Their first encounter along the southwestern road was a slow-moving caravan of roughly four to five hundred elves, with the look of refugees about them. Their gear was hastily and indifferently packed, their shoulders were hunched, they cast furtive looks behind them and gloomy looks down the road and to whatever future it led to. Even though a few carried spears or bows, It didn’t look to Daveth or Aldric that any of them were trained fighters; just families with fear and desperation etched on their faces.
They immediately tried to surrender to the Seventh Seal and begged for their lives.
“I’m not accepting your surrender.” Aldric immediately replied, waving his hand dismissively. “I don’t see an army here, and we’re not at war with each other. Will you tell us what’s going on?”
The Seventh Seal took up one side of the road and the elven camp slowly formed up on the other side.
The elves’ nominal leader was a man called Skarth; they had fled the depredations of their leader, Malachi Sunstorm, who was in the grips of magically fueled madness. Their country lay far beyond the boundaries of Philippa, a place they called Therannia that was likely named something else by the Anglish.
They’d originally been accompanied by a thousand deserters from Sunstorm’s warriors, disgusted by their leader’s fall into insanity, but the warriors had died off as they fought skirmish after skirmish after skirmish on their long exodus across the continent of Rothgar.
“How far do you intend to go?” Aldric asked the man gently. Skarth shrugged his shoulders limply. He had no idea.
Aldric asked for a headcount and a tally of who was capable of doing what; there were farmers and smiths and herdsmen, woodcutters, bricklayers and stonecutters, potters, and a few hedge wizards.
“You’ve got enough skilled people to set up a village anywhere.” Aldric replied to the man, who shrugged again.
Aldric looked to Daveth, who had sat through the entire exchange with his arms folded, a frown on his face, his brow furrowed.
“What do you think, Daveth?”
“I think we should look at the map.” Daveth replied after a bit.
Aldric called for the maps, and Daveth examined them one at a time.
“Skarth, was it?” Daveth asked the elf, who nodded.
“Mmm. Right now we’re on this road.” Daveth drew his finger down the road they were taking. “If you take the eastern road at this junction, and follow it east until you reach this junction, you should find a mountain pass. It won’t be easy going, but if you can clear the pass-” he reached for another map, the map of five villages that they’d worked at before heading deeper into Philippa, “you should reach these villages. They’re human villages, but peaceful enough. There’s room here, here, and here for you to start building a new life for yourselves. Set up a town, build some farms, and trade with the human villages for whatever else you need.”
Daveth explained everything succinctly. “What do you think? Can your people do it? Can you make it?”
Lord Sunstorm could find us anywhere.” Skarth argued. “You don’t understand his insanity.”
“Nobody here but you does.” Daveth replied. “But you’ll have a good place to settle, raise your families. The mountains are difficult to get through with armies, so you’ll have that much on your side.” He paused, and then added, “I suppose that if you were to work hard and save up any money you earn, you might be able to buy passage across the Mirras... though something like that is pretty expensive.”
“The ... Mirras?” Skarth gave him a baffled look. “What’s that?”
“The... sea. The Mirras Sea.” Daveth explained. The man blinked at Daveth as if Daveth had just told him something incomprehensible, and Daveth looked back as if it were self-evident.
To him, it was. The Mirras was something to be sailed across to get to anywhere else.
“It’s a plan, at least.” Skarth finally decided, a little light returning to his lifeless eyes. “Something we can do. Something within our reach.” He nodded to himself.
“Can I get a copy of these maps?” He asked, looking towards Aldric.
“I don’t see why not. I’ll also give you a letter to pass along to the human villages there. Assuming you really want to settle in and trade in good faith, they should accept you.” Aldric offered. “Also, we have a healer here, if you have any wounded or sick.”
Skarth shook his head. “We can’t impose on your generosity any more than what we already have.” he paused and then added, “And... we really don’t trust magic that much, anymore.”
Daveth frowned at that. “I thought you said you had wizards with you?”
Skarth raised his hands. “They don’t have much in the way of magical power, and ... all they really know how to do is make potions and poultices.”
