After the Seventh Seal’s camp was set up, Aldric called Alysia and Lynnabel and Morden into his tent for a meeting.
“I’d have Daveth in here too, if he wasn’t ...” Aldric began, and then hesitated over his words. He still hadn’t reconciled himself to deal with Daveth. Not yet.
“...well, you’re still my temporary second-in-command, Morden, so you’ll do.” he finished, and Morden shook his head. “I can manage a file just fine, Cap, but I can’t say I’m any good at being a commander.”
Aldric nodded and flapped his hand absently. He got out a handful of cups and a bottle of wine.
“...water, if you please, Lord Captain.” Lynnabel immediately objected. “For myself and Alysia.”
Aldric raised a curious eyebrow, but Lynnabel didn’t volunteer anything else, and playing the waiting game with the Wolf sisters was like trying to out-patience a rock.
“...as you wish.” He agreed, and poured for himself and Morden, then sat back in his chair and lost himself in staring at the patterns of light and shadow on his tent ceiling.
“Up until recently, I’ve been relying on old contacts that I believed were trustworthy, to forward me information about potential jobs. Men I thought I could trust. Things haven’t been going as well as I’d hoped, and our last job made us take some terrible losses. Losses I think I might have been able to mitigate had I paid attention and made an educated choice. Information is critical in a battle, and we’ve been dancing along with too little of it for too long.”
Alysia and Lynnabel exchanged glances, one of those that Aldric and Daveth had picked up on earlier- the hint of an eyebrow being raised, a slight widening of the eyes, a subtle twitch of the finger. What sort of subtle conversation were they having in those byplays? What information could be exchanged?
“So what’s the plan, boss?” Morden asked simply.
“Philippa.” Aldric decided.
“That clusterfuck of shit?” Morden complained, baffled. “What wind had to blow for you to get that idea? There isn’t anyone there we can trust. No way of establishing a base of operations that won’t be overrun. We excel at being quick and being generally cleverer than fuck. There’s not a lot of room for defensive posturing when you’ve emphasized mobility and rapid striking.”
Aldric nodded, taking that in, eyeing the roof of his tent as he leaned back in his chair. His attention wasn’t on the tent ceiling however, it was focused entirely on the Wolf sisters. They weren’t even file leaders, they were simply regular soldiers. He expected that at any moment they would question him bringing them into the meeting.
Alysia raised her hand. “Lord Captain, I do not understand why my sister and I are participating in this discussion. Unlike Morden, we are not staff officers.”
He could delay, or he could put his cards on the table and see what happened.
“Three things:” Aldric began, combing his beard with his fingertips. “First, we picked up Orelia and Arcene from Philippa. Second, we dropped them both off at Philippa after the mission was through. Finally, I saw other women in Wolf armor in Philippa. It’s not much to go on, but it leads me to believe that your Order is based out of Philippa.”
“Pure speculation.” Lynnabel immediately replied, and Aldric smiled.
“Of course. And don’t think that I am prying into your secrets, because I’m not. What I would like, what I’m asking for, is a little bit of information.”
Another long and completely silent exchange between the sisters; were they reading each others’ minds? He’d heard stories of some mages that could do such a trick.
“You may ask your questions, so long as you understand that I may not answer.” Lynnabel began carefully. “Also understand that any pressure to answer those things will result in Alysia and I resigning. Anything further beyond that can be answered with swords.”
Morden thumbed his goatee, Aldric merely picked up his cup and took a drink of wine.
Aldric nodded. “Then, let us pretend that my speculation is correct; that the Order is based out of Philippa. Hold that in your mind while I remind you that we were able to achieve a measure of good while we were in Philippa: protecting merchant trains, dispensing judgement in small towns; opening up communications between them. The people there are frightened, irritable, they’re like animals that have been driven to the point where their backs are against the wall. They need stability. I feel like I can accomplish the most good by bringing that stability.” He stroked his beard. “We’ll need to start small, of course, and then build upon our successes, and then it’s a matter of relying on our own momentum to keep the ball rolling.”
Aldric laid out his plan in very loose and non-specific terms.
“You... intend to subjugate the whole of Philippa, Lord Captain?” Lynnabel eyed him askance and exchanged glances with Alysia again.
Aldric shook his head. “Nope. Far from it. The most I can manage is the Seventh Seal. I can’t conquer a nation with just the Seal, no matter how fractured it is. What I can do, though, is find someone that is ideal to our cause, and build up a base of stability around them. A lord. A merchant. Someone that can organize, distribute, manage. Enough successes, and they’ll be able to recruit their own forces and we can go about our business because it’ll spread. No more petty warlords, dictators, fearmongers, and mob rule.”
Lynnabel and Alysia were eyeing each other nigh-constantly, at this point.
