And what of the peasantry, then? All those people who had needed her to succeed, who had bet everything on her cause, those same citizens now shouted her name in defiance, even though it might cost them their lives, even though she had failed them. All those people whom she had abandoned so that she could hide out in the hills with her favorite hooker... Zosia let herself fall back on the pillows and stared at the insectoid figures carved into the lintel over the door. Just when she thought she'd run out of reasons to be disappointed in herself.

"I didn't do it to be a martyr," she said. "I did it because I was a coward."

"You're many things, sister, but you're not that," said Singh. "Here we are. Take a look at this."

"What is it?" asked Zosia, sitting up and accepting the dossier Singh handed her.

"Everything I have on the Dull Kriss," said Singh, dumping out the dottle from her meerschaum and sitting down to repack it. "All the elements are here-we have the arms, we have the hands to wield them, and we have, at the moment, the support of several powerful cults. But we'll only have one go at it, and if that one push fails, then it will be years before the revolution recovers enough to try again. Assuming we aren't all caught and hanged."

"Sounds like old times." Zosia fingered the ribbon wrapped around the dossier. "Kang-ho wants me dead for reasons you aren't willing to spill, but you want me alive to help you plot your rebellion."

"You possess the greatest mind for tactics I've ever known," said Singh. "Sharpen the Dull Kriss with your advisement, and the Dominions will be all but united. I wonder how useful you would find it to have an entire Arm of the Star in your debt before launching an attack on the Empire?"

"Pretty useful," said Zosia, looking from the dossier to the crumpled flyer on the floor. "But even the best plans go awry."

"You have my word of honor, I will assist you in every way I can, regardless of the revolution's success."

"Well, that's something," said Zosia. "But since Kang-ho's obviously told you all about my plans, you can understand why it makes me nervous that you aren't willing to tell me why he sent you after me. He had me knocked out on his island; why not whack me there and be done with it?"

"I suspect Kang-ho and his spouse are at odds," said Singh. "Who was it that sent you after Princess Ji-hyeon?"

"Huh," said Zosia. "Kang-ho doesn't want his daughter found, does he? All that talk on Hwabun was for the benefit of he who holds the purse strings-Jun-hwan doesn't know his husband helped their daughter run away, does he?"

"If he did I expect the sweetness of affluent domesticity would sour substantially for our old friend."

"So Kang-ho helped his daughter run away, but blamed it on Fennec." Choplicker had surreptitiously scooted closer to the low table with its plate of biscuits. Planting a foot on his shoulder, Zosia smoothly shoved him back to a safe distance. "Clever enough. I wonder if the old fox was even involved."

"Definitely," said Singh. "I met with them both when they arrived here."

"Fennec and Kang-ho?"

"Fennec and Princess Ji-hyeon. There was a third with them, a wildborn woman. They wanted my help, but even if the scheme had seemed tenable, I was then as I am now occupied with my own affairs."

"And what's the scheme?" asked Zosia, relighting her low-burned pipe and taking a few embers to the tongue for the effort. That's what you got for scraping the bottom of the barrel.

"Isn't it obvious?" said Singh as her former general coughed on a mouthful of hot ash. "Zosia lives."

CHAPTER.

2.

Everything had been progressing smoothly until the Siege of Myura, when a couple more of Ji-hyeon's second father's old friends showed up to complicate things.

Choi's strategy had worked perfectly, the Myuran regiment never expecting Ji-hyeon's troops to charge straight out of the castle and swarm the town. The Red Imperials were caught with their codpieces down, and were routed before they'd had a chance to lace them. Ji-hyeon's pride in yet another decisive victory mingled with unease at just how little fight the Myurans had mustered-she'd barely cut down a dozen enemy soldiers before the whole lot of them fled the town. This unease deepened substantially when Choi regrouped with her after the day was won and insisted Ji-hyeon accompany her through the dusty streets to an old temple where the Imperial command had been centered.

Had. Everything seemed perfectly preserved, the beech pews neatly pushed against the walls to make space in the central chamber for two long tables. The boards were stacked with papers, maps, a small diorama of Castle Myura, and several black bottles. From the look of things, they had been no more than a day or two out from sapping their way inside-the clever bastards had dropped a tunnel straight under a shallow stretch of the river that abutted the castle's northern wall.