Aldric’s eyebrows rose at that.
“It just so happens we have a need for potions and poultices. Can we trade?”
Skarth blinked at that, and gave a limp half-smile. “It... feels so strange to be ... needed again.”
Aldric nodded. “I can imagine so. Is there anything you need?”
Skarth nodded. “Food, mostly. And if it’s not too much trouble, we need our horses and mules looked at. A few of them have thrown shoes. Some blankets, and... if it’s not too much trouble, some tents?”
Aldric rubbed his chin thoughtfully. For some inexplicable reason known only to Aldric, he’d been clean-shaven lately. Daveth didn’t know if he should ask the reason why.
“I think we can do everything but the tents.” Aldric murmured. “How about we go talk with my quartermaster and find out?”
He held out his hand and after a moment, Skarth shook it, and they strode over to the lines where the Tross waited.
Alysia appeared at Daveth’s elbow, as if by magic.
“This isn’t wise, Lord Commander.” She offered crisply.
“Good thing it was the captain who made the call, then. Why do you feel that it’s unwise?” He asked to forestall an argument.
“Sending the elves back the way we came. It’s possible that they’ll run into the Angel Queen’s forces.”
Daveth raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. It’s possible.” he agreed after a moment’s thought. “I hope they don’t. I hope we don’t run into this Malachi Sunstorm. But hope will only take you so far.”
*****
A long time ago, there was a little girl, trapped in a cage and left outside the village to die. Her sin, it was explained, was the sin of mutancy. Massive wings, strong enough to carry her into the air, had erupted from her back painfully when she was twelve years old.
Now the woman who had forgotten the name ‘Isabel’ that her parents had given her, stretched her wings in the morning sunlight.
How long had it been since she’d last flown? A century? Two?
There wasn’t anything stopping her. The mystical plate armor she’d found in these lands that preserved her age and restored her body was surprisingly lightweight. Even if it hadn’t been, there had been many times under the direction of the Duchess that she’d taken flight in armor that was much heavier.
The Duchess was something of a hedonist, indulging herself in all manner of debauchery. Underneath that decadence was a brilliant and calculating mind, she drove herself to do better, to be better, to achieve what others couldn’t. Isabel, the Angel Queen had taken that lesson to heart.
The Angel Queen took to the air.
As far as kingdoms went, hers was small. There were other warlords and dictators and self-appointed emperors in Philippa. She needed to expand her forces, lengthen her reach, and bring order to the bubbling cauldron that was Philippa.
From her vantage point so high in the air, she could see her envoy on its way to the Karstead Barony. Four guard, two administrators, and a cart hauling two chests filled with coin and semiprecious stones. Their goal was to either hire the Seventh Seal or bribe them to leave, either way buying time for the legion to march.
Two thousand soldiers were assembled already, another three thousand would be ready within less than a week’s time. If not the if not the velvet glove, then the iron fist.
She drifted on the thermals, her envoy tiny ants below her. She adjusted her course with a twitch of her wings and raced ahead of her envoy, to see the Barony for herself.
As it came into view, she could see clear signs of abandonment. The Seventh Seal had come and gone, apparently. Her envoy was for naught, and it seemed as if she’d have to find the Seventh Seal herself. She spotted a long train of people making for the eastern pass, the pass that Simeon Karstead should have been protecting. She dipped lower, and lower still until she could pick out individuals.
Elves. They didn’t look like warriors, either. They were pulling wagons, women carried children, none of them wore armor. There were a few with bows and spears, but they looked home-crafted, the kind used for hunting, not the long bows used for heavy archers or the shortbows favored by horsemen.
She watched them silently, circling overhead. They ignored the Barony Seat, stuck to the road, and seemed focused on achieving the pass.
Was this the Seventh Seal? That couldn’t be right. The son of the former baron had said they were human, and that they had a giant with them. She dismissed the elves from her mind, and circled back around, beating her wings to slow her landing. She hit the ground and groaned as her bones complained against the impact. She moved through the compound; there was plenty of evidence that a number of soldiers and horses had been there for some time.
