A Practical Guide to Evil

“Why Troke?”

Sigvin was frowning, learning forward so the noonday sun would not fall into her eyes.

“For the same reason I’ve ordered my banner not be raised,” Hakram replied.

All the way south, the place of honour – the Warlord’s place – among the banners had remained empty. The order had seen warriors grumble at the lack of pride, enough that he’d spread among the horde that he would only raise his own banner after Ater was made to kneel. The boast had limited the damage to reputation, and what he’d paid was well worth what he was to get for it now. At his left, Oghuz suddenly let out a loud bark of laughter.

“Look at them, girl,” the chief of the Red Shields said. “How thick is their battle line?”

Hakram’s eyes returned to the field. When he’d sent out his vanguard of five thousand wolf rider towards the camps to the east of Ater, the nobles in them had understandably reacted to the threat. What troops were not already fighting in the city had been mustered and ordered out, but that effort had ceased as soon as the highborn had glimpsed the banners claiming that Troke Snaketooth was the warlord of the Clans. It was, after all, an open secret among the highest rung of the nobility that Troke was an ally of Malicia’s. They were still wary, as the Clans should have gone to sack Nok instead of marched on Ater, but the tension went out of their battle line.

Troke rode forward with a few picked men, champions, and the nobles sent a party of their own. Led by a Niri, by the look of their banners.

Only the vanguard had slowed, not stopped, and the highborn realized it only moments before Troke Snaketooth’s warband smashed into their envoys and the packs of wolf riders howled a charge. Some of the mages with the troops got spells up in time, turning back the attack, but not enough. Most of the enemy soldiers had never faced great wolves up close and it showed: the great mount shattered the shield wall in moments and trampled dozens, terror spreading at the violent howls. Maybe eight thousand Praesi had mustered on the field and less than a tenth of that died under the charge, but their morale broke instantly. The army shattered, entire companies fleeing the monsters and the massive horde they could see approaching in the distance.

“Good,” Hakram gravelled. “Oghuz, take ten thousand shields and secure the camps. Capture all the highborn you can, I want bargaining chips.”

“Warlord,” the old orc replied, hand over heart.

Hakram nodded back, then turned his eye to Sigvin.

“Send word to your grandmother,” he said. “I want the Split Tree to oversee the loot. We distribute only when the blades rest.”

“It will be done,” she replied.

Overseeing the loot was a position of great trust – the old hordes had given it a formal title, one held in great respect – but Hakram meant it as a check as well as a mark of favour. It never made a clan popular for its warriors to be the ones telling other orcs they couldn’t drag away the riches they’d just won in battle. Waiting for Sigvin to finish, the Warlord watched the eastern gates in the distance. Three had been open this morning, he’d been told, but now two were closed. Not that Ater’s defenders were the ones keeping the third one open: the banner hung on the gatehouses was a vulture holding a skull, Askum’s colours.

High Lady Abreha Mirembe was said to have been raised as undead by Catherine at the Battle of Kala and she knew better than to cross her mistress.

Sigvin returned to his side and Hakram sent for Dag Clawtoe, the warrior he’d overtaken as leader of the Howling Wolves and who now led his personal guard. The three of them and two hundred shields set out towards the gate even as the Clans followed, columns of warriors sweeping the highborn camps and approaching the capital. His force was large enough, the Warlord knew, that Abreha would come to greet him personally. Praesi respected force even when it was in the hands of those they considered savages, and the once-Sepulchral was nothing if not pragmatic. Careful, too.

She came out to meet him near the gatehouse with two hundred soldiers of her own, but she had twice that waiting with bows up in the heights. Out of firing range, narrowly, but should Abreha retreat under their cover the ensuing fight would not go well for him. The old witch let out a little noise of amusement when they finally stood face to face.

“No longer Adjutant, I take it?” High Lady Abreha said.

“No longer,” the Warlord agreed. “The city?”

“Out of control,” she replied. “From the Licosian Gates to the western walls is nothing but giant spiders and things called to kill them. Maybe a fifth of the city is lost, either to flame or damages. The Legions are dug in along the Avenue of Claws and Akua Sahelian is rumoured to be mounting a counterattack, but it’s not looking good. “

Hakram snorted.

“Catherine?” he asked.

