XXVIII. What We Must

"So I hear you're headed back to Tamaris. Gonna go scare some of those nobles into behaving?" Murdak said as he approached Holland. She was scrubbing the last of the scorch marks off her armor. The metal didn't take a shine even when abraded. The woman was certainly missing the shining armor of a proper hero. For a moment, the orc was thoughtful as he watched. She's doing the same to her soul, he thought. Seeing if that black can ever come off. At least with her armor, she seemed successful.

"That's the plan," Holland said. "Along the road, though. Elf magic is helpful, but we have to talk to Dhir Daral and tell them they have a lot of work ahead. Thadash gave Khagra a list of what approximately will be needed. If we can get your forces equipped properly, we'll be able to cause the legions some serious damage. Whatever happens, it'll be more resistance than they anticipated."

"Enough to make them change their minds?" the warleader said with a bit of a chuckle. He knew what the answer would be.

Holland shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe if we kill enough of the Princes."

"Seven, right? That's one for me, one for you, one for the knight, one for your beast-man, one for the imp, and two for whoever finishes with their first one fast enough," Murdak said with a grin.

The penitent smiled and shook her head. "You're as bad as Vladan," she said, wiping away the last of the black that she had managed to finally get off.

"A warrior fights better when he looks forward to death," the orc said with a shrug. "The gods have already woven your fate, yes? You will not live a moment longer than they have decided, but you can choose to meet it with a heart of fire."

"I was always more ice than fire." She tucked the rag and sandpaper into her bag as she caught sight of her friends on the approach. They looked ready to go. Murdak had made certain they had plenty of supplies.

"I hear the cold can burn just as fiercely." Murdak held out a hand. "It is an honor to know you, Holland. I am sorry our time together here is so short. I'll see you in the south, and then on the field of battle. We'll teach the demons fear."

Holland accepted the hand as she got up to her feet. "I'll try to keep your sister out of trouble, Murdak. But no promises."

"Good," Murdak said with a grin. "Too much safety stunts growth. Dwarves say you can't make steel without a hot fire. You'll be a damn fine Goth for her to follow."

The penitent laughed. "Passable. I'm not much of a leader."

"That's what the good ones always say. I've heard what your friends say about you, Holland. If anyone can take down demon princes, it's you and yours." The orc pulled her into a hug she hadn't been expecting, brief but crushing. Then he held her at arm's length like he had his sister. "Don't have to have the Sight to see that. Be well, Holland. Try not to pull anything before we hit that battlefield. You'll want to be fresh as a daisy. Maybe wear something nice. After all, it'll be a big day for the Imperium—the day their Princes die will be the most important day of their lives. Wouldn't want to disrespect that."

Holland couldn't help a smile. The orc's confidence was infectious. It would be good to have him at her back. She barely knew Murdak, but she knew he wasn't going to abandon her when the fighting reached a fever pitch. "I'll make sure I clean up for it," she said.

"Good woman," he said approvingly as her companions arrived. "Suppose I'd better let you go before Thadash starts to worry I'm going to adopt you. Mind, you'd be an improvement over the imp."

"Love you too, oaf," Khagra said as she started to saddle up Zajar. She'd already said goodbye to her brother and Thadash in private earlier. Murdak never seemed too worried when she ran off, but Thadash always misted up when it was time for her to go. Shamans were supposed to keep a strong front, so they'd talked in the tent. "We'll see you again before you know it."

"Looking forward to it, imp," Murdak said. He let go of Holland and passed his sister her spear. "Give them hell."

"Always do," Khagra said with a smile. "See you on the other side."

Murdak nodded before looking at Ardashir and Vladan. "That goes for you two too," Murdak said. "Legends don't make themselves."

"Oh, we'll give them something to write about," the anthroparion said with a chuckle.

Holland glanced up. The sun was almost completely above the horizon. The day had started. "We should go. It's a long way back. Until we see you again, Murdak, be well."

He nodded and grinned before retreating back to the main body of the camp to begin his own preparations. Messages would have to go out to the clans and tribes further north until they were all moving under one banner towards the south.

"To Tamaris," Ardashir said as he stepped up into his stirrup.

Holland looked towards the south. There was no sign of fire or chaos or war even on the furthest reaches of the horizon, but she knew that there was a darkness without equal moving there. She could almost feel the weave of fate that Murdak had mentioned forming around her body, drawing her inexorably towards it. Whatever happened, there would be an end. Hers or the Imperium's, she didn't know.

As I am, so too will you be.