She unhooked her trusty mace from her belt and cautiously explored the compound, which showed signs of use, but was abandoned.
Stolen novel; please report.
Striding out to the yard she flew to the walls and leaped off to check on the fields. One field looked violently churned up and plowed over; she touched down there and frowned at the sharp herbal odor that wafted up from the ground. The Baron had liked his stinkweed so much that he’d cultivated a plot of it.
Apparently, from the signs, the Seventh Seal hadn’t thought much of it, either.
She leaped back to the wall and used it to launch herself into the air, struggling to find an updraft she could use to gain altitude quickly. She wasn’t strong enough anymore to fly as high and as far as she wanted under her own power; she needed to ride thermals and updrafts to achieve a proper altitude.
Where had the elves come from? Their backtrail was easy enough to follow. After she’d reached a height she felt comfortable with, she flew back along the road, eyeing the clearly defined trail.
A wisp of cloud obscured her vision and she shivered as a light rain sprinkled on her. At this height, rain was an inevitability.
She wiped water from her face and dipped lower; it looked as if the elves had come from the south, from beyond her territory.
It wasn’t long before she spotted them. How she could have ever thought those elves were the Seventh Seal was absurd. In a section of city ruins, a small force of soldiers were deploying their camp with a speed and efficiency that she envied. She spotted the giant right away, he was clearly directing the soldiers as they bustled about.
Were they trying to circumnavigate her territory? She still had some power left, she’d deny them her territory, fly back to her castle, and order her men to march. The fearsome “Seventh Seal” was puny, a force of maybe three hundred at best. A few blasts of fire to let them know she wasn’t to be trifled with, and then a quick retreat to force her army to march. Within a day’s time nobody would remember that the Seventh Seal even existed.
*****
“Daveth, get your ass out of the road and help me with these maps.” Aldric called irritably.
“The files-” Daveth began, but he was cut off.
“-know their jobs. Let them do them.” Aldric finished for him. “Now get your ass over here, and when Audra’s scouts are set up and have them join us.” He paused, and then added, “And Yukiko, I think.”
Daveth joined Aldric in one of the more structurally sound buildings as the older man spread out his maps on a stone table. The building itself hadn’t so much collapsed as it had sunk into the ground; the doorway was a lancet window that had lost its glass at some point during the past four hundred years.
“Have you decided how to deal with the Angel Queen?” Daveth asked curiously as he examined the map of her territories.
“I don’t think it’s likely she’ll forgive our fuckup so easily.” Aldric replied cynically. “She’s got a good piece of territory, too. I’m just guessing here, but she could probably field at least two thousand troops.”
“We’re fucked if she decides to sling that many troops at us.” Daveth replied immediately.
Aldric shook his head and waved his hand. “We don’t know what her forces are like, or what sort of disposition they are. Fortunately, this highway and these buildings give us a slight advantage.” Aldric drew his finger down the road they’d just traveled down.
“A force like that would be crammed to squeeze through. We could killbox them with the riflemen and the archers. Use the cavalry to force them into small groups vulnerable to massed charges.”
Daveth shook his head.
“We’re two hundred versus a kingdom, Aldric.”
“If you don’t like the odds, feel free to punch down their walls.” Aldric replied dryly. “The riflemen are well-trained. Our scouts know their business. Surprisingly, our infantry can hold the line. We won’t have much in the way of maneuvering room for our cavalry, but we’ll manage.”
“And the Yamato?” Daveth asked, as a man from the Tross brought a small cask of wine and a pair of cups.
Aldric tapped the keg and poured for himself and Daveth.
“I’m sure they know what they’re about. I’ll leave them to the Priestess.” Aldric replied simply.
Daveth knocked back his cup indifferently. “You’re missing the point, Aldric. You want to go to war with a kingdom?”
Aldric peered into his cup. “I don’t.” He stated flatly. “We might have to, but I’d rather not.”
“We could send a messenger.” Daveth offered.
