Well, it’s that time of month again. I’m pausing my writing of people being chopped in half with a Theurgically enhanced scythe (achievement: “Fear the Reaper”) to note that the question of Irduwhen is still going to be unanswered at the end of this week. 
The thickets of possible endings are slowly resolving themselves, but it continues to take much longer to run them all down than I’d expected.
But let me leave you with something. Earlier I posted your dialogue with the visiting Phalangite equerry Quaelle Charbonnier. If you’re hanging out with the local aristoi rather than the yeomanry, here’s what you can hear from Quaelle’s mistress, the pioneering ordnance officer Agarie de Irde:
Bombs, mutinies, taxes
For all the warmth with which she’s greeted in Irduin, the old Phalangite officer’s mind still seems to be a thousand leagues away on the Halassur front. At different points you overhear her holding forth about:
*choice
#The use of explosives in the war.
“For generations, the Theurges have held themselves to be the pinnacle of all things military,” Agarie explains to her great-niece and nephews with a brittle smile. “You wouldn’t hear them say it in so many words, but they believed that there was nothing on a battlefield that couldn’t be done best with Theurgy…killing the enemy, building or demolishing fortifications, even carrying in supplies. On that account, the only reasons you wouldn’t have Theurges doing everything is that you didn’t have enough of them, so you’d no choice but to settle for second-best.”
“But…isn’t that true, theia?” Auche ventures. @{(murscandal = 2) You’re not entirely sure how his mother responded to finding out about his trysting, but ever since, the boy’s swung back and forth between mournful silence and sullen anger. He’ll only speak around you (clearly not knowing you were Alasais’s informer) or his great-aunt.|} “I mean, put any of us up against a flying, fire-throwing, reality-Changing warrior who’s had seventy years or more to practice combat…and I reckon we all know how it would end.”
“They’re formidable, no question.” The old soldier gives a creakily dismissive nod. “But when your strategy implies that they can’t be bettered, you’re also tacitly teaching generations of Phalangites that the Halassurq magi will always beat them. Pah! If we’d encouraged our ordinary soldiers to think of ways that they can best a mage, we might have broken up the Empire centuries ago.”
*fake_choice
#Obviously for the Theurges, some things are even more important than beating Halassur. But I can’t say that aloud.
#I remember our @{((wonfight < 9) and (wonfight > 5)) danger-fraught escape across|battle through} the Whendward @{(wonfight < 9) with a shudder. It’s not easy to believe they can be beaten.|and nod to myself. They’re not unbeatable}.
#I listen skeptically. If the only way to beat a Theurge is overwhelming numbers, isn’t that a clear sign of their superiority?
“And it’s miners’ powder that’s best at evening the odds against magi?” Aguise asks doubtfully.
“Well, you still want a Theurge to throw the shells. At that, they truly are better than any catapult. Not least because it’s easier to smuggle a mage to the frontlines!” Agarie chuckles. “But they’ve had to admit that a Theurge can substitute for a catapult a lot better than they substitute for a big shell full of enhanced powder. Few things have better odds of killing an enemy mage than a rain of powder-shells.”
“The magi can’t protect themselves against that?”
"They thought they could! See, the Theurges used to mostly throw thunder-shells swelled so full with air that when they hit the ground, they’d burst and send shards everywhere. Sometimes they’d fill them with caustic vitriol as well, to blind or scar anyone nearby. All that, a Theurgy-hardened cowl could protect against well enough; shells were mainly used to cripple enemy soldiers for Harrowing, not to bring down magi. The Polemarchs’ minds were always on Theurgy and how to fuel it better, you see.
“The Theurges assumed powder-shells would be comparable to their air-shells, and mostly avoided them because the powder was so famously detectable by enemy magi.” The old Phalangite smiles. “They weren’t miners. They didn’t appreciate what a wave of force can do, through any armor. After they’d seen enough magi go down bleeding from their noses and ears, they finally started looking for ways to use powder more. And they found ways to enhance it just before they throw it, to make a bigger bang when it lands. Big enough to crack open earthworks or stone walls.”