“Still near the Licosian Gates last I heard, containing the situation with the Hierophant’s help,” High Lady Abreha replied. “The Army of Callow retreated in good order to the western gates – with civilians along, when they could.”

“Quite the mess,” Hakram said.

“It is,” the old witch smiled. “So what is it that you’ve come to add, Deadhand? I must confess, it’s starting to look like we might no longer be on the same side.”

“Oh?”

“Had to fight Dakarai off to keep this gate open,” High Lady Abreha said. “I’ll need assurances before I let you through it.”

Hakram laughed in her face, then let out a sharp whistle. The Aksum household troops tensed, some drawing swords, but his own warriors did not charge. Instead they turned about sharply, beginning to march away. Wary surprise found its way to Abreha’s face.

“It need not be anything onerous,” the High Lady said. “Just oaths and hostages.”

“I won’t bargain with you, Abreha,” Hakram said. “What I wanted from you was news of the battle, and you have given them to me.”

The old woman scoffed.

“So you dragged your horde all the way from the Steppes just to sit out the fall of Ater?” Abreha said. “Try a better lie.”

“You misunderstand me,” Hakram Deadhand said.

In the distance, there was a great grinding sound. One of two western gates that’d been closed was opening again. The High Lady of Askum’s face went blank, hiding her thoughts.

“Why would I cut a deal with you,” the Warlord asked, “when I have already done so with High Lady Wither?”

Indrani breathed out, nocked her arrow and jumped down.

Flashes of bright light below, scarabs the size of fists burrowing into the flesh of spiders and devils only to explode out in green flame. Distractions, all of it. At the heart of the horde, the house-sized green salamander devil was laying on the broken pedestal of some dead empress and watching it all with its jutting eyes – a spider came a little too close, mouth open in a screech, and the devil’s jaw unhinged. Archer smiled. The arrow was in flight before she even knew it, her body moving by itself, and the salamander’s lower jaw was nailed down to the stone. Its spiky tongue jutted out as it screamed, impaling the spider, and Indrani landed on her knees just behind the dying creature.

She snatched the spike at the end of the tongue before it could retract, to the devil’s hateful screams, and rose to a run. Movement to the left, claws, but she went low and blood splashed on her cloak as a spider died in her stead. A jet of spidersilk brushed against the edge of her shoulder but she was already twisting, leaping – broken stone pillar to the side, base to leap even higher and fuck a devil. The coloured toucan the size of a man and made of ivory and fingers clawed at side, pale claws raking at her chain mail, and she was slammed on the side of a wall. She smacked the devil away with her bow, breaking the string, and fell back even quicker when the salamander devil tried to retract its tongue.

The bow went behind her back, just in time for the toucan devil to come back and get a knife in the belly. She wrapped her limbs around it, ignoring the horrid wiggling of the fingers, and used it as a base to throw herself atop the roof. She landed on her side, the salamander devil below screeching words in the Dark Tongue as its tongue kept extending. Almost there, Archer thought. She rolled to the side as a streak of fire tore through the roof tiles where she’d just been, breaking into a running leap at the next roof – in the distance she saw a flash of Light shine and wink out, the Lady shooting Alexis’ arrow in flight – and landing just near the edge of the last roof. Just in time for spiders to begin climbing up that edge. She couldn’t stop moving, she’d lose the momentum and then she was fucked.

So instead she sped up, and when the fat body full of mandibles went over the edge it was receive her boot in the face as she used it as a base to leap further up. Screeches behind her but she was flying, flying until she hit the wall with a gleeful laugh. The alcove in the tower was just large enough for her to stand in it after the bruising landing, and Indrani wasted no time hammering the tongue spike into it with her bare hand. Once, twice, and in it went. Deep. In the distance the salamander screamed in rage but the spike was stuck in now. Indrani reached for the vial in her bag, smashing it atop the point where the tongue went into the stone. The black good solidified in moments, making sure it’d be stuck there for good.

“Well,” Archer said. “Time to get going.”

She climbed up the tower even as began to shake, reaching the top and the wonderful view of the howling hell Ater had turned into just moments before there was a sinister crack down below. Indrani moved to the eastern edge, sheathing her knife and taking out a fresh string for her bow. Down below, the Lady still stood on that statue of Terribilis as she toyed with the Silver Huntress. Arrows were shot out in flight, Ranger shot her through cover – even when stone – and twice collapsed a building with a very precise missile as Alexis tried to cross them. The arrows wreathed in silver Light that headed back Ranger’s way never made it close. Lexy was too slow to imbue the Light, against reflexes like the Lady’s that was as good as not shooting at all.