Ji-hyeon stepped over impossibly bent and broken weapons to get a better look at the uniforms and boots scattered around the temple. The crimson cloth and light grey kidskin were shredded by wide gashes, curious burns, and tight clusters of countless tiny holes. Instead of incense, the chamber stank of dank, deep earth, freshly tilled. Despite the obvious violence, there was no scrap of the missing officers themselves, what Ji-hyeon had thought to be a lone blood splatter on the gritty tile revealing itself to her fingernail as wax.

Choi seemed as confounded as everyone else, and even without the rest of it, seeing her usually unflappable wildborn ill at ease would have been enough to make Ji-hyeon sweat. She should have known things were going too good to last.

"What a rout! Time to add another verse to the Ballad of..." But whatever song they were to expand with their deeds went untitled as Fennec came in from the street and saw the state of the enemy command. If Choi looked on edge, Fennec appeared to have fallen clear over the side, all the color draining from his tan features and both hands shaking as he reached up and slid his visor shut, as if to insulate himself from further fright. "Oh... oh dear."

"What happened here?" Ji-hyeon asked him, staring up at where an empty scabbard had caught in the exposed rafters.

"I was... That is... Um." Fennec didn't rattle easily, either, and that both he and Choi were so uneasy did not bode well. "I supervised the left flank from the rampart, as you ordered, so this is the first I've seen of... this."

"No it's not." Ji-hyeon had learned that bluntly smashing through his lies was far more effective than trying to outfence her former tutor. "You've seen this before, haven't you? If not here, when? And who?"

"Bide." Choi had a palm up, and knowing the wildborn would never spare Fennec from an unpleasant interrogation without strong cause, Ji-hyeon did as she was asked. Choi's other hand went to the hilt of her sword, and she moved quickly but carefully across the temple floor, as though stepping on the wrong tile would trigger a calamity. Tugging her ear at Fennec, Ji-hyeon followed.

On the street, Choi huffed the air with her narrow nostrils, and immediately led them several blocks to what appeared to be a tavern or inn. The door was barricaded from within, but not for long. A hundred of her best troops backing her up, Ji-hyeon borrowed an ax from an obliging soldier and hacked down the door.

On the other side were a bunch of her dad's old gang. At first, Ji-hyeon thought the old barbarian had died right in front of her, the potbellied, high-haired ruffian staggering away from the table where his fellows sat and then biting the floor right in front of her. He looked in a rough way, to be sure. As soon as he hit the ground a small yet sturdy woman hurried to his aid, her face too freshly battered to determine much about her, save that she was no dark-skinned Flintlander like her friend.

"My my my," said another old-timer as he looked over his shoulder, unwilling to abandon his card game despite the fact that the other three players had all stood and backed away from the table. These standing players were younger, hard-looking rogues mockingly dressed in shoddy imitation of the Imperial noblesse. One even held a tiny dog to complete the charade. The seated speaker resembled an ogre crafted out of porcelain, only bigger, paler, and uglier. "Fennec, old boy, you never fail to disappoint. This is so much better than I expected!"

"Captain Fennec is not in charge," said Ji-hyeon, her irritation at being ignored by this ancient ox supplanting the definite apprehension he inspired. "I am."

"Cold Cobalt," breathed the beat-up woman kneeling over the fallen barbarian, her blackened eyes wide. "Blue Zosia, the Banshee with a Blade-it's really you!"

"The devils it is," said Ji-hyeon, yanking off her helm, but rather than coming off clean it caught in her blood-matted hair and she had to wrestle it free. Hardly the dignified entrance of the future ruler of the Crimson Empire. She hated this stupid helmet, and hated Fennec for insisting she wear it. Scheming Fennec and his... his... schemes. "I am General Ji-hyeon, Commander of the Cobalt Company, Heiress to Glory, and the next Queen of Samoth."

The geriatric giant snorted and everyone else just looked perplexed. Choi's whisper ruffled Ji-hyeon's hair as she said, "That one is a poison. Do not let him touch you."

"Good to see rumors of your demise are only slightly exaggerated, Maroto," Fennec said to the unconscious barbarian as he stepped past him and advanced on the ogre. Ji-hyeon blinked, trying to reconcile the comatose old man on the floor with the Mighty Maroto of all the songs. "Whatever hive you dug him out of, Hoartrap, I expect it will be a wasted effort. I think he's had a heart attack, but even if he lives, what good is an old stinghound?"