Holland carefully donned her armor and then swung herself up onto her horse. The north was not united, but it was beginning to move in the right direction. The desire to survive would forge them together. Not seamlessly, not perfectly, but as the Heartforge had said, the world didn't need perfection. Seva, she hoped, had managed to secure the cooperation of the south. Between the two alliances, they would be able to marshal a resistance.

The world was at the brink of a war like nothing that had been seen since the Revealing. She could feel the weight of expectation resting on her shoulders, threatening to crush her. But no matter how heavy the burden, there was only one way to move: forward. At least she wasn't carrying it alone. If she was fortunate, she would even get the opportunity to see Seva.

You cannot fight the inevitable without me, Deus whispered in her ear. She could feel hands holding her shoulders as if forcing her to stay looking towards the south. She could ignore them and move, but they were a reminder that Deus's power was waxing, not waning. Your armies will shatter like glass. Your friends will fall before your eyes. Even you will break under the strain.

"Watch me," Holland murmured under her breath.

Thousands and thousands of miles to the south, a pair of golden eyes were focused northward. Legatus Titus Vitruvius Ralla was a tall, powerful man with a blocky face that spoke of orc blood mixed with his human and elven heritage. He was the poster child for the virtues of the numen: swift, strong, smart. His matte black armor was painted with red symbols denoting his status as Saraqael's legate. "Laenus Nasica's letter expressed confidence that he could make the most powerful of the human kingdoms crack down the middle," a feminine voice reported from behind him, inside the tent. No amount of shouting at troops had ever managed to strip Silana's voice of its lovely quality.

"That does us little good if we're stranded in this wilderness forever," Ralla said dryly as he turned around and stepped back in. He was a patient man, but this was a war beyond any he had fought for the Divine Prince before. He was eager to push it to the fields and see what the east could handle. His training suggested that they would be able to marshal little resistance, too shattered and unable to think beyond their own greed. If one Immortal could fracture one of their kingdoms, they were hardly worthy enemies. But Ralla liked to believe that the stories were wrong. Easy victories were cheap ones. He wanted a battle, something as satisfying as when he'd brought Saraqael's legions to bear on those of the other Divine Princes. He wanted to have to bleed for victory.

"You're leaving out the best part of the letter, Silana," one of the other legates said with a grin. Avitus was a man scorched to darkness by the sun and easily the Divine Prince Remiel's finest general. He had never managed to force Ralla into rout, but he had certainly given it a game try a few years ago. "There is a complication, Ralla. It seems that your Divine Prince's Invicta yet lives."

Ralla raised his eyebrows. He had never met the woman, but he'd certainly heard the stories. He'd even seen her once at the Divine Prince's side, poetry in motion. He didn't know exactly what had happened between her and Laenus, but the whispers of betrayal had risen through the ranks to his ears. It hadn't sat well with Ralla. He was no Immortal and so it wasn't his place to pass judgment on them, but he believed in loyalty. "Good," he said. "Once our Divine Prince calls her back, we'll have a better answer to those fey elves. I'd rather send her in than sacrifice a legion to root them out of their woods."

"From the sounds of it, all this time in the east has corrupted her," Silana muttered through thin, disapproving lips. She was a stern woman on her most cheerful of days and this was certainly not one of them. She was Gabriel's champion and the commander of his armies, usually as dour as was fitting for the servant of the humorless Divine Princes. "Laenus made no mention of her consenting to return."

"If he was the one who asked her, he should be grateful he doesn't have a sword through his face," Ralla murmured. "Did Laenus make any mention of the pieces of the Imperator?"

"No," Silana said as she folded up the letter from Laenus and tucked it back into its envelope. "Apparently the one we thought to be in the far east has sprouted legs and run from him, because he has searched the city called Tamaris high and low but not found it. Nor has he felt a trace of the Calling since he arrived. It is elsewhere. When we reach Ethilir, we can begin our search. The Divine Princes revealed that it will only take a single piece. Surely one has been found by the kingdoms of men before now."

"I thought your master was certain that one lay in the Kingdom of Yssa," Avitus said dryly.

Silana shot him a dirty look. "And one assuredly did when report reached us. I can only assume that Laenus is either lying or a fool who allowed it to be moved. Either way, he cannot be relied upon. The armies will clean up after the Immortals again, as we have always done." There was a distinct bitterness in her tone that made no apology for letting the world know exactly what she thought of the Princes' favored servants.

