war.

Kashurra had not said anything of dragons troubling the Imperium. Stonehall saw its fair share of earth and void dragons, and the Imperium was home mostly to luminous dragons. Of those types, it was the earth dragons which were causing the most trouble.

'Has there been any word from Belasanno or Karhos?' Tresdin asked. Both reported to Laste and Galanius first, and she expected no less from them.

'Belasanno is close to eliminating Rix.' Laste stated. 'No doubt Rix will feel cheated not being able to face you on the battlefield.'

'I care not how slighted he may feel, so long as he pays for his betrayal.'

'He will. Belasanno will not let us down.' Laste said. 'As for Karhos, I have not heard much from him since he reached the ursa Clan Moot. He believed he was making slow but steady progress with the ursa.'

'You'd think they'd be more eager to fight the Imperium after Shabarra declared war upon them.'

'Have a care, Legion Commander. It would not do to anger the God Emperor.'

Tresdin resented the man intensely. Among his many faults, he had the temerity to equate himself with the gods, gods who would be well within their rights to smite the man, were their hands not stayed by the threats of Mene and her sycophants. She took some small comfort in knowing that Mene would not brook such arrogance from him when she returned.

Small comfort. Tresdin still secretly kept faith in the old gods, particularly Ares. Still, with Mene's help, they would finally rid the world of the corrupt and bloated Imperium, a festering corpse which should have been destroyed long ago. Shabarra was ample proof of its wrongs.

'And the weapon?' Tresdin inquired. 'Is it nearly complete?'

'Very nearly,' Urthic smiled cruelly. 'And when it strides onto the battlefield, even the vaunted Helios Sentinels will not be able to stop it, and all resistance shall crumble before our might.'

Tresdin's smile was equally cruel. Of their eventual victory she had little doubt. The Imperium may have fielded strong armies and been possessed of strong defences, but there were some weapons they could barely even dream of, weapons which Stonehall had not only built, but mastered.

And the greatest of all of them would soon be unleashed in the war to come.

Once, Rix had served proudly with the Bronze Legion. He had even tried to turn a blind eye to the injustices Stonehall had visited upon his kind, even as he reminded his superiors time and again that the vhoul were worthy of respect and equal treatment.

They had never listened. His growing resentment had simmered for years, until it had finally boiled over at the Battle of Roseleaf.

There, Tresdin had ordered him to steal the meagre belongings of the locals, fellow vhoul, to better supply the amply provisioned Bronze Legion and Stonehall soldiers. It had not mattered to her that the locals needed to flee, she would rather have seen them pressed into battle, to waste their lives to spare her own forces.

And worst of all, she had once again decided that Rix and his Cerberus Detachment should risk themselves in attempting to slow the enemy. Such an action would have seen them slaughtered to a man. He and his vhoul were brave and strong, but they'd had no hope against the Bloodmist Army.

When Lorlin Lasan had crept into the town to sabotage the lodestones, Rix had not stopped him. He'd sensed an opportunity. No longer would he and his brothers be disposable meat-shields for Stonehall, they would strike out on their own. Rix would take his loyal warriors and they would strike at Stonehall to free their enslaved kin. No longer would they turn blind eyes, no longer would they listen to honeyed lies about serving with honour in Stonehall's military—especially not when Tresdin claimed glory for herself and her own troops, and treated Rix and his vhoul like animals.

In truth, it had not been the sabotage of the lodestones, nor the sheer numbers of the Bloodmist Army which had defeated the Bronze Legion at Roseleaf. It had been Rix's betrayal, him leading the Cerberus Detachment into a mutiny, his actions spurring the vhoul of Roseleaf, and later all of Stonehall's lands, into open rebellion.

And now he and his warriors were here, stuck in some gods-forsaken mangrove swamp. The rebellion had not flourished, rather it had been checked and put down mercilessly.

Rix, knowing that even his strong fighters could not hope to match Stonehall's armies in open battle without help, had retreated here. Here, in this festering mire, the vast armies opposing him would be at a profound disadvantage. Their armour would bog them down, drag them into the smothering muck, and their cavalry would be completely useless. Even the Bronze Legion would have failed here.

But he had not reckoned on them sending Belasanno here. Cunning, crafty Belasanno. Even before he had been tasked with creating the Stonehall Elite, he had been a savvy fighter, coming up with unusual and unorthodox tactics and making them work.

