Seeing Eudora's Legionnaire's hefting their packs onto their backs, Semon shelved such thoughts and made his way over to her.

"Never had a chance to thank you for saving my life," Semon said, bowing his head to her.

"You'd still be alive if I hadn't," she said, jutting her chin towards the pathetic sight of the Commander still nailed to the tree.

"You know what I mean." He looked among her small band. "Is this all that's left of your Rogue Legions?"

Eudora shook her head. "No. They weren't legions for long. People don't think about how much goes into maintaining a standing army. Food, clothing, shelter, pay, discipline, morale, sandals, forges, cooks, skinscribes, family, whores, leather workers, tailors, cobblers, engineers, soresearers and other assorted mancers plus the watter to fuel their arts, and on and on and on. Without the Donative backing us, couldn't keep that up for long."

"So... the Rogue Legions are gone?" Semon said, feeling as though a weight landed on his shoulders. He hadn't heard much about them beyond rumor, but anyone fighting back against the Dynasty he'd held as an ally whatever their means and motivation. Just knowing they were out there fighting had given him a vague sense of reassurance. Hope was such a fragile thing.

"As Legions, as coherent fighting forces, yes."

"So you're the last?" Semon fell in on himself further.

"No. I split up the 'nails we swiped on the way out and broke everyone up into smaller units." She held her fists together then splayed her fingers wide and pulled her hands apart. "Units were given orders to hit other verses, steal more 'nails, and disperse further."

"Disperse to hide?"

"Disperse to fight as small units. Strike where and when we could, run and hide when we couldn't. Live off the land. Ambushes and raids." She ticked off fingers as she enumerated further. "Hit Donative collectors. Assassinate Versers or even Dynasts if they think they can pull it off. Incite revolts and convince other Legionnaires to defect. Ambush patrols. Raid granaries. Anything we can do."

Semon nodded as she talked, admiring her strategy. "Against who? Are you fighting for or against?"

"Against the Ancients." Eudora tightened a leather strap on her pack. "They took command of the Legions to use as their own personal force, instead of the shield to protect the Book as they were meant to be. Exactly as Hassani said they would there in Ziggurat and worse."

And there, Simon saw his angle. "You say you're fighting against the Ancients, but it sounds like you're really fighting for the people of the Book. Why do what you did here today if you weren't? Rescuing all these people. Rescuing me?"

"Incidental." Eudora nodded towards the Commander. "We found out he's a tool of the Ancients. Seems they've been bribing minor officials and officers all across The Book to relay them information. Also probably a bit of incentives in there for them to create trouble when the Ancients finally get past the Wretch Plague, regain unit cohesion, and begin invading Rag verses. Which should already be happening by my estimates. Surprised it hasn't been happening already."

"So you didn't care if another hundred menials were left to suffer and die for the crime of raiding a grain warehouse because they were starving to death?" Semon pointed down the beach.

Eudora followed his gesture, glancing at the sobbing woman being helped down from a tree and quickly looked away. "A side benefit, then. Can't waste men on trying to help every hungry mouth the Dynasts want to kick the teeth out of. We can do more by going after the Dynasts doing the kicking than trying to pull every menial they step on out from under their hobnailed sandals."

"Ah, but you're not thinking big enough," Semon said, swinging an arm high and wide to encompass the bright, cloud-skudded horizons. "Right now your troops are on their own, depending on stealth and subterfuge to avoid being caught. They're relying on what they can forage or steal to stay provisions. Sounds like they're probably spending as much or more time just trying to keep fed and out of sight as they are actually fighting."

The rogue Legion officer pursed her lips but didn't reply. Semon took that as a form of reply in itself.

"What if your soldiers found themselves given refuge in every village they entered. Fed and clothed with whatever can be spared, given reports, entries, layouts, and patrol plans by ever farmer and laborer? And finding fresh recruits swelling your ranks at every city and farm you visit?"

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Eudora glanced at the new faithful moving down the beach. "I could see the benefits."

She looked back at him with a level gaze. "And we become, what, protectors of the people? Some sort of outlaw rebels like the Sixth Tier Rebellion? I've heard Baka's stories of how he put that down in great length and gruesome detail."

"Not outlaws. Better," Semon said, bringing back his beatific smile. "Holy warriors. The Mother's Militant. You don't merely fight against the Dynasty for the people, but for the people's future, their hopes, their dreams."