“Monarchs are kinda prone to killing messengers, and we need every one of our troops.” Aldric replied. “If we had more numbers, if we had mages, if we had Edwin and the cannon and the crank guns, I’d say ‘fuck it’ and plow the road all the way to the Queen’s doorstep and beat a peace treaty into her skull.” He shook his head. “Now we...” He sighed. “I’d hoped that we’d find something usable this side of the pass. We’ll hunker here for a little while, and if we’re in the clear, then let’s pull back across the pass. Go back to our milk runs. One week, Daveth. We’ll stay one week.”
“Fire!” Audra shouted outside, and a handful of guns cracked out. “Lead the target you assholes and fire again!” She shouted and suddenly the street was filled with fire and screams.
Daveth shoved Aldric over the table as a wave of fire rolled in through the shattered windows and dove over the table himself.
*****
As the flames retreated, Daveth grabbed the cask of wine and bolted outside as gunfire cracked out again.
He stepped out into a hellscape of scattered fires across the length of the highway. A number of bodies charred beyond recognition were scattered across the street. A white haired woman with a firey mace and a shattered wing stood up in the heart of the blaze, and bafflingly, bizarrely, her wing began to restore itself.
Daveth didn’t hesitate, he hurled the keg of wine at her. She swung her mace; the cask shattered and splashed wine, drenching her from head to foot. He charged her, a sword in his hand, screaming for backup.
She turned aside his first strike, lowering her hips to accept his charge head-on.
He cannoned into her, blowing her off her feet and sending her tumbling across the ground. He swung his sword at her again, and it shattered across the back of her breastplate. He roared and grabbed her wing, twisting it savagely. She screamed in pain and drove her mace into his gut, doubling him over and sending him staggering backwards.
Stronghammer appeared then, swinging one of his prized hammers in a mighty two-handed swing that crashed brutally into her breastplate, sending her spinning to the ground. Daveth gaped at Stronghammer’s weapon; the head had shattered like cheap glass against her armor.
The woman’s wings were regenerating again; Daveth yanked out a spear from his pouch, the one he’d found in the deserts of Ankar Set, the one he’d used against the undead in Metzcal, the one he’d used to destroy one of the metal golems in the underground city of the duergar under the lands of the Shapers. He thrust it at her face; her arm came up to block it, but the blade sheared through her cheek and part of her neck, blood spraying as he spun around, thrusting the spearpoint at the other side of her head.
Even the brutal gash across her face was healing with a rapidity that was horrifying to witness.
The spear was a polearm, it had a slim curving axe blade on one side, and a trio of talon-like hoks on the other side, used to drag a man off his mount; these sank into her neck. Daveth yanked back, savagely twisting, and again blood splashed in a gaudy arc, and again, just as before, the wound closed and healed before his eyes.
He thrust at her again, this time she swatted the spearpoint away with her mace. She leveled it at him, and a thin beam of fire lanced out and splashed against his chest. He swung his spear at her again as a double dozen rifle shots thundered around him.
Most of the bullets spattered harmlessly against her breastplate, one tore off the side of her face, and another shot shattered one of her wings.
Again, that unnatural regeneration kicked in, her wounds closing with eerie speed. Daveth lunged forward with his polearm, the spearpoint skipped off her breastplate and the blade sank into her neck and punched through the other side.
“See you come back from that!” He snarled, yanking the blade out.
“We’ll see about that.” She croaked around a mouthful of blood. Daveth screamed in frustrated rage and leaped at her, bulling her into the cracked and shattered pavement.
He grabbed her by the throat, his vision red, and picked her up and slammed her into the ground with all the force he could muster. The ground cracked underneath her and more blood splashed. She laughed and spit blood in his face, so he did it a second time.
“Daveth, get clear!” He heard someone yell.
“Dammit, get those fires out! Get Nicola out here to help the wounded!” someone else yelled, but Daveth was beyond caring, beyond thought, beyond seeing, beyond feeling. He was fully in the grips of his black rage, hammering the woman into the ground over and over again. Blood splashed and splattered as he pounded her into the ground over and over again. Here was a target worthy of his rage. She would not die, this Angel Queen. Her body kept repairing itself, shattered bones coming together, ruptured organs sealing themselves, blood vessels reconnecting. Her skull cracked and broke and healed and broke again. The bones in her neck writhed in his grip, healing even as they were crushed again and again.