Rix glowered at the swamp, wondering from where Belasanno would strike. He was a dangerous opponent because he was unpredictable. Rix could not even count on him to do the unexpected, because Belasanno was smart enough to know that might be expected.

'He's coming for us, isn't he?' Kosof, Rix's adjutant, murmured.

Rix sniffed at the air, and realised another mistake Belasanno had taken advantage of. The reek of the mangroves made it harder for the vhoul to sniff out incoming threats.

'We only need to hold out long enough for Magnus to reach us. Then that oily satyr and his men will be forced to flee.' Rix bared his fangs. 'No hiding. He knows where we are. Get everyone up and into position. Make a wall of iron and muscle.'

'Aye!' Kosof strode out of the hide, lifted his head and howled.

At his call, numerous vhoul, at least five-hundred, emerged from their hiding places and took up their positions. Spears and shields faced forwards, towards the gaps in the tangled trees. Rix did not expect Belasanno to willingly commit to a frontal assault, but that was the only option Rix had left him with. The vhoul had their backs to the delta, and they had seen no sign of Stonehall triremes. Belasanno could not attack them from the water.

Rix drew his blade and raised his shield. The black three-headed hound of the underworld stared and snarled across the foetid waters from hundreds of shields. Behind them archers nocked their arrows.

All around him, his vhoul sniffed at the air and bared their fangs, growling, stamping their feet. They were eager to meet the foe, to shed their blood across the swamp.

'We should drive them out,' one of the vhoul muttered. 'Dig them out like the wretched ticks they are and crush them.'

'Quiet!' Kosof hissed. 'Listen!'

Rix strained his ears. Something was moving out there. Maybe one or two men, lightly armoured and moving nimbly.

'Archers! If it moves, fill it with shafts!'

Bows creaked as the archers drew back their strings, eyes narrowed. The sun was behind them, they could see perfectly.

The running steps halted. They were close. Rix thought he saw movement right by the edge of the treeline.

As he raised his blade, Belasanno's men played their first trick.

Before the archers could release their arrows, bright light lanced into their eyes. Their arrows flew and hit trees or landed on the ground, well wide of their marks. Belasanno had sent men ahead with polished shields, and they had reflected the sunlight back at the archers.

The trick would not work twice, but it had bought Belasanno enough time to enact the second part of his plan.

Clay jars flew into their midst, trailing burning cloth. Rix knew what they were on sight, something worse than cumbersome lodestones. 'SCATTER!'

The call came too late. The pots shattered amidst their ranks, scattering an oily gel. Almost instantly, the gel came into contact with the flames and caught light. Pillars of blood-red flame exploded into the air, spraying globules of flaming fluid across the delta. Vhoul tumbled to the ground, their fur aflame, screaming and trying to douse the flames in the water. But this was one of Stonehall's most potent weapons: Scourgefire, a combustible substance which burned so hot, it burned even underwater.

At Rix's command, the vhoul were attempting to scatter, but it was less of a tactical move and more of a panicked rout.

And in their attempts to avoid the flames or douse their own burning bodies, they had broken their own shield wall.

Arrows whistled out of the trees, expertly aimed, cutting down more of the Cerberus Detachment. Fire spread amongst the corpses, and the air was already filling with greasy, sickly-sweet smoke. The stench of it made Rix sick.

With Rix's lines in disarray and his vhoul practically falling over each other, Belasanno and his men now finally showed themselves. Men and women clad in light linothoraxes slipped between the trees, forming an advancing shield wall. Between gaps in their ranks came the archers, loosing arrows as they came, slowly, methodically, picking off targets with detached coldness.

At the front of the line, bearing a blade and shield himself, was Belasanno. The lavender-skinned satyr, with his white hair and more ornate steel armour, was easy enough to spot.

'Attack!' Rix bellowed. 'Break through!'

It was a brave move. But it was utterly hopeless now. Belasanno had trapped them, turning what they had thought to be a strong position against them. They were in such disarray that they could hardly attempt to breach Belasanno's line.

Sure enough, those who were not being turned into pincushions by the archers were skewered on spears, or hacked down with blades as they tried to charge. The stinking, stagnant waters were already becoming red with blood and choked by bodies.