"He found you, Villain," snapped the woman tending Maroto. "We've been chasing you down all summer. The Touch only caught up with us today."

"Hoartrap the Touch," said Ji-hyeon, remembering her father's stories about the sorcerer. Stories he only told when his daughters were misbehaving and he sought to frighten them into obedience. So two of the original Villains had come looking for her... but why? "The command temple, that was your doing?"

"Ah, yes," said Hoartrap, as if remembering a chore he'd taken care of the previous week. "You appreciated my help, did you?"

"What did you do to them?" asked Ji-hyeon, and at the question one of the cardplayers lurking in the background doubled over and vomited on the floor.

"There, there, Diggelby, it wasn't as bad as all that," Hoartrap told the man, then finally clambered to his feet. Even with Fennec standing between them, he easily looked over the man's head and stared Ji-hyeon in the eye. His gaze made her queasy, but she held it, told herself she was doing so because she wanted to, and not because she lacked a choice in the matter. "Do you really want to know, little general? I'd be more than happy to show you..."

"She does not," said Choi, putting herself in front of Ji-hyeon and breaking the nauseating glare. Even with a dozen of her best-and best-paid-mercenaries crowded into the tavern behind them, Ji-hyeon began to feel as though she had blundered into a dire showdown. Of all the Villains to face head-on, it had to be the sorcerer...

"Greetings, oh witchborn thug," Hoartrap told Choi. "If you will excuse us, your mistress and I were having a discussion."

"No," Fennec said firmly, having rediscovered some of the mettle he had misplaced back at the command temple. "You and I talk first, Hoartrap. We are delighted at your having assisted us this afternoon, and would discuss terms about the future before-"

"Captain Fennec, I think in your excitement at seeing old friends you have forgotten yourself," said Ji-hyeon. Each day he got bossier, and if she let him determine how things went with his old chums now she might as well resign herself to always doing what he ordered. Besides, if he had set this up, this reunion on the sly, she aimed to find out about it before the Villains could get their stories straight. "I believe a better use of your time will be to convene with Sasamaso and Kimaera. Determine how light a contingent we can leave in Myura and still hold the castle for a reasonable time when Imperial reinforcements arrive. I want the bulk of our forces marching on Cockspar two days hence."

"General," Fennec began, sliding up his vulpine faceplate. The nine months of hard campaigning had planed off most of the joviality-and double chin-he had worn as Brother Mikal. "I cannot stress how important it is that at a minimum you and I first discuss certain particulars."

"Don't, then," said Ji-hyeon, and when he clearly didn't get it she sighed and spelled it out. "If you cannot stress the importance, then don't, was the meaning. Just forget it."

"Oh, don't mind me," said Hoartrap, nudging Maroto with his bare foot. "All this fretting is unbecoming of commanders, and I don't really think there's anything to talk about until this one is up and about. For my part, I'm always delighted to assist an old friend, or an old friend's family-you are kin of Kang-ho's, General?"

"His second daughter," said Ji-hyeon, which caused Choi to hiss in irritation, but Ji-hyeon didn't see any utility in denying what the evil wizard already knew. She added a good line she'd been waiting to use for some time. "In another life, I was Princess Ji-hyeon Bong, betrothed to Prince Byeong-gu of Othean, fourth son of Empress Ryuki, Keeper of the Immaculate Isles, but I sought my own path. Instead of giving my hand to another I shall make it a fist to crush my enemies."

"Hey, me, too!" said the woman who had gone to Maroto's aid. She was a fighter, no doubt about that, though given the state of her face maybe not a very good one. "I mean, a second daughter seeking her own way, not the rest of it, obviously. And so are Diggelby, Din, and Hassan there-get over here, you lot, the general's just like us!"

Ji-hyeon rather doubted that was the case, but had gotten used to biting her tongue for the greater good. She nodded as the three weasely rogues came around the table, the man who had thrown up when she'd asked about Hoartrap's activities at the command temple offering her a curtsy of his battle gown and the other two bowing as they introduced themselves. The beat-up woman kneeling over Maroto rose to join her compatriots, the low dip and cocked elbows of her bow identifying her as a member of the Ugrakari noble caste... which meant if you went back far enough, she and Ji-hyeon might be related, on her first father's side.