Her hands clawed at Daveth, her gauntlets digging into the thick meat of his arms, one of her hands clawing at his face for purchase. He knocked her hands away and gripped her shoulder and heaved, tearing her head clear of her body.
Her body flopped to the ground and Daveth roared, tossing her head down the road.
He stood upright, his leather vest smoldering and smoking. He turned his face up to the sky and took great heaving breaths. His massive hands opened and closed into fists. He took one step and tripped over the woman’s leg and sat down abruptly. Blood streamed from a cut on his temple.
“By the Void.” Aldric swore, and continued directing his men to put the fires out.
He eyed the charred bodies, and his mouth twisted.
“Who... did we lose?” He asked Nicola and she shook her head. “Looks like some of our scouts. Killian, Dimitri, Evran, Hatchett, and Audra.”
Aldric closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Fuck.” He felt hollow, husked out and empty. He hated losing soldiers. He’d liked Audra. He’d have to arrange for their corpses to be sent to Tannit.
“Get that body out of that armor. It’s Daveth’s loot, but he’s in no condition right now-” hadn’t Daveth been involved with Audra at one point? Aldric wondered.
*****
“Icewings, do something about these fires. Bloodwings, offer these men healing.” A smooth voice called out from behind Aldric. “And someone find me the commander of these soldiers. See if we can offer them help.”
He turned, and the road was filled with elven soldiers. They all wore similar uniforms, gold and red stylized breastplates over black robes embroidered with esoteric loops and whorls in thread of gold.
He gave the elf a baffled look. “Who in the Void are you?” He asked, hand dropping to his saber.
The elf raised his gaunteted hands. His bracers were stylised with red-and gold wings embossed on the steel.
“Spellknight Captain Malacath, of the-” He paused and turned his head, “formerly of the Spellknights of Therannia.” He gave Aldric a sympathetic look. “Your men look like they were dragged through a knothole backwards, if you don’t mind me saying. Hope you don’t mind my offer of help.”
“No... No.” Aldric muttered. “Frankly, I wish you were here ten minutes earlier.” He shrugged weakly.
Malacath nodded. “I’ve seen that expression on a dozen battlefields. I’ve worn it myself. You’ve lost some men, right?”
Aldric nodded.
“My heart grieves for your loss...” He trailed off.
“Aldric.” Aldric offered by way of introduction. “Of the Seventh Seal Mercenary Company.” He held out a sooty hand, and the elf took it.
“You’re not the first I’ve seen from this ‘Therannia’.” Aldric noted. “What’s going on that’s got people leaving?”
Malacath shook his head. “I and my men... couldn’t agree with our King’s orders. I’m afraid he’s quite mad, Lord Aldric. Those that haven’t left have either...” He trailed off and grimaced. “It’s not a pleasant tale to tell by any stretch of the imagination.”
The elves separated into teams, each with a short flag mounted on the back of the breastplate. The ones with a silvery-blue accent cast freezing clouds on the fires, those edged in red offered magical healing to the men that hadn’t taken the full brunt of the fiery blast that heralded the Angel Queen’s arrival.
“How many men do you have?” Aldric asked curiously.
“Forty Goldwings, sixty from the Colors, and an additional ten from the bloodwings, our healer squadron.” Malacath reported. “All I could convince to leave with me.” He sighed, and looked to Aldric. “You?”
“...Just shy of two hundred.” he replied, and glanced over at Daveth, who was upending a waterskin over his face, his throat working.
“If I might ask, what brings you here, Captain Aldric? We’ve heard nothing good from this land, but... we had no choice in the direction of our...” He frowned bitterly, “desertion.”
“We came here to see if we could try and restore some semblance of order. You know, bring the light of civilization back to these lands.” Aldric replied, a bitter expression of his own on his face.
Malacath nodded. “A worthy goal. Shall we trade stories over a meal?” He offered and Aldric nodded.