Three hundred soldiers went into the breach between Therannia and the demonic realm of Phlegethos. Eighty-four soldiers with scarred bodies and haunted eyes limped out.
Without ceremony or fanfare, they beheaded the Mad King and the strange, oily black sphere warped, quivered, and flexed, and then faded away like clouds before the sun. The sky cleared of the ominous clouds hanging overhead, and the air itself tasted fresher. Where the gate to Phlegethos stood was a broken shambles of shattered road and tumbled masonry.
The barrier that kept the city protected from the rest of the country fell, and the horrific things that lurked outside struggled into the city. Rather than voraciously hungry and unrelentingly predatory, they seemed to wander aimlessly, drunkenly swaying and stumbling about as if they’d forgotten how to move.
Malacath swiftly rounded up the tattered remains of the Therannian military and had the things hunted down and destroyed.
Aldric eyed Daveth. “You think he’s coming back?”
Daveth shook his head. “He was more of a client than a soldier. Besides, he’s found his calling.”
Aldric nodded. “Think so, too.”
“We’re leaving?” the giant asked.
Aldric nodded. “You have no idea how much it pisses me off that only a few horses survived- yours amongst them.”
Daveth chuckled. “Told you.”
“That smug attitude of yours pisses me off, too.” Aldric spat.
“There’s horses on the plains, remember? We’ll catch a bunch on the way out of here.” Daveth remarked casually.
Aldric nodded. “It’ll take some time before they’re fit to be used for cavalry, though.”
Daveth flapped his hand dismissively. “We’ll head out while Malacath is busy and hit the trail.”
“Like fuck we will. I want payment.”
“You shall have it.” Malacath replied, riding up on his dainty horse. “You saved a nation, Captain, Commander.” He shrugged and gestured. “Who knows what might’ve happened if the portal to that hellish realm had been allowed to grow unchecked. You might have even saved the world.”
Daveth scoffed at that.
“Something that was reported to me though- a number of people spotted a ‘golden woman’ fly in and out of the portal. She... brought out the dead. All of them.” He smiled a little. “Also some horses.”
“Golden woman?” Daveth gave a baffled look to Aldric, who shrugged.
Malacath nodded and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “She had wings of fire, a golden ring of light around her head, and golden mist or smoke around her feet.”
Aldric raised an eyebrow. “Sort of sounds like the woman we met on the road in Philippa.”
“We met a lot of people in Philippa.” Daveth replied irritably.
“The pass, Daveth.” Aldric reminded.
Daveth rubbed his chin in thought, shrugged, and subsided.
The Seventh Seal moved to where the horses were corralled, and Aldric was surprised to discover that his own mount had survived, though with a nasty scar down one side of its rump.
“So where do we go?” Daveth asked curiously.
“I’m thinking up to Montesilvano, then across to Blackwall. Catch a ship to Einsamkeit and get the fuck away from Rothgar for a while. Rebuild in Tannit, of course.”
Daveth gave Aldric a withering look. “You really think anyone will sign on with us ever again?”
Aldric laughed bitterly. “When we show them the war banners we’ve collected, they damn well better be falling all over themselves to sign on.”
The trip to Tannit would take the better part of a year. Malacath wrapped their dead in preservative spells and requested their quartermaster provide a list of needed supplies, which he had the capital city fill.
“Yeah, he’s definitely found his place.” Daveth muttered to Aldric.
Malacath eyed them speculatively. “You’re right: I’m coming with you.”
Daveth and Aldric traded glances. “You sure about this? We’re not coming back this way. If you ever do come back this way, it’ll be feet-first.”
Malacath nodded. “I know. It’s taken a long time for me to get used to your way of doing things”, he paused, and then added, “and your constant use of profanity. I ended up cursing out some sub-consul the other day because he wasn’t moving fast enough for my benefit.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s kind of infectious.”
“Anyone coming along with you? That healer girl?” Aldric asked, but Malacath shook his head.