"Tapei Purna," the Ugrakari said. "And like the Touch said, the big guy here is Maroto-you know, Maroto Devilskinner from all the old songs. He brought us here because he thought you were Queen Zosia, but you're just dressed like her, huh?"

"Yes," said Ji-hyeon icily. Legions had flocked to her blue banner, just as Fennec had said they would, but more than a few had deserted as soon as they found out that the Cobalt Queen had not actually risen from the tomb to lead her old Company. That was the worst feeling, seeing so much disappointment that she wasn't someone else. "Think of me as her successor."

"So you're after the same thing as her, too? Taking back the Crimson Throne? Well, not taking back, in your case, just snatching it..."

"I will succeed where Zosia failed," said Ji-hyeon. It was beginning to feel like a script, the words a variation on a dozen speeches she had given during the campaign. "No more Chain, no more Empire. I will wear the Carnelian Crown only long enough to destroy it, and then all people of the Crimson Empire will be set free."

"Sounds like a plan," said Purna. "But before I vow my allegiance to your cause, I need to clear it with Maroto. I'm sure it will be fine, though."

"Ahem," said the woman called Din, straightening her listing wig. "Overthrowing the current regime is fine and dandy, and we are all in favor of that. But what's this about destroying the Empire?"

"Din... that's a Cascadian name, isn't it?" said Fennec, who had not pissed off like Ji-hyeon had told him to. "Rest assured, my lady, that those who assist the general in her quest to bring justice to the Star will not be forgotten when she is queen, regardless of their lineage."

"Then there's the niggling fact that you've just overheard enough to ensure they'll never let you leave their camp," Hoartrap supplied. "We're all with them now, friends, so why don't you come back over here so we can finish our game?"

"That's not true, is it?" said Purna, squaring her shoulders as she appraised Ji-hyeon. "You wouldn't keep us prisoner if we wanted to leave? Not after we messed up a bunch of Crimsons just to get to you?"

"No, never," said Ji-hyeon, very much wanting to lie down all of a sudden. She hadn't slept for two days, and the adrenaline that had propelled her through the day's fight had slipped away, leaving her exhausted and in the most dread of circumstances-social interactions with foreign nobles. Yawning, she waved Fennec over. "We don't have the means to properly care for prisoners, so any who would stand against us or desert our cause are hanged. Fennec, escort me back to the castle so we can have a word, and Choi, see that our new recruits are well looked after. Make sure there are plenty of guards at each entrance to their bunkhouse here, so nobody can sneak in and do them a mischief. Night, all."

Most were respectfully silent, but Hoartrap laughed and laughed as Ji-hyeon wheeled away, her silent soldiers parting for her as she stepped back out into the road. Scant protection as her armor granted her in battle, it gave her even less from the night wind, and she pulled her cape tight as she stalked back to her most recent conquest. Fennec followed after, giving her measured advice for a change instead of chiding her for this, that, and the other thing. He claimed to have no idea why they had sought her out, other than the too-convenient explanation that they, along with so many others, had believed the rumors and thought their old leader returned from the grave. That might explain why Maroto had fainted at her appearance in the doorway of the tavern, given Fennec's description of the barbarian as a sensitive soul. When they arrived in her chambers, they were agreed on the most important matter, if very little else-Hoartrap the Touch could not be trusted.

Fennec left her without even making a pass, which was another welcome development, and with a happy groan Ji-hyeon unsheathed her sweaty feet from the high boots. The Duke of Myura's bedroom had a drysink as long as an inn's bartop, and with just as many bottles cluttering it, and before allowing herself to rest Ji-hyeon called in a pair of handmaids to help her bathe. If she'd been a good little princess and married Prince Byeong-gu like her first father had wanted, she would have had a dozen maids by now, and a castle far more luxurious than Myura to call home. Instead, she had a pair of wide-eyed camp followers tending to her with stained rags and a warm bucket of soapy water in a drafty stone pile on the ass end of the Crimson Empire.