Rix roared with fury and ran straight at Belasanno. Belasanno calmly held his ground, held it even as Rix, who was bigger and stronger, and filled with nothing but hate and rage, hurled himself at the satyr.

Belasanno watched him hurtle forwards, and then he simply slipped to one side.

Rix's blade cut through empty air and sliced into the mud, and his shield was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Without preamble or mercy, Belasanno stepped in and rammed his blade up, straight through Rix's neck and out at the base of his skull.

With his spinal cord severed, Rix went completely limp, dropping his weapon and shield. His jaw hung slack and his eyes rolled back, dying just before Belasanno withdrew his blade and let him drop into the muck.

Rix's ambitious rebellion was over, brought to a bloody end here in the wretched swamp.

Belasanno flicked the blood off his sword—a thinner, longer blade than those favoured by most Stonehall soldiers, more like a rapier—and called out to his troops. 'Rix is dead! Fall back!'

His soldiers dutifully heeded his command, not pausing even to finish off fallen enemies. They started to draw back, maintaining their shield wall, not turning their backs. The archers continued to loose arrows. Only when they reached the shadows beyond the treeline did they turn and run, scattering to confuse any pursuers, trios of them, two melee-combatants and an archer, pausing and turning, ready to slay any who chased them before continuing their withdrawal.

Belasanno had no doubt that they could have slaughtered the rest of the now demoralised and leaderless vhoul, but it was not necessary. Rix was dead. The rest of the rebels would either surrender or run, it mattered not. Magnus and his warriors had nobody to treat with, and thus would withdraw back to Mount Joerlak, disappointed and having wasted many days of travel.

At last, Belasanno ordered his forces to hold. They prepared another shield wall, waiting for the enemy to give chase. But as Belasanno had expected, they did not follow. With Rix dead, they were scattering and running.

Belasanno smirked as he sheathed his sword. 'You have shown your skill, soldiers of the Stonehall Elite. Be proud. We have served our Emperor this day.'

Tresdin sniffed as they approached the war chamber. 'What is that? It stinks like a wet dog.'

'Careful, Legion Commander.' Urthic Laste advised. 'We are expecting a guest.'

Tresdin had heard something about that, under strict orders of secrecy. Whoever their guest was, his presence was not to be marked by anybody except those in the highest authority.

She pushed through the doors ahead of Laste, striding confidently into the chamber. As she had expected, Emperor Galanius was there, along with Tyber and the messenger golems used by the Invoker and Kashurra.

Noticeably absent was the ever mercurial Shabarra, and the ever scowling Callardis.

Tresdin bowed as Urthic shuffled into the room, his staff clicking on the stone floor.

'Legion Commander,' Galanius acknowledged her. 'Laste, close the doors.'

Urthic tapped his staff against the floor. The doors swung shut immediately.

'Belasanno and the Stonehall Elite have likely engaged Rix and his rebels by now. They may even have defeated them already.' Tyber stated.

'Good,' Tresdin knew that Belasanno would outsmart Rix. 'Sorla Khan has agreed to attack Mistmill. I hope the bloodshed slakes her thirst until we are ready to march.'

'Mistmill has defied us, and thus they must pay a price.' Galanius said. 'And the warriors of the Bloodmist Army are eager for sport. Both shall be dealt with in one stroke.'

'A bold and cunning move,' a deep voice, with both a thick accent and a gravelly snarl, emerged from the gloom, along with a large, looming figure. Though the new arrival had a hunched gait, he was still huge and powerfully built. 'And how shall you make the Kingdom of Elze pay for its transgressions, and sate my thirst for retribution, Emperor Galanius?'

Their guest had a broad, weathered face, framed by thick, bushy sideburns and topped with wild black hair streaked with grey. Quite unlike any human Tresdin had met, his lower fangs protruded over his lip like short yellowed tusks, and his eyes blazed like those of a ravening wolf. He was clad in black plate, his pauldrons adorned with a sullen gold eight-pointed star, with a blood red gambeson underneath. Under one huge arm he carried a helm, fashioned in the likeness of a great wolf's head.

'You shall have what you desire, King Banehallow,' Galanius assured the imposing, brutish man. 'And perhaps more.'

'I am not here to be tantalised,' Banehallow snorted. 'Say what it is that you want.'