“She... She’s done. You might not have realized this, but she burned out her magical talent when we were in the storeroom in the Obsidian Palace. When we made it back through the gate, she just... her mind broke. She’ll be seen to for the rest of her life, but...” He trailed off.
The elf took a breath and switched subjects. “The Therannian military is woefully underpowered and can’t spare anyone. Our magical college is...” He trailed off, and scratched his cheek with a gloved finger, “trying to figure out how to turn those... trees... back into elves. As it stands right now, Therannia is a city, not a nation.”
“Shit.” Daveth muttered. “Even so, you’re coming along?”
Malacath nodded. “If you’ll have me.”
*****
The march out of Therannia was quiet, as everyone nursed private scars and dwelled on horrors they dared not describe to anyone, least of all to themselves.
There was a subtle relaxing, a sigh of relief, a feeling of shoulders loosening, of jaws unclenching when they passed the standing stones that marked the border of Therannia, but the Seventh Seal was irrecoverably marked by their trip into the Immaterium of Phlegethos.
They looked at each other across the cookfires and into the same dead eyes of their comrades that they themselves wore.
They were overwhelmed with the cursed feeling of powerlessness that came with knowing hidden truths- those that tasted it once would be beaten down by it again and again until the day they died.
There were things out there, horrible things, malignant things, and they were just a whisper away, laying cheek by jowl with the world of the real.
They wrestled with the realization that they had no choice but to understand that they would be forever unable to view the world the same way again. Some things in the world were meant to remain secrets.
The long train of carts that stretched out behind them filled with the shrouded dead didn’t help.
*****
They were set upon shortly after crossing the border into Montesilvano by some lord. No reason was given, and none was required. The Seventh Seal fought with a relentless brutality that drove fear into the hearts of the men they faced, they cut deeply into the lord’s armies and killed the command staff. The lord’s army tried to retreat, but the Seventh Seal divided their forces in textbook fashion and butchered them ruthlessly. They raided the lord’s supply wagons for their own, and once again turned their faces north.
Alysia approached Daveth the night after the nameless lord’s massacre.
“Lord Commander, I would like to speak with you.” She began. Her hand never left her sword anymore.
He eyed her carefully. She seemed nervous and fidgety, shifting from one foot to another restlessly, eyeing the other campfires and the people that dotted them.
“I’m listening.” He replied.
“I wanted to talk to you about... troop morale.” She began, and he raised an eyebrow, but kept his focus on the little wooden block he was carving. It helped, he found, to focus his attention on something that required his entire concentration.
“Go on.” He encouraged, digging into the wood with the point of his knife.
“You...” She began, but then turned away, turned back, used her free hand to brush her silvery hair away from her face. Her other hand never left her sword. She lowered her voice. “You haven’t ... taken a partner since...” She began, and broke off. “I’ve heard that among humans, it helps if you...” She tried again, and stopped.
Daveth barked a laugh. “You think the problem is a lack of pussy.”
“I didn’t!-” She tried, but cut herself off. “I only meant to-”
“-help, right?” Daveth finished for her. She settled down a little. He tossed the block of wood into the campfire at his feet. It wasn’t going to turn into anything useful, anyway. He looked up at her.
“I know you’re trying to help, Alysia. Thank you very much for doing your best.” He replied with all sincerity. He took a swig of wine. “It must be hard for you, being far away from your sisters, in an army that doesn’t follow the values you do.”
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She managed to wrest out an awkward smile. “It has its advantages.” She replied, and then her smile became a little more natural. “And I have my sister Lynnabel with me.”
Daveth nodded, and made shooing gestures with his hands. “Off to bed with you.” He paused, and then added, “It’s helped me to remember that it’s okay to take my hand off my sword.” He murmured in a low voice.
She frowned at him angrily, turned abruptly, and then marched off in the way the Wolf Sisters did when they were offended by something. Daveth fetched a sigh, eyed the camp carefully, and then pulled out the gem-studded bottle of distilled spirits the horned girl had given him in that shit-splat town on the Montesilvano border so long ago.