“You were the one who showed them, weren’t you, theia Agarie.” Aguise’s eyes are aglow. @{(ordnance = 1) “Thanks to growing up around the Stannary, you were one of the only officers who didn’t fear powder, and understood what it could do.”|}
“I wouldn’t claim too great a role for myself,” her great-aunt answers, but the slight curve of her lips tells a different story. “It’s true, though: the successes we’ve seen have vindicated what I’ve been saying since I first went out to Errets forty-three years ago.”
*goto milch
*hide_reuse #Tactics and conscription.
You regularly have the opportunity to listen to mealtime conversations, since de Irde retainers are often invited to take food in the same great hall as the family. Usually that just gives you a chance to overhear Auche rhapsodizing about his horses, or Alac rattling off the latest facts he’s discovered in the family library; but the noonmeals during Agarie’s visit are more interesting.
“So, niece,” the old Phalangite inquires sharply one day, “when will you give young Aguise here a chance to practice managing her birthright, and come out east to resume your command? It was one thing for you to leave when the truce had just been declared, twenty-two years back…but it’s been eight years since the Halassurqs attacked us again. We need good officers, damn it. I could speak to the Myriarch, ensure you have command of a tagma at least.”
Alasais’s smile is as faint as her voice is firm. “Thank you, theia. But Irduin needs my command more than any tagma out east. The Polemarchs have the aristoi of the whole Hegemony to draw on; our demesne has only me.”
“Hmph. With the whole Hegemony to search, you’d think they’d come up with fewer cowards and fools,” Agarie snorts. “Angels forbid I should say Thaumatarch Kleitos chose the wrong Polemarchs. But they’ve surely not got the vision or boldness of the ones who nearly won the war, when I was young.” @{(ordnance = 2) She goes on to describe the human waves and flood of explosive shells you’d already learned about from Quaelle.|}
*if ordnance != 2
“How did they do that, great-aunt?” Alac asks with eager fascination.
“Oh, we flooded Halassur with everything we had—shells, ships, vast waves of conscripts. Enough that even after their magi had spent all their blood and littered the land with our fallen, we could still overwhelm them.” Her eyes are proudly distant. “The land we won in those years was dearly bought. But we were winning it—pushing out the border at a rate none had known for centuries. And we were bringing those child-killing magi down in droves.”
Imagining it, you feel:
*fake_choice
*if aristo
#A little jealous of the glory they were able to win on the battlefront.
#Relieved that Halassur was held at bay, whatever the cost.
#Furious. The war chews up @{aristo nobles,|} yeomen and the free folk of the cities as callously as Harrowing consumes helots.
#Sick. The tactics she’s talking about are monstrous.
#Uneasy that I might one day need to use similar brutality to overcome the Hegemony.
“Though it may cost me your recommendation to the Myriarch, aunt…those tactics were a catastrophe.” Lady Alasais’s voice is coolly regretful. “In my last year as an officer, the ‘waves’ broke on us almost as often as on Halassur. A motley horde of mutineers came closer to killing me than any demon-mage ever managed. If the Polemarchs of that time hadn’t agreed the long truce, I don’t believe we’d still have an army today.”
“Restraining mutiny is a soluble problem!” Agarie retorts. “One of structure, training, and discipline; one that we could have spent the truce years addressing. But no, we’ve just kept on bloating the army with ill-trained commoners.”
“I thought you always said Phalangite training was the best in the world, theia,” young kuria Aguise cuts in, troubled.
“The nobility of the four conties in their Phalangite tagmas, my dear, continue to transmit and practice the finest tactics known to humanity. But for fifty years now, we’ve packed the army full of common conscripts who are, for the most part, scarcely better-trained than Alastors.” Kuria Agarie looks disgusted. “Yet these days we don’t send them to swarm over the Halassurqs as intended, nor do we go back to the old, less ambitious conscription practices. Instead, we keep draining the slums, and fill garrison towns all over the Hegemony with armed commonfolk.”