'King or not, you will be respectful towards the Emperor,' Tresdin warned, her hand tightening on the shaft of her glaive.

Banehallow growled, baring his fangs.

'We are all allies here,' Urthic stated, holding out his hand to stay Tresdin's anger. 'We have no reason to quarrel.'

Banehallow snorted. 'I was denied vengeance for my House and my father. I shall not be denied the glory I desire.'

'Indeed, you shall not, your Majesty,' Galanius agreed. 'Just as we delivered upon our promise to help you secure the throne that was rightfully yours, and helped you to restore order to Slom, so too shall we aid you in the conquest of Elze.' Galanius gave Banehallow an oily, yellow-toothed smile. 'And we do so gladly, for the subjugation of Elze benefits us too.'

'And the defeat of such obstinate heretics pleases Mene as well,' the Invoker announced.

'I am not here to exchange words.' Banehallow snorted. 'I came here for aid in battle. Though the Royal Army of Slom is now whole and strong once more, it is not yet strong enough to take Elze.'

'You shall have the support of my army, King Banehallow,' Galanius vowed. 'On one condition: you shall pledge your army to our cause.'

'You want me to join you in your war against the Helio Imperium?' Banehallow snorted. 'I have no interest in your crusade.'

Urthic's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He hobbled over to the stone map and gazed steadily at Banehallow. 'Is that because you have no desire to conquer beyond Elze? Or do you doubt that we can overcome the Imperium?'

Banehallow blinked, clearly considering his next words. Though he was physically powerful, and had two bodyguards lurking behind him, he was in the very heart of another nation's capital. A word or action misused could easily lead to his death. And there was no denying the fact that his army was much smaller than Stonehall's alone. Why else would he need aid in crushing Slom's long-standing rival?

'Your army is powerful, but it has been driven back by the Imperium before. What makes you think you can overcome them now?'

The Invoker's face remained impassive, his voice low and level, yet his fervour was clear in his words. 'We serve the cause of Mene—the First and the Greatest of the Seven Heavens. When she returns, She will impart such strength upon us that no foe could stand before us, and She will reward those who serve her generously.'

Banehallow was not convinced. 'The promises of a goddess won't add any more soldiers to your army.'

'You'd be surprised, King Banehallow.' Urthic smiled, tapping the map. It shifted, displaying the steadily growing armies either already in or around New Stonehall, or else assembling and preparing to march. 'Many have flocked to wage holy war upon the Imperium already, and yet more still come. Not all may yet have embraced Mene, but their disgust for the Imperium has united them in a common cause.

When all is ready and our allies have assembled, we will command a force many times greater than anything the Imperium could muster. By force of arms and will, and sustained by a noble cause, we shall crush the Imperium once and for all.'

'The Imperium is vast, King Banehallow,' Galanius added. 'We would be more than willing to let you have a substantial piece of it, along with Elze, if you so wish it. Of course, we would be glad to simply help you conquer Elze, provided you allow us to march troops through it, but the rewards would be far greater, and we would consider your kingdom a great friend to our empire, if you joined us in the coming war.'

Banehallow stroked his chin, clearly tempted. Tresdin knew what he was thinking. The territory immediately open to him if Elze fell was not very heavily defended, not compared to the Imperial Heartlands. And there were mines there, still rich with gold and gems and iron. Seizing them would double the wealth of Slom.

At last, he looked to Kashurra, who had been utterly silent throughout the debate, even when Imperial land had been offered to the King of Slom. 'And what do you have to say about this, Viceory Kashurra? Yes, I know who you are, do not think me ignorant.'

'I thought nothing of the sort, King Banehallow,' Kashurra stated smoothly. 'I am prepared to do whatever it takes to win this war. If offering you some Imperial lands is necessary, then so be it. Perhaps God Emperor Shabarra may come to view you as an ally, in time. Elze has certainly been far less favourable towards the Imperium, but should you aid us, you would find us quite receptive to an alliance.'

Tresdin found herself admiring the smooth manoeuvring Kashurra displayed, as well as his sheer nerve. She could not imagine for one moment that Shabarra would willingly give up territory like this, even to a potential ally. He was the sort who never gave. He only took.

No wonder he wasn't here. Kashurra, however, was a purely pragmatic man. He evidently thought losing an outlying province or two was a small price to pay for… whatever it was he gained from this. Tresdin still found it hard to believe that such a man, obviously a cunning and practical man, would so willingly remain aligned with Shabarra—a petty and foolish fop.