He trickled a little of the spirits into his wineskin, corked the bottle and stowed it away in the magical saddlebags he’d received from Eleven back when they were in Nauders.
He sloshed the wineskin around, and then drank the mixture down. He’d never get to sleep, otherwise.
*****
“News, Daveth.” Aldric announced his entry into Daveth’s tent briskly. They’d been in Blackwall for two days.
“What’s our percentage?” Daveth immediately replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He surreptitiously slid the short sword he’d been keeping under his pillow out of sight.
“Maybe none, maybe a bit more.”
“A bit more than none is still none, Aldric.” Daveth complained.
“He thinks he’s clever.” Aldric announced to nobody.
“Just spill your shit.” the giant complained.
“Nobody’s sailing anywhere, anymore. Not from Blackwall, not from Ardeal, not even from Silesia.”
Daveth frowned. “We’re stuck?”
Aldric shrugged a little. “There’s pirates attacking ships bound for Einsamkeit.”
“Pirates? On the Mirras? The fuck is Angland doing?”
Aldric favored the giant with a withering look. “Do you legitimately believe that the Anglish gives two fucks about what happens to the Merchant Cities?” He asked, his voice dripping condescension. “Likely the pirates got the Anglish’ blessing.”
“So how the fuck do we get home?” Daveth replied patiently. Aldric had a certain flair for the dramatic, and it was wise to let him play out his song and dance.
“Well, it just so happens that I’ve found us a ship. Not cheap, either.”
“And the fishhook in your guts?” Daveth asked.
“What, besides the cutthroat price?” Aldric complained. He nodded though, and cast his shrewd eyes at Daveth. “We’ve been taken on to fight off the pirates.”
Daveth rubbed the scar on his nose. “Cannon?”
“None worth speaking of. Just a few four-pounders.”
“Mages?” Daveth countered hopefully.
“Just Malacath and Micola.” Aldric replied.
“Meaning the ship’s crew doesn’t have mages of their own.” Daveth guessed. Aldric nodded.
Daveth let out a long sigh.
“That means boarding actions.”
Aldric nodded again. “The good news is that everything on the pirates’ ship is forfeit. Full plunder.”
Daveth let out another long, heavy sigh.
“As far as I’m concerned, that means this is just another clusterfuck of shit between us and Tannit.” He growled.
Aldric grinned and rubbed his jaw. “I agree. The basic strategy will be to pepper them with the four-pounders until they get close, then use the rifles to sweep their decks. Finally we’ll climb aboard and take everything not nailed down.”
“You tell the Sisters?” Daveth asked, referring to the Wolf Sisters.
Aldric nodded. “They’re on board with it... as long as they don’t have to witness you tossing non-combatants over the side. They’re still chapped about what you did in Bel-Arib, it seems.”
“We capturing the ship or sinking it?” Daveth asked.
“Capturing if we can. We need plunder.”
“...When do we begin?” Daveth finally asked.
“We’ve got a couple of days to load everything.” Aldric replied.
*****
A holdover from before the War of Liberation, the seaside docks at Blackwall were massive things, in some ways bigger than a medium-sized city.
One of the things that the country of Blackwall held pride in was their shipyards. They were bounded by heavy stone walls, wood was brought in constantly from special preserves, and entire departments of men and women were trained in constructing individual pieces. Each drydock could produce a ship every six months, and there were five drydocks that worked year-round for the Anglish Empire.
The harbor was protected in the traditional Anglish fashion with massive stone walls that jutted into the Mirras, though there was constant debate on whether or not to tear them down, since they carried reliefs depicting the False Goddess and her Servants.
Amongst all the piers protected by the massive walls, there was a shattered stump, the remains of a gigantic statue that was torn down when the War came.
Daveth eyed the long piers where ships waited to be loaded or unloaded, rowboats scuttled back and forth from ships moored in the harbor, fishing boats trawled the protected harbor dragging nets behind them.
“I’m not looking forward to this.” Morden announced to Daveth, standing next to him on the edge of Docktown, the inevitable rat’s nest of bars, inns, warehouses and whore’s cribs that sprung up in every harbor of every city with an edge on the water.