Archer nocked an arrow, breathed out and loosed. The Lady caught the movement, swayed slightly to the left and the shot that should have gone through her spine instead caught a devil in the face down below. Ranger cocked an eyebrow at her, as if asking whether that was the best Indrani could do. She had yet to stop standing atop the head of the fucking statue she’d been on all this time. Instead of answering, Archer nocked another arrow and grinned. If she wasn’t wrong, it ought to be around – a few small cracks, then a massive one as the salamander-devil finally pulled the seven-story high tower down. Which was something of a problem for Indrani, who was standing on top of said tower, but more of a problem for the Lady.

Who the tower was falling on.

Whooping in delight, Indrani loosed on the arrow the Lady had just tried to put in her throat and hit the side, deflecting it. Even as she slid down the top of the tower, she nocked and released once more – looking irritated the Lady cut it down, but Alexis had taken the opening. Silver shone bright, clipping the edge of the Lady’s shoulder and singing her cloak. For a moment Ranger looked up, but Indrani realized with a start it wasn’t her being looked at. It was the falling tower. One of the windows, more specifically.

“No fucking way,” Archer cursed. “You can’t possibly be that quick.”

Just before the tower’s roof became a wall, she leapt away and to the side. Even as the building fell onto a mass of spiders and devils she landed through a broken tile roof and into what looked like pack of shelves which were – ow ow, fucking ow – full of bottles. Indrani took a moment to be in pain as the broken shelves and bottles fell on her head, bruised and bloody, and there was a thunderous sound and cloud of dust as the tower finished falling. Taking an experimental sniff the liquid drenching her, Indrani found it appeared to be wine. Ah, but the Gods did provide. She bit off the cork and took a swallow of what tasted like some red from somewhere, polishing off a third of the bottle because those fucking cuts on her face hurt like a bitch. Well, time to see if the Lady had actually pulled it off.

Indrani left the house only to find the Ranger smugly standing atop the fallen tower, next to what had been a window on the western side.

“Oh come on,” Archer complained. “Are you telling me you managed to climb and cross the damn thing before it finished falling?”

“The windows on the second level faced each other,” the Lady said, amused. “You girls picked the wrong tower to drop.”

She paused to slap away a silver arrow.

“Fine,” Indrani sighed. “Next one will be bigger, and without fucking windows. You going to say why you were standing on that statue, at least?”

“So I could literally look down on your efforts,” the Lady of the Lake informed her.

“Ouch,” Indrani said. “In all fairness, you’re pretty hard to kill.”

“Is that what you’re trying?” she smiled. “I thought we were catching up.”

“Sure, but we figured it’d be better to catch you then get caught,” Indrani noted. “What errand is it you’re running for the Carrion Lord, anyway?”

Ranger cocked her head to the side.

“You’re stalling,” she stated. “Why?”

“Wine hasn’t kicked in yet,” Indrani replied, raising her bottle.

She threw it a moment later, but it didn’t work – the Lady ignored it, instead swatting the arrow without Light that the Silver Huntress had just tried to put in the side of her neck.

“Alexis,” Ranger greeted her. “You seem in a mood. Rough day?”

Lexy came out of the house she’d shot through the window of, jaw clenched.

“What is it going to take,” the Silver Huntress bit out, “for you to take this seriously?”

The Ranger considered her.

“For you to get out of the woods I first found you running in,” the Lady said.

Oh boy, Indrani thought. That wasn’t going to end well. At least their plan had worked, though. Archer wasn’t hearing any devils and spiders fighting nearby, so Cocky should be about ready. Alexis took her spear in hand, Light flaring bright.

“I’m going to take that answer out of your fucking hide,” the Silver Huntress said.

“You’re beginning to bore me,” the Ranger noted. “Cocky, won’t you stop skulking around long enough say something? Crawling on your belly is no way to live, girl.”

Cocky did, in fact, come out of hiding. Atop the rooftop, covered in ash and dust but grinning.

“Me,” the Concocter said.

“Pardon?” the Lady said.

“You asked what she was stalling for,” Cocky said. “It was for me.”

