Ado was shoved into the room, but gently. Evidently, based on both that and the contents of her cell, her nobility was not being forgotten.

By the force of the push, and the harsh graze of her knees hitting the ground, neither was her association with Shaiagrazni. Ado forced her mind past the pain, which was no great detriment in any case, and hastily got back to her feet. Just in time to stare at her guard unimpeded by bars, for the fraction of a second he still needed to slam the door shut.

“How dare you!?” She snapped. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

The man didn’t reply, just turned from the door and shifted to stand somewhere to its side, beyond the scope of her sight. Probably he was too bloody stupid to even understand her. It was hardly the rare, brightest minds among the peasantry who found themselves guarding doors, after all.

She caught herself before that particular, unproductive spiral could fully ensnare her thoughts. Ado paused, turned, forcibly, from the door, and began pacing. She was pacing for a while.

Her cell was smaller even than she had initially thought, barely large enough for so much as thirty people to stand without touching within it. Its walls, ceiling and floor were all diabase, as she might have expected. Magus made and coloured like rust with the volume of raw iron naturally within the stone.

With all of her exertion, she might have gotten through a yard of the stuff, and widened such a penetration as to fit her whole body through within a minute. But Ado had no way of knowing whether that would be all there was to her captivity. For all she knew, the diabase was two yards thick, or three, or more. She might have blasted apart a few feet of the stonework only to discover a blockade of pure steel waiting for her beyond.

Ado was not Walriq the Windmage, and she was certainly not Silenos Shaiagrazni. Beyond a scarce few inches eroding through steel was beyond anything her magic would achieve, and if forced to do so quickly under the pressure of assault by prison guards she doubted even that much was possible for her.

Which was all to say nothing of Ado’s chances in actually escaping if she did blast through her cell. She didn’t know this city’s layout, nor where her carriage was located- or even if the barbarians holding her had destroyed it in a fit of zealotry- and she didn’t fancy her chances of escaping by foot.

Even a stolen horse, which she also didn’t know any locations for, would be a poor match for the speed of truly potent Vigour users. If there was anyone in the city with even half- even a quarter- of King Galukar’s prowess, they’d sprint down any mount she might find within minutes.

The more Ado thought, the fewer and more limited her options seemed to be. She supposed that was to be expected for a person finding themselves in a fucking prison.

She sat on her bed, which was lumpy and hard in all the wrong places. She strode around the floor, which was rugged in so thin a carpet that she fancied the floor’s chill still hit her bare feet regardless. There were two seats prepared beside a bowl of fruit and breads, which Ado tried to distract herself by consuming. It didn’t work. The only consumption happening was her own mind chewing at itself, working over the decisions she’d made, and how they might have been done less disastrously.

But the simple truth was that there really hadn’t been much choice in the matter. Certainly keeping her carriage closer by would have been ideal, and insisting on a few guards alongside that might well have let her escape the city. But even that would have been risky, and a great escalation to her current troubles if failure found her regardless.

Ado’s thoughts were perhaps a shade self-destructive, and certainly did nothing for her mood, but they at least kept her occupied. The time practically skipped her by before her cell’s door creaked open.

She stood, and turned to it, affixing her foulest glare and preparing to make her demands. The plan fell through, however, when her brother entered.

Folami was alone, as far as Ado could tell, and he did not look nearly as petulant or furious as he had previously. Rather, a terrible smugness seemed to have crept over his features and given them a twist which was altogether vaguely familiar, and rather disturbing for it.

“Sister.” He beamed, in much the same way a cat might after cornering the mouse. “I’m glad to see you unharmed. I had faith, of course, that God’s chosen would not stoop so low as to injure a woman but…Well, you’ve always had an impudent streak, and I feared you might have left them little choice.”

It was chilling. Folami had been an arse well after their reversal of roles, but there’d been no bite to it. He’d spoken petulantly, not confidently. Even he had known that she was the one with the authority between them.

But not anymore. Now he seemed secure in a way she hadn’t seen since…

Since before their father met his end.

“What are you doing here?” Ado asked him. Folami replied by rolling his eyes, as if her question were some anticipated annoyance. As if she were a year younger once more, and dealing with younger brothers who thought themselves her senior through masculinity alone.

“I am telling my sister that I’ve solved all of her problems.” Folami sighed, taking a seat without asking. “You have nothing to worry about, Ado, it’s all well. I’ve spoken with the King, and the High Priest, and I’ve coordinated a deal for you. All will be forgiven as long as you do what you ought to have done from the start, and simply renounce Shaiagrazni. Let the world see this little tryst for what it is- a momentary surrender to female weakness and insecurity.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Female weakness?” Ado echoed.

It had been so long, really, since she’d heard anything like that. At least from a man she was under the power of. Oh, chauvanism had been far from uncommon within her duties as Shaiagrazni’s diplomat, but being controlled by the chauvanists?

Her blood boiled.

“Undo it.” She snapped. “You had no right to make this deal, now reverse it this instant.”

Folami smiled, as if he were amused by her antics. It was all Ado could do not to march across the room and punch him then and there.

“I am afraid, my sister, that you are not the one in control here.” He sighed. “The authority of the true King is recognised in this land, you see. Not some upjumped Princess, a King.”