Once she was as sweet as she was liable to get without a proper tub, she sent the boy and girl away and lay back on the enormous bed to take a much-needed sabbatical from the waking world. This proved harder than she'd expected. The arrival of two more of the original Villains seemed far too convenient to be chance, and so the only question was whether her father had sent them independently of Fennec, or if the old fox was lying about what he knew. Neither possibility strained credulity. Although Chevaleresse Singh had initially declined Ji-hyeon's invitation to become a Villain in the new Cobalt Company, how long would it be until the Raniputri knight arrived at an opportune moment? Pretty soon all of the Five Villains would be riding alongside her, at which point it would scarcely matter if the woman leading them had blue hair or the right helmet. They could just stick a tame raccoon dog on a horse and call it General Fatface for all the difference it would make-people would still assume it was the reincarnation of Zosia.

After tossing and turning for a while in the moonlit tower room, she forced her mind away from the imponderable worries and onto the much nicer subject of sex. Gods, spirits, and devils, how she missed Keun-ju. Not only for that, of course not, but in trying to distract herself with pleasant memories she just reminded herself of how many months it had been since she had kissed her Virtue Guard. It was not so long ago that she would have ranked Choi as her favorite guard, followed by the funny and charming Brother Mikal, with the stiffly formal Virtue Guard coming in dead last... but then she had grown up.

She couldn't really talk to Choi, not about her heart, and though she used to find Brother Mikal a wonderful listener, she had come to discover that Fennec would use any secret to his advantage. If only Keun-ju had not abandoned her she could have had someone to talk to, someone to confide in, someone to laugh with. Among other things one can do with her mouth.

It was lonely being the Arch-Villain.

CHAPTER.

3.

The walleyed anathema stared at Domingo from across the sumptuously laden folding table erected in his tent, the monk's exposed, pale gums and stained wooden teeth enough to put a billy goat off his breakfast. During that winter campaign, what, twenty-three years past, Cold Cobalt's peasant army had cornered the Fifteenth on a peninsula jutting out into the toxic swamps at the border of Emeritus and they'd had to dig in and wait for reinforcements to come break the siege. Domingo had been obliged to take two weeks of meals in a fetid miasma. Black flies had swarmed the whole camp and delivered an especially virulent pox that caused gangrene to spread through the regiment like crotchrot through a Geminidean brothel, and attempts at digging latrines on that miserable spit of marsh only resulted in bubbling pools of slime that reeked worse than their intended cargo. He didn't have many fond memories of that noisome ordeal, but it had toughened his stomach from such relatively minor distractions as a hideous witchborn monk, so he tucked into his venison with little more than a passing wish that the anathema would drop dead. Preferably after suffering unimaginable agonies.

"My thanks for the invitation to dine with you, Baron Hjortt," said Brother Wan, carving his tender meat into tiny mouthfuls and spearing one into his mouth with the tip of his knife. From the rapturous expression on Wan's face as he chewed, Domingo supposed even the pope's favorite monsters didn't eat this well in the Dens. Good that someone would enjoy it, then-the doe was far gamier than Domingo preferred, but they were still a long way out from Cockspar and its kitchens. He supposed he ought to reacclimatize himself to such rough cuisine, for they would only be in the capital for as long as it took to ready the regiment for departure.

"It's Colonel out here, not Baron. And it won't do for you to dine anywhere but in the command tent once we have the Fifteenth on the move." There was a pleasant thought, weeks upon weeks of staring at that rank parody of humanity while he choked down increasingly bland fare. "Might as well get used to one another. Make sure your... subordinates are mindful never to enter without permission, nor address me directly. I know the chain of regimental command is not the leash your kind are used to, but I won't be able to excuse any oversights once we're officially in motion."

"Quite so," said Brother Wan, perhaps smiling, or perhaps not-it was damnably hard to tell, with the man's lack of an upper lip. "But the war nuns and monks under my authority have far more military experience than I, so I assure you they will not cause any embarrassment."

There was a howler if Domingo had ever heard one-three dozen robe-swinging servants of the Chain joined up as a special attache to the Fifteenth, most of them anathemas to boot, and he shouldn't be embarrassed? Why not just let this untrained, inexperienced mutant wear his helmet and give the orders? The Fifteenth would be eating crow along with their usual rations, to be saddled with the same elite unit of witchborn clerics they'd spent many a long campaign battling all across the Star, whenever old Shanatu got it in his head that this time his brilliant coup would work.