She raised her hand, snapping the fingers, and suddenly their surroundings were filled with screams. Every devil and spider that’d been exposed to the charm potions came when called by their new mistress, prepared to kill at her word.

“So that’s your plan?” the Lady asked. “Swarming me.”

“It’s a start,” the Concocter said.

Ranger snorted, then glanced at Indrani – who’d been nocking an arrow, admittedly.

“I did come here for something,” the Lady said. “You were right.”

“And what’s that?” Archer asked.

Below them the ground began to shake. Not, not shake. Something was… hitting it.

“Let her catch my scent,” the Ranger replied.

The paved street in front of them was ripped open, a massive leg tearing through it. Merciless Gods, Indrani thought. No, that couldn’t be. Wasn’t it supposed to be just a story? Another street blew up and slowly, inexorably, a gargantuan shape rose through the foundation of Ater. A spider so large and foul it defied description, shrouded in darkness and venom that dripped like rain. Her scream, when her hundred thousand eyes found the sun, was deafening. She was sniffing at the air, looking for a scent.

“Dread Emperor Tenebrous,” Indrani whispered.

The Lady of Lake smiled at them.

“Now it’s a proper fight,” Hye Su happily said.

Slowly, she unsheathed her second blade.

“What are you waiting for? Take your shot, kids.”

“It won’t work,” High Lady Takisha said, tone frustrated. “My mages say-”

“Yes,” Akua impatiently said, “that the sky is too dry because of the previous rains. Which I have a solution to.”

“That offensive is suicide,” Takisha hissed. “You cannot-”

“My soldiers are at your disposal, Lady Sahelian,” High Lord Jaheem mildly said.

Akua passed a tired hand through her hair. It was telling that no one even seemed to notice it: they were all so exhausted and on edge that the usual games had gone by the wayside.

“I need more than soldiers,” Akua admitted. “I need at least three mage cabals.”

The High Lord of Okoro hesitated.

“I only have two,” he admitted. “One of which is of my retinue.”

Which he would not part with, considering that there had been two attempts to abduct him today.

“One would be a start,” Akua said, glancing at High Lady Takisha.

Who looked away. Akua could not even blame her too much for it. The Kahtan household troops had been so brutalized by the day’s fighting that there was barely a third of left of them. All of the Taghreb soldiery had been badly mauled, in truth, but the Kahtan men had led the vanguard and suffered accordingly – first against the Army of Callow, then those damnable spiders.

“I will go,” High Lord Dakarai said. “I still have nearly sixty mages, a third of which can touch High Arcana. It ought to be enough, I think.”

A moment of surprised silence. He was taking a considerable risk, investing so much of the last strength of his house in such a dangerous undertaking. Nok had been mauled as badly as Kahtan today, losing troops to both Aksum and the spiders. Abreha’s treachery had been eminently predictable, but Dakarai’s apparent change of sides was rather puzzling considering it had cost him much and might still cost him more.

“It is not certain any of us will return,” Akua felt bound to remind him.

“It is not certain any of us will live through the day, if those monsters are not dealt with,” High Lord Dakarai flatly replied. “We have already wrecked entire districts failing to contain them, and that was before…”

“Emperor-claimant Tenebrous?” High Lady Takisha suggested.

All of their gazes moved to the hulking shape of the spider near the Licosian Gates, which had already wrecked three fortified positions in its rampage. The lesser spiders had taken advantage to overwhelm the district, killing hundreds of soldiers in the service of Takisha’s vassals.

“It ought to be empress-claimant, surely,” High Lord Jaheem muttered.

“Regardless of the titles, Ater is on the brink,” High Lord Dakarai said. “You have my cabals, Lady Sahelian.”

They set out as a mixed force, High Lord Jaheem insisting he send his one spare cabal along with soldiers regardless of necessity. It was hard fighting block by block once they passed the fortified positions, swarms spiders attacking from streets and rooftops as the soldiers advanced with tightly locked shields and the mages returned fire. Akua led from the front, trusting Kendi’s sorcery to shield her as she went purely on the offensive with the most destructive curses she’d learned as a girl. Two thousand soldiers had set out, four hundred were dead by the time the expedition made it to the massive structure of bronze that she’d been leading it to. A reservoir, one of the largest in Ater.