He had just secured them a victory here though. Banehallow was no zealot, not like the Invoker or his ilk, but he was keen to lead his newly earned kingdom to greater glory, and the facts displayed by Urthic, combined with Kashurra's offers, were enough to dispel his doubts.

'Very well,' Banehallow grunted. 'I will join your cause if we are victorious in Elze. In addition to Elze, I want the Ferrix, Matalus and Cammus provinces as compensation. I will not take less.'

Kashurra considered this, inscrutable as usual. Tresdin expected an argument, and was therefore surprised when he nodded and answered: 'As you wish. It shall be so.'

'Then once Elze is defeated, you shall have my aid and my army, and my oath to wage war upon the Imperium as part of your alliance.'

'Good!' Galanius clapped his hands together gleefully. 'Very good! With the grand army we are building, victory is assured! Come, let us toast to our alliance, and then we can talk about the invasion of Elze.'

Tresdin had little desire to celebrate. The war hadn't even begun yet, and she would rather have seen to the organisation of the army. Still, she had been invited by the Emperor, and it was her duty to obey.

As they left the room, she glanced in the direction of Kashurra's messenger golem. It was already reforming into a faceless bipedal form, and Tresdin had no time to try and pry something out of his blank expression before it vanished.

Tresdin decided not to waste another thought on him, at least for now. He was a snake, but Tresdin doubted that he would help them to build so strong an army and then betray them. It would be foolish. He had placed a noose around his own neck, and would only survive by seeing this through.

It did amuse her to imagine how Shabarra would react to learning that three of his provinces had been bartered away though.

The Invoker shook his head, dispelling that feeling of sand sliding down his face. He disliked dealing with people like Banehallow, or relying on the likes of the Bloodmist Army, but it was necessary. And even if they proved to be untrustworthy in the long term, by then Mene would have reclaimed Her rightful place, and they would perish along with the rest of Her enemies and the non-believers.

He turned towards his scrying pool, intending to divine the location of their next target. He halted when he saw that it was glowing, spinning atop its pedestal. A silver corona surrounded it, faint, yet still dispelling the inky shadows of the tent.

He had expected this, just not so soon.

'Kael…'

He steeled himself. The breathy utterance of his old name, the name of his old self, stirred memories he had both tried to bury, yet also seize, as if they were fonts of strength born of spite, burning embers he clung to even as they scorched his soul.

Slowly, the waters of the font drew themselves up, filled with silver light. There seemed to be more liquid than could possibly fit into the shallow bowl. Gradually, the water formed into that silhouette he knew so well, changed, yet more like her old self than she had been in recent memory.

She was shrunken now, diminished. She was still achingly, hauntingly, terribly beautiful. Yet she was also flawed. The injuries he had inflicted upon her still showed, and there were faint lines appearing on her alabaster skin and her formerly flawless face.

The lack of faith was showing at last.

'Kael,' Selemene gazed upon him with eyes dimmer than ever before. 'Why must you do this?'

The Invoker did not look away, even though every fibre of his being wished for it. 'You know why.'

'You've had your revenge, Kael. You have broken me. No longer can I oppose you, no more can I call upon the power of a goddess, never again will people desire my love, or to love me, as they once did.

You've won, Kael. You have beaten me. You have avenged Filomena.'

Kael scowled. 'Do not speak her name. You have no right.'

Selemene's features creased with sorrow and regret. She lowered her head. 'You are right, Kael. You were always right. I do not regret deposing Mene, it had to be done. But I could have… I should have done more for our daughter. I should have saved her, even if it meant giving up my power, even if it meant making the ultimate sacrifice,' she stepped forwards, one arm lifting, her hand reaching towards him. 'I was afraid, Kael. So very afraid. I do not think you truly understood what it would cost me.

Even so… I should have done more, and then perhaps none of this would have come to pass. Perhaps the world would have been better off with Filomena taking my place. I wish… I wish that it had been so, now.'

'It is too late for regrets, Selemene. Your confession is touching, but it will not sway me.'

Selemene faltered. Then, she gently lay her hand on his shoulder. 'You don't have to do this, Kael.'

'I must. I swore to bring Mene back.'