"I don't know much about this Mother except the entirety of her fighting force seems to be a Paragon and a few Ferals, at most." Eudora shook her head. "Doesn't seem like a position of strength to be aligning with."

"If you want military strength or discipline, I agree we're lacking. But in numbers, in courage, in a cause worth fighting for, we have enough to equal ten Legions. Besides, menials work every farm and forge, work as guard and gardener, and serve as every servant who isn't a slave or slavant."

The rebel Legionary snorted. "Too bad Rega and Baka command more than thirty Legions. Or did before the Wretch Plague anyway. Probably less than twenty they could field now if our losses are anything to go by."

"Dynasts Plague." Semon corrected without thinking. "And what matter if they have twenty Legions still? They'll be spread all across the entire Book: fighting the Rags, putting down rebellions across all the Ancient verses, guarding a few hundred Thorns, and protecting the Donative convoys, to name a few of their many troubles and concerns. Spread pretty thin, I'd say. Declare yourselves the Mother's Militant and you'll have every last slave, Wretch, and menial backing you wherever you go."

This made Eudora think. Her battle-scarred Legionnaires stood watching and waiting, fatigue and weariness written in every step and stance. No matter how loyal and disciplined, months on the run fighting hit-and-run raids against a more powerful force had to take its toll, not even accounting for the Dynasts Plague that they'd probably watched friends and fellows die of while they lay too sick to even help.

Her voice was so quiet he barely heard it. "I don't believe in the Mother. Wouldn't that make me a... I don't know. An instant blasphemer or pretender or heretic or something?"

"No, no, no," Semon said, waving his hands and shaking his head. "You need not proclaim your devotion to the Mother, simply align your intent with hers. So long as we act in concert and common cause against our common foes, I see no issue with any present lack of faith. It only makes sense as you've been busy off fighting for our freedom, not sitting in a village hall or back room learning the ways of the Mother's faith."

"Need my soldiers swear their devotion or allegiance to the Mother?" Eudora said, glancing at them. "That may be a bit much to ask, even if some likely already hold the faith."

"Not at all. If you and I both set to using our networks and resources to spread the news that we are in alignment and are sure to let all our followers know, you'll likely need but mention that you are the Mother's Militant." Semon's imagination soared as he pictured the transformation they were about to enact across The Book. "Those two words will soon open every menial door, find you a seat at every table, and a bed by every hearth."

"And you have means to spread this news to your people?" Eudora said. She gestured the direction of Port Villach. "Ink has proclaimed their neutrality in the many-sided civil war that begins to engulf us. I send ciphered relays by wyre. Most of my soldiers will know of this in a few weeks."

"I have some means," Semon said, preferring to maintain not only an air of mystery and power, but also conceal the valeer Rega had sent them. Telling Eudora about that little detail seemed imprudent at best. "But even if I merely mentioned it to those who just earned a second chance at life down the beach thanks to you and those who they are likewise rescuing, it will spread from verse to verse faster than you would believe. The Mother's hope is like wildfire: not only does it burn down the old, suffocating growth, but it races faster than the longest-legged Legionary strider can outrun. And the Dynasty has as much chance of victory sending the Legions to attack a forest fire as it does to try to fight the Faith."

Eudora nodded thoughtfully, then turned and extended her bandaged hand to Semon. "The Mother's Militant."

"The Mother's Militant. Quickly may the Dynasty learn that name and long may they fear it."

"As you say," Eudora said, releasing and turning to her troops. She gestured to the collapsed Commander and his tree. "Unpin him. We'll take him with us. We need to be gone from here before they dispatch a patrol boat or send a unit of versal troops to find out why their execution detail never returned."

They set to it with crisp salutes, but without question or comment.

"I'll tell you everything," the Commander cried as they pried his hands free. "The Ancients are sending a Legion now, as we speak, to enter all the Thorns near here and take Port Villach. I've heard they'll be launching similar attacks against every verse the Rags rely on for food! Not only that but before long they'll strike the heart of the Rag's power in Berujat and-"

As they dragged him off into the woods, still wailing and blubbering, Eudora paused at the edge of the jungle and glanced back. Semon placed both hands on his chest and bowed.

"The sign of the Mother's Faith." He slowly turned the hands to fists. "And by this shall the Mother's Militant be known."

Eudora nodded and, after a breath's pause, placed her fists against her leather breastplate and returned the bow.

Semon bowed again, even more deeply. When he looked up, Eudora was departed and the Mother's Militant arrived at the same moment.