It fed some of the aqueducts, hence the bronze – it was the easiest metal to enchant – but many of those were now broken and spilling anyway. At the moment it was nothing but an enormous amount of water doing no good to anyone. As the household troops dug in and established a defensive perimeter under constant harassment, Akua organized the cabals into two ritual sequences. The first was easy, requiring a dozen mages only because of the power requirement. Magic was sunk into the water reservoir, then over three heartbeats turned to searing heat: a massive column of vapour blew upwards, high into the sky, as Akua followed with a measuring spell. It was barely enough water, but it would do. The hail of the last two weeks had filled it to burst, it was the only reason it worked.

The second ritual took every mage left, in hexagonal nodes as power was gathered and sent up into the sky. The clouds began to form after half an hour – almost half the soldiers were dead by then, the spiders attracted by the great bursts of power – but after that it was not long. Dark clouds began crackling with power as Akua sunk deeper into High Arcana than she ever had, finding the runes came to her as if she’d been born with the knowledge. As if she were meant to succeed.

Lightning struck the tide of spiders before the main Legion position. Once, then twice. Then four times at once. Then nine. And then a howling column of lightning descended from the sky, like the glare of some ancient god, incinerating arachnids wherever it went. And Akua moved it, power dancing under a darkened sky as the column of lightning moved along the battle lines like a pencil being dragged. Before long the power began to wane, the array began to fight her and the clouds thinned, but Akua pressed on. A little more. If she kept at it little longer, she could end this. Force the spiders to retreat, to spare Ater.

And as her pores began to sweat blood, she smashed the last of the lightning onto the massive shape of the progenitor spider. It screamed and smoked, but rose from the ground soon enough. Akua dropped to the ground, spent.

“It wasn’t enough,” she panted, falling to her knees.

The last wisps of power slipped through her fingers. Someone approached to help her up, but she waved them away.

“See to those that fell unconscious,” she croaked out. “And prepare for the retreat. We’re done here.”

None gainsaid her. They looked at her with fear in the eyes, she thought, but something like hunger too. It had been a long time since Ater had seen sorcery the likes of which had just been unleashed. Within moments Akua was alone in the warm cradle of bronze, even Kendi having gone. Only the sound of her breath kept her company as her heartbeat slowed. Gods, but she wanted to sleep. To close her eyes and wake up in Hainaut, still damned but without having to look it in the eye.

“Goddamn, but she did a number on you.”

Akua’s eyes fluttered open. Before her, leaning against the wall, a woman stood with a silver flask in hand. Hanging off her back was a run-down lute.

“I’ve been around for a while, darling, and I’m still impressed by how thoroughly Cat got into your head,” the Wandering Bard said. “It’s fucking magnificent work, pun intended. Terrible too, but that does tend to be the way with our girl yeah?”

“Go away,” Akua croaked out.

“Nah,” the Bard casually dismissed. “We’re going to have a talk, you and I. Her plan has been working pretty much perfectly, which is why it’s time for me to tell you a few truths and sent that off into the void.”

“I will not-”

“We’re going to have a talk,” the Wandering Bard grinned, “about exactly what it is that Catherine Foundling has planned for you.”

“I couldn’t get my hands on High Lord Jaheem,” High Lady Wither said. “He goes nowhere without a full mage cabal since his daughter was assassinated and my ambush was fought off.”

“We captured two of his children and much of his extended family outside the city,” Hakram replied. “It will have to serve.”

Getting the High Lord of Okoro to cede some of his territory was not going to be easy, but so long as the Tower was kept out of it the Clans had the stronger bargaining position. Hostages would only improve that, though exacting it as ransom from the man himself would have been easiest. Still, disappointing as the failure was it was not surprising: if High Lords were easy to capture, they would not be High Lords. Hakram looked away from Pickler’s mother and down to the city, where the unfolding battle could well be seen from the gatehouse where they stood. The staggering feat of magic that could only have been the work of Akua Sahelian had turned the tide.

The lightning storm had torn through thousands of the spiders and sent many skittering back to their hiding places below. There were still pockets of fighting between soldiers and beasts but much fewer, and already it could be seen that the Legions were going on the offensive to clear out the still-infested districts. Down south was less promising, where the High Lady of Kahtan held command and most highborn armies had gathered. The hulking silhouette of what had to be the progenitor of the infestation beneath Ater was rampaging around the Licosian Gates, swatting away at storm elementals and devils. Giant spiders were gathering to her, as if they were being called.

