“Apparently, there’s a big meeting about to take place,” said Naomi. “We’ve been hired by shadowy interests from deepest hell to ruin the show.”
Moira simply arched her brow.
“We’re interested in helping with the war effort,” said Scorio. “But we’re not sure yet what that might mean. So we’re waiting to see what this new party from deeper hell proposes, and how the Charnel Dukes respond.”
“So you’ve heard that much, at any rate. Good. Two Blood Barons are due to arrive soon as envoys from the Seamstress.”
Scorio leaned forward. “Blood Barons? But we’ve already got two Charnel Dukes involved.”
“Power does not equal wit, Scorio, nor does rank equal strategic genius. Both these Blood Barons have served alongside the Seamstress in the Emerald Reach. That she sends her personal lieutenants is significant.”
“Because it’s an answer to the Iron Tyrant’s demands?” asked Scorio.
“You know quite a lot for someone who just stumbled here accidentally,” said Moira. “But yes, you’re correct. Do you know what he’s requested?”
Scorio shook his head.
“Then I won’t endanger you by telling you more. But it’s clear the Seamstress is rebutting his demands in the strongest terms. How much do you know about her role in hell?”
“Not much. I’m guessing she sews the Imperator uniforms?”
“Cute.” Moira didn’t seem particularly amused. “She’s a Crimson Countess and nominally leads House Basilisk, though that means less and less with each passing year. As a Crimson Countess she could press all the way to the Void Veil and there provide direct support to the Imperators who ring the Pit in the Twilight Cradle, but instead she’s chosen - for a variety of reasons - to act as a fulcrum between upper hell and the lower levels.”
“Upper hell,” said Scorio. “Everything up to the Emerald Reach?”
“Precisely. She once coordinated the activities of the lesser Potentates.” At Scorio’s obvious confusion she elaborated. “Each layer of hell boasts a prominent leader or figure of authority, sometimes several. Think the White Queen, the Iron Tyrant, or Jova back when she ruled LastRock.”
“Right,” said Scorio. “And the Silver Unfathom and Lustrous Maria have their own leaders?”
“Correct. All of whom she manages so that the deeper layers can focus on our true enemy. Of late, there have been too many distractions. The Blood Ox, Jova’s death, the White Queen descending to the Azure Expanse where she promptly ascended to Crimson Countess.”
“The White Queen is a Crimson Countess?” asked Scorio, sitting upright. “That’s fantastic.”
“And entirely to be expected,” said Moira dryly. “Her fondness for the Rascor Plains and Bastion were a criminal waste of her energies.”
“Tell that to the people of Bastion,” said Naomi darkly. “Unless you forgot what happened when she left?”
“Grow up, Naomi,” said Moira, her tone almost kind. “As much as the people of Bastion deserve rich lives of security and fulfillment, they’ll all be slaughtered if we don’t destroy the Pit within a handful of years. Regardless. My point is that the Seamstress plays a lesser but pivotal role in our war, and the Iron Tyrant has annoyed her to a sufficient degree that she’s sending Aezryna and Charoth the Black to intervene. Not to mention some three hundred Flame Vaults that she’s peeling away from the Red Fort and fifty Dread Blazes that are on loan from the Lustrous Maria.”
“Three hundred Flame Vaults? Fifty Dread Blazes?” Scorio’s face lit up. “That’s great!”
“It might be,” allowed Moira carefully, then turned to accept a terracotta cup of tea from Ravenna. “Thank you.”
Ravenna looked at the other two. “Sweet grass tea? It’s from the Rascor Plains. You’d be fools to say no.”
“No,” said Naomi sweetly.
“Sure,” said Scorio. “Thank you.”
“Aezryna and Charoth will seek to commandeer Plassus’ forces,” continued Moira, her tone brisk. “He commands the bulk of our remaining army, with Hydra and Kraken’s Great Souls fighting under his banner.”
“But?” prompted Scorio.
“But,” said Moira, as if in agreement. She sipped her tea. “Plassus is a fool. He was Kraken’s golden boy, his rise meteoric, his fame spreading far and wide. It went to his head, and his recent failures have made him irrational. These past two years have tainted his reputation, and now he insists on redeeming himself, even if it comes at the cost of winning the war.”
“But can’t the Seamstress simply command him, as a Crimson Countess?” asked Scorio.
“She’s Basilisk, he’s Kraken. Now, if Crimson Earl Broic the Brawler were to send that command, that would be different, but nobody’s heard from Broic since he attempted to clear the Sordid Hive last year. Which leaves a vacuum that has only bred confusion and given ample room for stupidity.” Moira sighed. “It is, frankly, a mess.”
Ravenna stepped down to join them, handing Scorio his cup of tea and then sitting with her own. “Which is why this upcoming meeting is so important. The Seamstress has refused the Iron Tyrant his request, which means he can’t be counted on to sway Plassus to commit his forces to Aezryna and Charoth’s command. If he doesn’t…”
“Then our forces will remain split,” said Scorio. “How many Great Souls does Plassus command?”
“Last I received a reliable report?” Moira frowned at her tea. “Some hundred and twenty Dread Blazes, over four hundred Flame Vaults, and about half that number of Tomb Sparks.”
“A larger force than what the Seamstress is sending,” said Scorio.
“Indeed,” said Moira. “Worse, those forces are all but wasted under Plassus. He’s grown terrified of the Blood Ox. The True Fiend has defeated him and spared his life three times to date.”
“What?” Naomi sat forward. “He let him live?”
“The Blood Ox isn’t a fool,” said Moira. “Plassus is near to breaking from the humiliation and the strain.”
“But he’s got too much pride, right?” Scorio glanced from Ravenna to Moira. “So he refuses to step down?”
Moira sipped her tea placidly.
“Well, it looks like Scorio and I will be skipping the Telurian Band and heading right into the Silver Unfathom,” said Naomi. “Right, Scorio?”
“You could play a significant part in what’s to come,” said Moira softly. “You’ve become figures of note. Oh, I doubt anyone’s heard of you in the Lustrous Maria, but in the Telurian Band, even the Silver Unfathom? Word has spread of your role in driving away Imogen the Woe, in your killing of Praximar. People are talking, speculating. When people are desperate, they eagerly seize at any hint of salvation or a legend in the making.”
“Wait, what?” Scorio rose to his feet. “Legend in the making?”
“Trust me,” laughed Moira, “Ravenna and I know better. You are a remarkably talented and fortunate young man, but your fervent desire to get yourself killed while still young means the odds of your becoming Infernarch are vanishingly small.”
Scorio sat back down and Ravenna patted his knee comfortingly.
“But you can help raise morale and play an important role in the battle. If we don’t defeat the Blood Ox now, the Seamstress and deep hell will give the Iron Weald, the Rascor Plains, and Bastion up for lost. The Blood Ox will drive all the way to the Academy, and only once he endangers the Archspire itself will the Imperators unite against him, but that’s still a year or two from now, and they’re willing to delay that moment of reckoning for as long as they can.”
“They should just come kill him now,” said Naomi.
“They’ve tried, as I’m sure you’ve heard, but to do it efficiently and quickly would require four of their number to ferret the Blood Ox out, and the opportunity cost of such an operation is just too high. I don’t pretend to understand the nuances of what’s going on down in the Twilight Cradle, but I’m sure it dwarfs whatever we’re dealing with here to insignificance.”