“What I’d like from you- from the Order, if necessary, is a name of someone like that. I’m sure you Sisters trade with people that are reliable. A warrior-sorority can’t possibly grow its own crops, provide its own clothing, smithies, and the like. Trade has to be happening, at some level.” Aldric finally arrived at the point.
“You might be surprised what a Wolf Sister can do when she’s determined, Lord Captain.” Alysia managed tersely. She rose to her feet. “I refuse to entertain this conversation further. I am leaving.” She saluted abruptly, spun about and left the tent.
Aldric raised his hand to stop her, but Lynnabel rose to her feet as well.
“I am not as... exuberant... as my sister, but I cannot provide you with that information, Lord Captain.”
“Surely the Order would benefit from-” Aldric began, but Lynnabel shook her head. “I cannot answer to that either, Lord Captain.” She paused, and then added, “I have seen the influence of the stability you spoke of, and there are many that would welcome that. A return to honor, respect, and civility. If you choose to take the Seventh Seal to Philippa and pursue this goal, my sister and I will accompany you, so long as you do not infringe upon our Order’s secrets.”
She saluted, and left as well.
“Well... that went well?” Aldric hazarded awkwardly. Morden shrugged.
*****
Alysia pushed herself into Daveth’s tent; the sole mage survivor from the land of the Shapers, Nicola, hovered over him, working her magics.
“How is the Lord Commander?” Alysia asked by way of introduction. The Order of the Wolf did not like or trust magic, and none of their members could use it, either. Mages liked to meddle in things in ways they were not meant to be meddled with, and frequently went mad in their lust for more power. They also had a habit of unexpectedly exploding. Not particularly useful on a proper battlefield. However, Nicola seemed to be ... safe, as such things went. She didn’t seem to have an insane lust for power, and she hadn’t exploded yet; that was likely a good sign.
Besides, Nicola was a pretty good healer.
“He’s still asleep. Not surprising with the pounding he took.”
“Tell me more.” Alysia urged, standing at parade rest, eyes on the massive mountain of a man that sprawled across a cot that creaked in protest under his ponderous weight.
“Assorted sword cuts, looks like someone went to town on him with a spear; and I had to pull several arrows out of his back. He lost a lot of blood. Normally I’d suggest bed rest for a week, but I suspect he’ll ignore me. He has a surprisingly robust vitality.”
Alysia had been on the receiving end of one of his berserker rages. She knew what it was like to be handled with all the indifference of a package, and thrown away just as quickly. He was absurdly tall and powerfully built, for a human. Was there perhaps some non-human element that burned within his breast, spurring him into those furies?
She knew he tried to control them, knew he tried to point them at the enemy, but while in the grips of one, anyone nearby was an enemy.
She’d tried to understand him, for a time, but he was incomprehensible to her. She begrudgingly admitted it was due to her stark and strict upbringing in the Order of the Wolf that she was incapable of truly understanding his driving motives and desires.
Speaking of her own desires, they had waxed and waned as she tried to understand him. There was a struggle within her; she wanted him for herself, yet she couldn’t stand to be near him. He had no true grasp of honor and laughingly ignored her attempts to teach him. Also, the reason for wanting him, Aurene, was no longer there. It had begun as a competition, but Aurene had won his affections and Alysia lost.
Then there was that horrible night in Nauders. Mortification, humiliation, and a painful sort of anger always seemed to rush through her whenever she remembered the details of that night. She’d come so close-! But he was heavily drunk, and in the end chosen a Duchess as his partner, despite the inevitable consequences.
That damnable elf had known, too. Aurdra was perceptive enough to see what Daveth was oblivious to, and just as easily slipped herself into his bed. Alysia was as envious as she was disgusted; she could never put herself forward so brazenly. She was no lust-driven harlot, tripping men into her bed for convenience. She had her honor, and if he approached her within the boundaries of that honor she would welcome him, but it would be unseemly and dishonorable to approach him. She nodded to herself. That was the appropriate way; he had to come to her.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Was there anything else?” Nicola asked her curiously, and Alysia realized she’d been standing there at the foot of his bed, staring down at him silently.
She forced everything out of her head and embraced honor, discipline, and strength; the tenets of her Order.
“No, nothing.” She spoke clearly and quickly, and exited the tent, nearly colliding with the Lord Captain. Was he here to pressure her to reveal secrets of the order that had been preserved for hundreds of years? She mentally prepared herself for another confrontation, but he indifferently pushed past her and entered the healer’s tent.
“What’s his condition?” Alysia heard him ask, and Nicola repeated what she told Alysia.
“Wake him.” He replied indifferently.
“He needs rest, Lord Captain. The man nearly died out there.”
“Bah. If he can kill four banners of the Carrion Crows on his own, he can talk to me for ten minutes. Wake him.”