"Keep your voice down, Silana," Ralla said warningly. He knew she hated always coming second to the Immortals, particularly after having to mop up the occasional mess they made, but that did not mean protesting would endear her to her Prince. "Legates come and legates go. They are more easily replaced than the Immortals."

The woman growled, rubbing the nasty scar that ran from her right temple to the left side of her jaw. It was a blow given by an Immortal to remind her of exactly that—a mark intended to ruin an otherwise pretty face. Ralla still thought she was lovely, but he knew Silana was sensitive about it. "I am aware," she muttered. He knew that she felt supremely unappreciated at the moment. He understood. They were the ones who won the wars when it came down to it, but the Princes often overlooked what was working and focused only on the problem parts. Ralla appreciated it, as it meant he was left to his own devices—never had he drawn the displeasure of Saraqael—but he knew that there were those like Silana who desperately craved approval. He could give the woman his thanks, but it was a poor substitute for words of commendation from Gabriel himself.

Avitus shrugged. "The road was set back a ways by the last flash flood. The storms are a most unforgiving constant," he said. "But construction is progressing. A few years and we'll have the bulk of the army at the sea."

Ralla shifted his weight between his feet as he considered this. "No sooner?"

"Haste breeds disaster," Avitus said, spreading his hands wide. "Do you wish it right or right now, Ralla?"

Saraqael's legate sighed. "Right," he said as he took a seat on the floor across from Avitus. The three of them were always the talkative ones. The others were busy sorting through their own correspondence from their respective forces, more inclined to listen and make suggestions than serve as lead planners. It was the first time for all seven of them to be together as one, though they all worked with each other well. After so long of being at war, they all knew the strengths and weaknesses of their fellow legates. While none of the Princes would consent to being under the command of any other, the legates were more practical. They needed a solid chain of command to keep things running smoothly, and the task of keeping track of the thousands of moving parts had fallen squarely in Ralla's lap.

He wasn't the oldest, but he was the most successful, and they respected that. Besides, it meant that when things went wrong, he would be the one to have to explain to the Divine Princes, and everyone was in favor of not being that person. Ralla didn't give that aspect of it much thought. He always felt it was better to just do his job to the best of his ability and hope that everything else would follow in time.

"Do you need anything else for the road, Avitus?" Ralla asked.

Remiel's legate shook his head. "It will be done," he said calmly. "At the pace at which it must be done. No swifter, no slower."

"Very well. I would suggest that all of us return to our own commands," Saraqael's legate said. "We will reconvene in a week."

There was a chorus of assent and the others moved out of Ralla's tent. Well, almost all of the others. Silana stayed seated until everyone else had left. Then she rose to her feet and walked to the door of the tent, flicking it open just a little bit to check to see if anyone was lingering. Night was falling outside and the camp was alive with activity. In all the hustle and bustle, there was little room for eavesdropping at the commander's tent. She moved lightly on her feet despite the weight of her armor, he noted. Satisfied that they had some privacy, she returned to the table. "I don't like this, Titus," she said quietly. It was the first time he'd ever heard her use his praenomen.

Her expression was still grim, but it lost some of the moodiness that she used to keep people at a distance. Ralla realized he still didn't know what her smile even looked like. "The lack of progress is frustrating," he acknowledged, studying her. He had a feeling it wasn't what she was talking about, but he wasn't certain, so he erred on the side of caution and watched her serious, grey eyes. He had assumed when he first heard she had grey eyes that they would be hard like steel, but more often they were as soft as smoke. Her eyes were where her expressions lived.

She shook her head, running her fingers through her dark hair. Silana always kept it cut to her chin so it wouldn't get in her way. Her background was infantry, so it made sense. The vast majority of women that he knew were in the cavalry, keeping their hair long with braids on either side of their face to help stop swordcuts. Silana had a heavier helm to protect herself than those riders did.

"Don't tell me you're disappointed," Ralla said. "The biggest war there's ever been in any memory other than the Divine Princes', a chance to wipe free the stain of the east...I can't think of any battle more worthy of you."

"It's not that," Silana said. He could see faint hints of discomfort in her expression, breaking through the iron control. Whatever concern this was, it was eating away at her and likely had been for months.

Ralla frowned.  It wasn't like her to be uncertain. "Lucia, you can talk to me. What is it?"

She took a deep breath. When she spoke, it was so quiet that he barely heard her. "I think the Divine Princes do this in no name but their own," she said quietly. "Certainly not the Imperator's."