“It will be time to move soon,” the Warlord said.

“The longer we let Takisha bleed the better,” High Lady Wither smiled.

“Short-sighted,” Hakram said. “We’ll need those armies as fodder when we fight Keter and their nobles to handle the Hellgates. If it’s truly the Carrion Lord behind this insurgency of spiders, he disappoints me: thousands died today that could have been put to better use.”

“It’s him,” Wither quietly said. “And he’s not done, mark my words.”

Hakram did not ask how she knew. It would have been impolite and she would not have told him regardless.

“It does not change the need to act,” he said. “I want the west of the capital firmly under our control by the time the dust settles.”

“Abreha will take the safe passage to outside the city when you offer it,” High Lady Wither mused. “She’s not going to fight us for the gate, not when it already cost her keeping Dakarai away from it. She’ll move her camp to the Army of Callow’s side and stop pretending she ever switched sides. It’s Sargon that’s going to be a problem.”

“On that we agree,” the Warlord growled.

Sargon Sahelian had contributed to the defence of the capital, but most of his troops had stayed near the central districts that surrounded the Tower. Giving him the boot would not be trouble given the size of Hakram’s army, but the Sahelian was sharing those positions with the Sentinels – and Hakram was hesitant to tangle with those at the moment. Whoever first cornered Malicia would be mauled by the Tower’s arsenal, that was a role best passed to another. It was why he’d ordered his chiefs to seize the west of the city but go no further. The wealthy camps outside the city would sate the hunger for plunder for now, enough his warriors would not sack the capital against his orders.

“We’ll test their will to stand their ground with a few skirmishes,” High Lady Wither decided.

“I’m not above burning them out if I have to,” Hakram bluntly said. “We need to hold the avenues and barricade them if we’re going to keep the nobles wedged between us and the Army of Callow.”

Which was the only way he’d get them to bend without outright sacking Ater, he figured. If they had room to maneuver they’d try to run rings around him, decide they could wait out his horde. But so long as they were stuck in the capital between his host and another enemy, stripped of their supplies and at the Tower’s feet, they could be made to bend. It was either that or a massacre, which would weaken his army and taint the concessions he was here to force. Wither was in the same boat as him, which was why she’d been willing to ally: her title had been granted by Malicia, which meant it was worth less than dust the moment Malicia lost her throne. To ensure she was not thrown to the wolves by whoever succeeded the Empress, it been well worth opening a gate into the city.

One hundred thousand orcs were a heavy argument in any negotiation.

Their conversation was interrupted by a messenger, which turned out to be for the both of them. Letters with the Tower’s seal. Already checked for poison and curses. Hakram opened his own, scanning the lines, and let out a bark of laughter. Well, let it not be said that Malicia lacked audacity.

“I assume you got the same as me?” he asked.

“An invitation to a formal session of the imperial court tomorrow,” Wither said, eyes narrowed. “Malicia is playing a game again. She still thinks she can live through this.”

Hakram snorted. Catherine wanted the woman’s head on a pike, and given the situation she was quite likely to get it. There were few people left in Praes who wanted to keep the empress alive – it was more an issue of no one wanting to be the one to kill her. Cornered foxes bit deepest. The two of them left the wall to begin their preparations for the push into the city, but once more he was interrupted. This time by Dag, who quietly told him there was a messenger from the Army of Callow. The Warlord’s hand tightened. It had only been a matter of time, he knew.

Somehow he’d still been hoping to avoid it for a little longer.

The man had been led to a house on the other side of the street and kept under guard. Hakram wasted no time getting there, finding the officer was looking outside the window when he entered. The tall orc frowned. Something was wrong here. These were lieutenant’s stripes, Catherine would have sent someone higher up for an important message. The human turned, unclasping the straps of his helmet and setting it down on the table, revealing greying hair and green eyes.

“Good afternoon, Warlord,” the Carrion Lord said.

Hakram’s dead hand clenched.

“You are not here on Catherine’s behalf,” the Warlord said.

The older man conceded the point with a slight nod.

“So what is it you want, Amadeus of the Green Stretch?” the Warlord asked.

“I come,” the devil said, “to offer you a bargain.”