*****
Daveth drifted in the comfortable no-place between waking and sleeping, between visions and dreams, the cold plane where idle thoughts sifted through his mind like sand through an hourglass, visions danced and flickered in the peripherals of his vision.
A cold aristocratic woman, dressed in some bizarre formal wear he wasn’t sure he’d seen before stared down at him. Her ears were long and pointed; a spray of tiny jade-greed scales glittered at her temples, and a crown of tiny horns thrust outward from her glossy black hair. She glared down at him as if he were beneath her station, her eyes reptilian slits. He shivered beneath that unfeeling, dispassionate gaze.
“If he’s dead , we will honor him as we would one of our own, one who protected the blood of the Dragon. He died for her. If he lives, I hope his restless spirit thirsts for revenge, because I shall have it!” The woman spat this angrily and Daveth jerked in surprise as a jet of fire escaped the woman’s mouth even as she faded from existence.
Who was she? What was she?
A single flame danced before him. It wavered and guttered, as if on the edge of burning itself out. It was warm and comforting, and he held out his hands to capture some of its warmth. It was important that the flame didn’t die out, and yet if it did, the world would rest easier. He clutched it to his breast and felt warmth, delight, and the trusting love of a child to its parent.
“Wake him.”
*****
Aldric had always carried himself with such vitality and intensity that he looked younger than his middle age. A wild light had danced in his eyes, and he’d burned with an intensity only seen in younger men.
The man Daveth eyed at the foot of his bed was somber, restrained, tired. There was a streak of gray in his straggly beard; when had that shown up? Had it always been there? Aldric absent-mindedly massaged his lower back the way Jonan used to after a long day in the saddle.
Would he end up the same way? Commanding troops from horseback as his body aged against him? Getting older and older and more infirm? Would he even die in the saddle? The bad death of Jonan still echoed in Daveth’s memory. What would have happened if he’d lived? Outgrown his usefulness?
Probably relegated to the quartermaster. Maybe Jonan had had the right of it; die quickly, so that old age didn’t force you to make the choice you couldn’t make for yourself.
“Aldric.” Daveth greeted tiredly..
“Asshole.” Aldric returned the greeting, but without his customary youthful irritability.
The silence stretched out uncomfortably. Did Aldric have a family? Children? He’d said he’d been married once, before he’d taken up the mercenary life. Did they miss him? Daveth knew he’d left the Anglish Empire’s good graces, had that painted a target for them? What sort of worries went through the man’s head? What would old age do to him?
Aldric obviously wanted to talk; Daveth wasn’t sure he wanted to listen. He didn’t much like the idea of listening to future plans. Time was the enemy, the future was the enemy, and no sword or spear would ever make even a mark against it.
“Despite how I look, I’m actually pretty busy.” Daveth complained, and made a grandiose gesture. “Say your piece and be done with it.”
A little light returned to Aldric’s eyes, and he grinned nastily, showing his tobacco-stained teeth.
“Too arrogant, farmboy. Too arrogant by half.” Aldric replied.
“I was never a farmboy.” Daveth replied, and Aldric nodded. That much was true enough.
“Where’s Audra?” Aldric began.
“On leave. She wanted to visit her family while we waited for you. I approved it.” Daveth replied.
Aldric stroked his beard thoughtfully. “And if she’s decided that enough is enough? Will you list her as a deserter in the ranks?”
Daveth raised an eyebrow. A few years ago he wouldn’t’ve known the correct answer.
“She didn’t ask to be released, she asked for leave. There’s a difference. She wants to return.” Daveth replied.
Aldric nodded at that. “Good answer. Do you know how long she’ll be gone?”
“Couple of months to make the trip; a couple of weeks in her village, a couple of months back.” Daveth replied, and stroked his beard thoughtfully, trying to think back. “It’s my guess she’s making her way back, by now.”
Aldric raised an eyebrow at that, but nodded thoughtfully. “Good enough, I suppose. We’ll stick around long enough to resupply and reinforce. Hopefully she’ll have made it back by then.”
“We have a job?” Daveth asked, and Aldric shrugged. “We might.”
“Tell me it doesn’t involve Shapers, giant killer bees, the undead, or screaming hordes of beastmen.”
Aldric barked a laugh. “It absolutely doesn’t involve them.”
“I’m already liking the plan more and more. What is it this time?”
Aldric paced a little, and then stooped, and came up with a handful of dusty black cloths. He laid them across Daveth’s feet, each bearing the sigil of the Carrion Crows, one of its claws marked in a different color. Green, violet, red, yellow, blue, white.
“Thought you might like to see them all lined up like this. You’ve killed six warbands of Crows, Daveth. That’s a thing to be proud of.”
Aldric hadn’t answered his question.
“...Philippa has boiled for nearly three centuries.” Aldric began. “It’s like everyone there is slowly going mad.” He stroked his beard. “All sorts of people have risen up and claimed to try and bring peace to the land, and they were all overthrown. The Anglish have sent entire armies at Philippa. You know what happened to them?”