'She will bring a terrible vengeance upon this world, Kael. You know that. It is what I sought to prevent.' Her hand rose higher, cold against his neck, his cheek, her scent faint in the air as she moved closer. 'Please, Kael. There has been enough suffering. You have suffered enough.'

'It is the price I must pay, and the price you are still paying.' Kael stepped back, letting her hand fall. 'You have not come here begging simply for the sake of the world. No. I know your intent. You only wish to see one life spared. You wish only for Mirana to live.'

Selemene sighed. 'If nothing else, then yes, that is what I wish.

Kael, she is… she's… words cannot fully express her virtue, her courage, her strength, the example that she could be to this world.'

'You are blind to her faults, just as I was blind to yours. You love her, and love trammels both sight and wisdom, it skews sense and corrupts judgement. I should know, for I failed to see what you would become, even as I knelt before you with our daughter dying in my arms, and gazed upon a newly ascended goddess giddy and delirious with her own stolen power.'

Selemene shook her head. 'I do love her, and that is why I want her to be spared. But even you cannot deny that she is worth saving.'

'She opposes Mene. She wishes to lead an empire corrupt and stagnant.'

'She could make it so much better. She could make it into what it was supposed to be.'

The Invoker scoffed. 'Even if your words were true, do you truly believe that I would cast aside my cause just because you asked me to? You, who let our daughter die because you could not give up power? You, who claimed to love Mirana even as you stole years of her life to feed your own vanity? You do not deserve my pity, nor any lenience even if it was mine to offer.'

'Kael…'

The Invoker gazed coldly upon her, and she stepped back, struck by the hatred in his fierce gaze.

They faced each other silently, as if locked in a battle of will alone.

Finally, the Invoker spoke.

'Do you love me?'

Selemene hesitated. Then, she slowly dropped to her knees. 'Yes Kael. I do.'

The Invoker shook his head. 'I told you: I am Kael no longer. You killed Kael. You killed him with your callousness. Your indifference. Your greed. You killed him when you killed Filomena.

You love a ghost, Selemene, a memory.'

Selemene blinked. Perhaps it was some effect of forming an avatar from the spell-saturated water of the scrying fluid, or perhaps her eyes really were filling with tears. 'Kael… it's not too late.'

'But it is, my love. It is. It is far too late.' He stood over her, this broken, diminished, weeping goddess. 'You fail to understand that my vengeance is not yet complete. You took everything from me, from Kael, from Filomena, from the Coriel'tauvi. You took everything except my life.

And so I shall balance the scales, Selemene. I have not yet taken everything you hold dear, and I will not stop until I have.

Perhaps Mirana is a good soul. Perhaps she is all that you claim she is. But virtue and innocence meant nothing to you when Filomena needed you most. What you suffer, what you shall suffer, you alone have brought upon yourself.

And when Mirana is sent from this mortal world, when she is cast into what awaits beyond, she can tell our daughter why she died. She can tell Filomena that you let her die too.'

Selemene bent forwards, her shoulders shaking, her tears striking the ground. The Invoker quashed the tiny stirring of emotion in his hardened heart. She did not deserve any pity, she deserved only pain.

Slowly, she lifted her head, her form wavering as she struggled to sustain it. 'Please…'

The Invoker shook his head. 'No more words, my love. Not until the end. Go now and wait. Watch as your lover's empire crumbles. Watch as her life is ended, and know that all of this could have been prevented if you had truly loved Filomena.'

He waved his hand. The air thrummed with power. Selemene's watery form collapsed, splashing down into a puddle on the floor. The Invoker lifted his hand, and the water flew upwards, forming a silvery arc as it slid back into the bowl.

The Invoker stepped towards it and rested his hands on its rim, staring into the mirror it formed. His eyes stared back, set in a smooth face untouched by time. Only his eyes spoke of all that he had endured. But he was under no illusions. Time would catch up to him one day, the final price he had to pay for justice.

'For those we love,' he murmured to his reflection as it judged him, 'no sacrifice is too great.'

Apologies for the wait, I needed a bit of a break from this, time to process and so on. I'm hoping to get back into the groove and speed up a little if I can.

Many thanks to BarrissOffee99 for a lot of encouragement and for vetting some of the content I had in mind for this chapter, especially the exchanges between the Invoker and Selemene. Your support is much appreciated.