Ado’s heart felt like it had frozen in her chest. Even Shaiagrazni hadn’t called her Queen, and she was fairly certain as to why. Trust. Or lack thereof. He needed her under his power, needed her dismissable, if need be, from her own nation’s authority. And so she was only a Princess.

It was something she understood, and something she would surely have done herself- had she thought of it. But now she was seeing it spat back in her face, and it was boiling acid coming from the lips of a man like Folami.

“Get out.” She whispered, and her brother sighed- again- and stood. He made his way to the door.

“Very well, sister. If you want.”

***

Galukar was a good tactician. He ought to be, after so many decades of tactics. There was no native brilliance to let him intuit the complexities of battle- let alone warfare- the way the keenest minds might, but he had, through sheer weight of experience and time, become a cut above most.

And as far as he could tell, they were doing rather well. Granted, he could not tell very far. His weight of experience was of limited applicability when it came to fighting alongside undead, flesh abominations and whatever else Shaiagrazni had stuffed into their army.

The Kaltans, though, were well within his scope. And they impressed.

“I’m not a commander.” The Necromancer breathed, glancing uncertainly at Galukar.

He arched an eyebrow.

“Your magic lets you summon undead to fight for you, and you’re not a commander?”

“No.” She snapped. “I’m not a commander, and trying to fix that, will you explain what’s going oin?”

If Galukar wasn’t mistaken, the Necromancer seemed to have gotten rather combative since their last conversation. He tried to recall anything he might have done to anger her, but focused majorly upon her request.

“Over there.” He pointed, gesturing to a hilltop. “You see those Kaltans?”

Three thousand in all, a formation of considerable size. Sheer numbers forced the shield wall to a width great enough to engulf most of the terrain upon which it sat, and they held it admirably. A great wooden porcupine, bristles of steel quivering where they poked out from the oaken hide.

Shield walls, an unpopular formation. Beloved in Kaltan. Galukar had learned that they had advantages of numerous kinds. The obvious, of course. Ten men in such a structure could crush fifteen, twenty, even more attacking in many others. Mobility was limited, but he’d often found a strock back leg was more important than a swift front in battle anyway, and there was a certain magic to the mental effect it had on a man’s courage.

But he had only understood the second, more terrible use upon observing it executed by the Kaltans. It was something to take full advantage of their Rangers.

With Kaltan shield walls, constructed of well carved wood and carefully banded iron, there was very little penetrating them. Heavy axes, perhaps, with a bit of luck, but they were a damned sturdy thing to be removed. Invariably, the enemy would turn to Vigour. They would send in their elites, whatever those were. Just as the Dark Lord’s army was doing now.

Just as the handful of Rangers still with them had been waiting for. They opened fire, ideal targets all conveniently bunched together well below the crest of their perch- a second hill higher than the one holding the shield wall.

It was no more than a vanguard, this force of the Dark Lord’s. Galukar knew the enemy’s strength would grow by the day as yet more of their landscape-burying army arrived to water the battlefield in blood. That first volley, though, set the pace.

Where plate armour was not defeated entirely, it was bypassed as bodkins slipped through gaps and chewed through mail. Spines, arteries, vital organs all surrendered to the skewering barrage and sent convulsive bodies dropping down to the dirt. Not undead, these elites, which was surprising, but a boon nonetheless.

An undead didn’t care how much steel was in its liver.

“We’re doing well.” Galukar decided, at last. “The enemy is trying to hurry this, which is their mistake. We’re well dug in, and our flanks- our sides- are covered by natural defences. Currently, the real struggle is that hill.” He nodded to where the shield wall was still being battered, noting with surprise and satisfaction that even still, it held.

“What’s special about it?” The Necromancer frowned.

“Essentially, that’s the strongest defensive position for miles. Currently we have it lightly held to lure enemy elites into Ranger fire, but as the Dark Lord’s forces arrive in full I intend to move forwards and bolster it and the surrounding area more fully.”

It was a risky strategy, but Galukar needed an engagement. If the Dark Lord knew the full extent of his forces he might send his own around them, while a small fraction merely engaged Galukar to keep him from distracting. All it would take was the enemy getting ahead, then all was lost. They could not out-march an army of near-exclusively undead.

That risk, however, seemed to be paying off. The tide of bodies was growing rather than shrinking, far horizon turning dark with the shadow of marching men and monsters, all headed for Galukar’s position.

He stood, now, at the head of the greatest army he had ever personally commanded. But it was a small thing indeed next to the Dark Lord’s innumerable hordes.

“Numbers can be misleading.” The Necromancer noted, apparently seeing his concern. “Each of my Master’s grotesqueries will kill a score, a hundred- even a thousand. I’d say we’re evenly matched.”

It was, he decided, something she was saying for her own benefit rather than his. But Galukar had to admit there was a certain weight to the assurance.

He turned back. The Dark Lord’s forces were fanning out, forced to widen their assemblies simply to close in with any real speed. Their numbers were working against them, for this left some men higher elevated than those in the same formation. It loosened them, leaving them all a softer target for the more tight, compressed Shaiagraznian ranks.

As he might have expected, the blood was flowing in rivers when they finally met en masse.

Arrows came down, bolts joining from crossbow fire. They thudded into shields, softening the enemy approach as they marched uphill before shield finally met shield. Ground was given, victory scrambled for. It looked to Galukar that it was well within reach.

Then the cries of horror rang out, and Galukar raised his eyes to see the skies themselves rendered apart.