Well, he must be the only one in the regiment not accustomed to their presence-shortly after he'd proudly passed on his command to Efrain, peace had yet again been brokered, and the Fifteenth, like all Imperial regiments, had begun employing agents of the Chain. They were probably damn useful in a bind, Domingo had to admit-given the havoc they'd caused when they were the enemy, a few powerful war monks and nuns could come in handy now that they were allies...

And then there was the dread weapon Pope Y'Homa had entrusted him with, which rolled along at the back of the caravan in a long covered wagon. For all the Black Pope's talk of it being worth more than ten thousand soldiers, it looked mundane enough to Domingo, and he knew a sight more than a teenage pontiff about war. And even if it proved as devastating as promised, it sat extremely poorly with Domingo that in order to employ it he apparently had to take Brother Wan along. When he'd been told that only one of her most trusted servants could activate the weapon, he had assumed she meant a war priest, and a pureborn one at that, given Y'Homa's outspoken revulsion for the anathemas. Instead her liaison turned out to be the monstrous assistant to one of her cardinals-she would have apparently preferred to send the cardinal himself, but attaching such a high-ranking official to a military unit would risk attracting the attention of Queen Indsorith's spies. So instead of a human fanatic who had the sole key to a weapon capable of murdering the whole Cobalt Company in one swoop, Domingo received an abominable one. Well, so long as it did what it was supposed to and carried the day with a minimum of casualties for the Fifteenth, he would take all the secret weapons he could get.

Most of them, anyway; devils would be useful in a war, too, but nobody outside the old maniacs of the Cobalt Company seemed keen on using them. Yet. Who the hells knew what the Black Pope would try next, if this debacle ended in Queen Indsorith being supplanted by some papal puppet. That thought was enough to spoil his appetite, even if the ugly little monk wasn't.

"Sir!" a voice barked from beyond the tent flaps Domingo had tied shut to keep out the wind whistling down from the northwestern extremity of the Kutumbans. "Permission to enter, Colonel?"

"Granted, granted," Domingo called, pushing his plate back on the table. "Hold a tick, Brother Wan here just needs to untie the door."

Was that narrowing of the anathema's beady eyes an invitation to dance? Domingo imagined flipping the table on top of the frail wretch and then jumping up and down on it until the mutant deflated...

"Colonel Hjortt, sir." Brother Wan admitted Captain Shea, the young woman's lean features reminding Domingo of the substandard venison congealing on his plate, and her grim expression mirroring the colonel's assessment of his meal. Her salute was as sharp as her nose, but considering that Efrain had promoted her from the ranks during his short tenure as steward of the Fifteenth, Domingo wasn't inclined to optimism where her credentials were concerned. Especially with that third button of her uniform ajar, like she was some navy hump swaggering about on shore leave... "Sir?"

"Hmmm?" Both Shea and Wan were just standing there, waiting, and Domingo cleared his throat, waved her on. "Report then, out with it."

"We have..." Shea glanced at Wan, who was watching her with the interest a gecko pays an ant, and amended herself. "That is, the witchborn outriders, who continued on while we broke for camp?" Great devils of the sea, if this captain of his framed everything as a question he'd have worse irritations than his piles to worry about on this campaign. "Well, they saw a campfire in the hills, north of the road? And they..." A ruckus was coming slowly toward the tent now, raised voices and stamping feet, and Shea spilled the rest in a rush. "They've taken prisoners, sir. Immaculate scouts, dressed for war."

Well, that was something! Domingo felt the old shivers at the thought of enemy spies creeping across his camp, but the ripples did not betray his delight by carrying through to the puddinglike surface of his features. Mulling it over and putting his green captain on the defensive at the same time, he said, "Why the devil would there be Immaculate scouts out here, Captain?"

"We are reasonably close to Linkensterne and their wall," Wan said thoughtfully, as though Domingo hadn't been the one to detour them up to this blasted northern road upon hearing the pass to Lemi was avalanched under, as though the Baron of Cockspar didn't know where the nearest foreign city lay in relation to his province's borders, as though the Immaculates' theft of Linkensterne didn't weigh down his bowels nearly as much as the death of his son.