“Where they can keep the peace, Auntie,” cousin Joet counters, sounding somewhat apologetic. “Last year they sent a single tagma of your well-trained noble Phalangites to quell the Rim Commotion…and @{(wonfight > 9) they were beaten by a rabble in the woods|it sprang up again almost as soon as they’d left}. If the Archon had sent all of Vaulens’s garrison, with its thousands of conscripts, it would have ground the rebels into the dirt.”
Agarie sniffs. “Or joined them!”
*goto milch
*hide_reuse #Fighting alongside ${neres} against their Halassurq cousins.
You’ve started wondering if there’s a ${nere}ish strain in house de Irde, since Agarie’s eyes are such a striking blue. That’s not a topic you could ever broach, even indirectly; but after your encounter with Jevahir and Erjan in the Xaos-lands, you can’t help venturing one day: “Lady Agarie, @{(arrog > 0) are|begging your tolerance for questions above my station, but…are} the ${neres} truly reliable on the battlefield? I’ve heard they’re cousins to Halassur, speak the same tongue…”
“Well, the worst grudges can boil up within a family, you know.” The de Irde chuckles indulgently. “I’ll tell you, ${girl}: I never met anyone as determined to crush Halassur as the Nereish captains I’ve known.”
“In truth?” You furrow your brow. “Why such hate, milady?”
Agarie throws up her hands. “No one loves freedom like a Nere! To excess, at times, to be sure…in matters of religion…but Angels know, they loathe the chains the Empire would try to put on them. On all of us! Even before the Hegemony, the Nere weren’t ever truly Halassurq, you know. They left its lands as nomads, and the truest-hearted Neres always rode the plains.”
“Don’t most ${neres} live in cities now?” Jevahir had talked as if the pastoral horse-tribes were mostly part of ${nere}ish history.
“Oh, no. Far more are still nomads than live in their handful of petty so-called cities.” Agarie’s light eyes take on a distant look of envious admiration. “And I doubt the Halassurqs fear anyone more than the Qasqer Zhüj, the wolves of Nereal. The Zhüj ride the contested lands between Hegemony and Empire…living as nomads, keeping to the ancient ways of their folk, Theurges and cavalry protecting each other. They hunt infiltrators and renegades, and sleep always in tents, not forts. Whenever they find the opportunity, they cross the Ward and live off the plunder of the Halassurq villages they burn.”
You’ll have to ask Jevahir about these Zhüj if you see ${them} again. Somehow, you don’t think ${they}${re} likely to approve of those tactics.
*set zhuj 1
*goto milch
*hide_reuse #The ultimate outcome of the war.
“Will you ever come back and live with us here in Irduin, theia?” young kurios Alac asks on the practice field one day, after Agarie has been @{(sralibi = 4) complementing your lessons with some words on|teaching them about} battlefield tactics.
She pats him absently on the head. “When the war is won, dear boy.”
“And when can we expect that happy outcome, milady?” Captain Korren inquires @{(whichirde = 1) drily—earning himself a fierce glare from Aguise|drily}.
“As soon as the Thaumatarch sends us generals willing to properly press the advantages we possess.” Aunt Agarie sends a sharp glance in the Alastor’s direction. “Something I still hope to see before I see the Angels.”
“What advantages could decide the matter, great-aunt?” Aguise’s query has a warm enthusiasm that was absent from Korren’s.
“The Halassurqs cripple themselves by keeping half their population only half-educated, and the other half disempowered. All else follows from that fact.” The old Phalangite’s lips press together scornfully. “They’ve never puzzled out the secret of Ward-making, so they can only react to our initiative, not fix a line of their own. Only we can move the border. Only we have access to Wardgates, so only we can supply major offensives. Our villages and cities are safe from shells, if not from infiltrators. Meanwhile we discover new advances in weaponry, alchemy, and tactics long before they do.”
“Why haven’t we beaten them in three hundred years, then?” Korren scratches his beard.