It took Saraqael's legate off guard. The commands and prophecies had always been clear. After the Aeterna Pacis, the world would be cleansed and the Imperator would return again to rule as before the Revealing. Everything would begin again. For the Princes to turn against Deus... Ralla felt his stomach wrench. There could only be one on the Desolate Throne, not seven. If the Princes each had a design on it without the check of the Imperator's power, the battle to subdue the east and north would be piddling in comparison to what would come after. The Princes never took the field against one another when they tested their armies. With the Throne as a prize, that would most assuredly change. He had read the histories. Even if they were gross exaggerations, the powers that each Prince commanded were unimaginable. "Are you certain?" he asked in a low voice. Silana was not the kind of woman who lied. She was undoubtedly a deceptive creature on the battlefield, luring her foes into ambush after ambush, but spitting falsehoods was in her nature no more than surrender was.

"As the grave," she said quietly.

Ralla sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "There is nothing we can do," he said with certainty. He looked up at her. Silana had always followed Gabriel without even a sliver of question, but she had her soldier's oath to the Imperator as well and Ralla knew enough to know that it mattered to her. Now she was pulled between the two, conflict raging. The others would all follow their Princes to the letter, because that was the rule that they had always known. The price of loyalty would never trouble them. In the end, both Ralla and Silana would do the same, but it would not be with light hearts. "Tell no one."

Silana nodded. He saw a flicker of gratitude in her face, likely for the fact that she knew she was not alone in her misgivings. He wasn't going to murmur a word of her concerns to anyone, lest it bring an end to more than just her career. "I knew you would understand."

"I do not look forward to turning my blade against you again," Ralla said quietly. It would be unavoidable, however, if things became a seven-way-war. They were always the last two standing when push came to shove. Both of them were more than capable of putting the others into the ground first, but in the end, that would pit them against each other. The past few months had given him an actual chance to get to know the most powerful of his rivals. Seeing the woman behind the helm had been an education.

He had known her before the Aeterna Pacis was forged, granted, or at least of her. Legata Lucia Aurelia Silana, the Lady of Snares. They did not come more cunning or fearless. She had ambushed him more times than he could count and done his forces serious wound. But the closest he had ever come to her before this was when he'd almost managed to cut his way to her command position. A javelin to the shoulder had put an end to that ambition and very nearly him as well. She had excellent aim and a good arm.

Now? He knew her as a devoted soldier and dutiful commander. A woman who did not flinch from necessity, but who preferred to conduct herself in accordance with her own strong code of honor. She honed herself as much as her armies towards perfect discipline, sacrificing every luxury the moment her troops did. She was the reason Gabriel's armies never faltered and they followed her into the breach without hesitation because Silana made every calculated cost count. He also knew her as a lover of music and a dedicated student of calligraphy. He had seen her eyes light up at the sound of a harp and watched her pen flow across paper, spinning delicate lines of ink.

In time, he had hoped to see that smile. Perhaps he would be fortunate enough to have the opportunity before the end.

"It is unfortunate that you serve the wrong prince," Silana said after a long pause. Her smoke-grey eyes were studying the packed earth. He could read tension in the set of her shoulders and the thin line of her lips. "If things were different..."

"If things were different," Ralla agreed wistfully. "But we do what we must."

"As we always do," she said. There was that dutiful flatness that the world expected of Silana, an unswerving obedience to the wishes of her Prince. It was a far cry from the expressiveness that he'd become accustomed to in the quiet moments between meetings that planned for the war to come. "I should return to my forces."

"Shall I walk with you?" His offer was genuine. Even with this hanging over their heads, he found the idea of her company far preferable to even the duties he so often took joy in.

Silana shook her head ruefully. She no doubt knew her Divine Prince was undoubtedly expecting her to make her report as quickly as possible. "Perhaps next time."

"As you wish," Ralla said, bowing his head to her. "If there is anything you require of me, I will be here."

"Have a good night, Titus." There was something genuine in that soft tone.

He smiled faintly at her, watching her eyes rather than her stern expression. He would never get tired of them. It was such a shame her helm hid them. If they had to kill each other, he preferred the idea of being able to see them unobstructed. Perhaps she could be persuaded to take the helm off after one or the other of them took a mortal blow. "You as well, Lucia."

As he watched her leave, he thought again of the lands that lay ahead. The idea of cleansing them didn't bother him. He had heard much of the inconstancies and imperfections of the east. Fire purified, and so he would bring it with him as Saraqael had commanded. Duty was absolute. They had passed the point of no return the moment the Princes formed the Aeterna Pacis. One way or another, the world would end.

We do what we must.

End of Book One