Daveth shrugged.
“They were just as divisive as the natives.” Aldric replied matter-of-factly. “But when the Seal traveled through there, we were able to bring a little peace. We got small towns, little farming communities talking to each other. All it took was for them to make that first step to the bridge of trust.” His voice was heated. “It honestly felt good, Daveth. I felt more alive than I have since before we set off for the desert.”
“Oh boy.” Daveth muttered.
“Fuck you, farmboy. This is honest soldiering I’m talking about here. What I’ve wanted to do from the start-” He paused. “You know how the Anglish govern their territories?”
Daveth shook his head.
“The short answer is that they don’t. Each village is expected to defend and protect itself with “militias” made up of farmboys like you. Trappers, hunters, maybe a retired soldier or two to stiffen them up and give them a sense of order. They- the Empire- don’t actually care about those towns, won’t lift a finger against bandits, beastman raids, or the like. All they care about is that their territories deliver their quotas. When they stop producing, eventually- too slowly- they’ll realize that things aren’t working anymore and they’ll either abandon it or push out more peasants to resettle the area. The armies of the Anglish Empire aren’t for fortifying the existing land against threats, they’re for conquering new lands.” He paused again.
“That’s where we come in. Jobs too small for a nation, jobs too big for a single man. That comfortable space where a small army can turn the tide.”
Daveth nodded. He’d heard all of this from Aldric before. It didn’t pay very well.
“So... Philippa.” Daveth repeated.
Aldric nodded. “There’s a dozen or so small communities out there. We can patrol through them. Guard merchant trains. Farmers going to market. I’m not stupid enough to to think that we can take over, but I’m sure there’s a percentage in sticking our necks out for the little guy. Not a lot of coin, but fighting bandits, ensuring that at least a little order there can thrive... I think we can manage that much.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Daveth asked curiously.
Aldric paused, and sighed. “We can’t keep going out and jumping in over our heads. We’re not equipped to deal with giant bees, ravenous undead, and whatever other abominations happen to wander across our path. We do better when we keep to what we’re good at.”
Daveth nodded. “I get all that. I still don’t understand why you’re telling me though.”
Aldric blinked at that. “I’ve been unilaterally making the decisions that have charted the course for the Seventh Seal, and I’ve made some recent mistakes. We’re gonna have a sit-down like this the next time a job comes up. Decide if it’s something the Seventh Seal can handle, or if we should simply say no.”
Daveth tried to sit up, but the cot creaked ominously underneath him.
“At this point, my only complaint ... would be the Shapers. We threw ourselves into that mess without any forethought.” Daveth decided, rubbing his jaw. “Bel-Arib; I was okay with. Kill some cannibals, protect a city. Reasonable. Even the bees I can agree with. They plowed through the Anglish installation there like it was nothing. Something clearly had to be done about them, and we did it. But that city... that lunatic mage... what happened after...” He shook his head. “We should have turned around at the gates and headed back to Bel-Arib, nevermind the fact that we killed that ... thing. We came back from the desert with only thirty-eight people. You can’t call that a victory, even though we won.”
Aldric nodded at that, deciding it’d be pointless to explain a pyrrhic victory.
“I hated Nauders, but it fell within our charter; killing bandits. I hate it when nobles like to take out their squabbles using soldiers. If they really were ‘noble’, they’d handle the matter themselves. You said it yourself, and after some thought, I understand that what we did there was in fact a good thing.” He reached over to the side table and picked up the pitcher of water and took a few swallows. After setting it aside, he linked his hands together on his chest and tapped his thumbs together meditatively.
“Helping Edwin in Metzcal was not a bad choice, either.” He decided, and then wiggled a finger. “Conditionally. We should have had a clearer contract from the start. I shouldn’t have gone fucking around with the undead with Audra.” He paused, “And we should never have gotten involved with the Shapers. You just threw in with them unilaterally.”
He paused. “I didn’t much like getting stuck in a volcano as it was about to blow its top.”
Aldric blinked. “Did it actually erupt?” Daveth nodded.
“It was starting to really crank up when Audra and I left the island.”
Aldric frowned. “How exactly did you get ahead of us?”
Daveth waved a hand. “They sent Audra and I to the abandoned Tower of Cumorah by way of a Rune of Translation.”
“A Rune of-” Aldric bit off whatever he was going to say.
Daveth rose to his feet and pulled on his pants, absently fingering a slash in the leather. He’d need to get it mended, or get a new pair altogether.
“How many did we come back with, Aldric?”
“...less than a hundred. We picked up a few in Philippa, but...” He shook his head.
“Fuck the Shapers.” Daveth replied dryly.
Aldric nodded. “Agreed.”