“To be perfectly frank, Alastor: the Karagonds haven’t had sufficient respect for ideas coming from us provincial officers. They limited themselves to seeking inspiration from a bare sixth of the Hegemony’s people. But that has been changing.” Agarie pauses for a moment, then sighs. “Perhaps it hasn’t yet changed enough to bring the war to a rapid end. That still leaves us with the ultimate advantage: we have the right on our side. We’ll fight on for a thousand years if we must. For the women. For the sacrificed children. For the sake of Angelic Truth against their blood-drunk godlings.”
*goto milch
*label postmilch
Whenever you do overhear Agarie talking about matters in Irduin, the conversations tend to be brief, because she repeats some variation on the same two prescriptions: a strong will, and robust cavalry.
For example, when Joet and Alasais are talking about the requests brought by the reeves from @{((ird_subfocus < 4) and (ird_focus < 4)) a recent|the} yeoman moot: @{(mootcome = 1) "With rebellion across the border, their gentle words amount to the same demand as ever:|“Of course they’ll be emboldened by the rebellion to demand} lower rents and more privileges. Show them you won’t be intimidated, my girl. Show a strong hand.”
Or when the de Irde scions are talking about the risk of the Rim Commotion spilling over into Irduin: “Just practice your riding every day, children. Horses may be little use against magi—but against a rabble, against helot uprisings, they’ll win every time. A nobility skilled in the saddle remains the foundation of order, whatever the Karagonds think.”
But even if it’s not a matter on which she has much to say, she still clearly cares for the prosperity of Irduin and the dignity of her House. Toward the end of aunt Agarie’s stay, Telone Baldassare comes charging into the audience hall. “Kuria Alasais! I must insist that you order your Alastor to catch and punish the seditionous arsonist who profaned your village temple and showed such contempt for the holy tithe. @{baldnotes No doubt the same blackguard who crept into the inn to destroy my records.|} The Captain continues to be negligent in his…”
Agarie cuts him off, leaping to her feet and barking, “Who by bloody Taratur dares to make demands of my niece in her own hall? Who has the Xthon’damned gall? Name yourself, man—and remember yourself!”
Despite her age, forty years as a battlefield officer has left the Phalangite with a shout fit to be heard over clashing steel for a hundred yards in any direction. Even Baldassare seems slightly cowed—but only slightly. “I am the duly appointed Telone responsible for Irduin, kuria, sent here with the authority of…”
“Authority? The merle holds authority over this land, man! And the Archon of Mesniel has authority over taxation. You’re but a jumped-up hireling, presuming to a power that no one…”
“Aunt.” Lady Alasais’s firm voice sounds like balm after the stridency of Agarie’s. “Kurios Baldassare is a guest—and one whose diligence in his responsibilities should be an example to us all.” She turns to the smoldering ${erretsin}. “I will be meeting with Captain Korren today, Telone, and will require an account of his inquisition. Meanwhile, we are already agreed that on Barningday, the Naos basin will be filled a time-and-a-quarter for every bushel due.”
*fake_choice
#So the grain taxes and tithes are increasing by a fourth? That should leave the yeomanry on the verge of revolt…
#This shows how sabotage like the tithe-box arson miscarries. @{(irdgoal > 3) A rebellion can’t be won by half-measures|There are more subtle ways to refuse compliance to the Hegemony}.
#It probably would have been better to satisfy the Telone by finding one yeoman scapegoat than gouging them all with a higher tithe.
#I’m just sorry lady Alasais didn’t let her aunt keep unleashing her tongue on the Telone. So satisfying.
When Baldassare has marched back out, Agarie glances at her niece with some asperity. “That’s the fellow who’s got everyone here tying themselves in knots?”
Lady Alasais sighs and glances around the hall full of retainers and villagers. “He doubtless thinks he’s untangling knots rather than adding to them, theia.”
“Hmmph.” Aunt Agarie purses her lips. “Some knots are better cut than untied.”
As she also leaves the audience hall, your gaze drifts to Aguise. The heir to the House is nodding, and there’s a degree of grim resolve in her eyes that might choke off the words even in Telone Baldassare’s brazen throat.