“Neither am I.” Daveth replied. “We’re in no way equipped to deal with a ship-to-ship battle.”
“Ah, I miss the days when we had cannon.” Morden praised.
Daveth nodded, and jerked his thumb at the docktown. “Think we’ll have a problem digging them out?” He asked.
Morden shook his head. “You go through shit once... you can scatter. You go through shit several times, it can get tough to dig them out.” He paused, and then added, “You go through Therannia, and you know without a doubt that the guy next to you has got your ass...” He paused again. “They’ll fuck and gamble and piss away their life’s savings as if their lives depended on it, but when the call goes out, I bet every single one will shoulder his fucking weapon and march out.” He shrugged. “There’s nobody left in the world that knows what that hell is like. You can’t share it, because the people that weren’t there won’t know. They weren’t there. But you can look across a crowded room and see the same look in your buddy’s eyes. ‘Yeah, I was there too.’ and you know that there’s no place like home.”
“Poetic way of saying we’re all fucking damned.” Daveth muttered.
Morden barked a laugh at his commander. “We’ve got time. Wanna race through the cribs the way we used to before Bel-Arib?”
Daveth was going to turn Morden down, but snorted instead. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”
*****
True to Morden’s prediction, everyone from the Seventh Seal showed up on the piers at the designated time. They’d drank, gambled, whored and ate everything they could stuff into their mouths; several of them were marked by fresh wounds from their trips through the hells. Unspoken among them was the number of dead slipfingers, pickpockets, alleybashers and thugs that’d tried to find an easy mark among them and failed.
The loading onto the ship went smoothly and without incident. The Tross’s wagons were broken down and stowed in the hold alongside their cargo, and the preserved corpses of the unburied dead were packed like cordwood into the holds until they were near to bursting. The soldiers of the Seventh Seal bunked down in every available cabin. Daveth himself immediately opted for bunking on the deck of the ship.
Morden approached Daveth after receiving a tiny vial from Nicola. He uncorked the bottle and drank it and immediately made a repulsive face.
“This is gross.” He muttered, and eyed Daveth as Alysia, Lynnabel and Nicola joined him. “You almost look cheerful.” he remarked to Daveth.
“Almost.” daveth replied. “Being on the boat is just one step away from Rothgar, but it’s ... also one step away from Einsamkeit.” He breathed a sigh. “You have no idea how glad I will be to get away from Rothgar.”
Alysia glanced at Lynnabel, but for some reason, the other didn’t look back.
Daveth eyed the bottle. “The fuck is that?” Morden shrugged and gave him an uneasy smile. “Medicine. Think I picked something up from the cribs.”
Nicola rubbed her closed eyes. “That’s supposed to be ... applied to the area, not drank.”
Daveth chuckled a little.
“Was there nothing in Rothgar that you thought was good?” Alysia asked.
“Moments, I think. Not things, really. Moments.” Daveth paused.
“I liked walking the roads of Philippa when we were doing bodyguard detail. That was good. I mean, I hated it as much as everyone else did, but... the air was clean. You had a feeling like you weren’t cramped.” He rubbed his chin. “Killing the Angel Queen felt good. I want to do it again.”
“You can’t-” Morden argued, but Daveth flapped his hand to show it didn’t matter. He grinned. “Eating delicious pork chops with Alysia because someone didn’t report them to the captain.”
Morden grimaced at that. “You recall he was in a fuckhuge pit at the time.” He defended himself.
Daveth ignored him and held up a finger. “Meeting the Wolf ...Queen?” He finished in half a question.
“Matron.” Alysia and Lynnabel corrected in stereo.
“Yeah. She was formidable.”
Lynnabel raised an eyebrow. “Who do you suppose would win in a fight between the two of you, Lord Commander?”
Daveth rubbed his chin. “Well, I can guess... but I also don’t want to find out. It’s the fight I don’t want to fight.”
Lynnabel cocked her head a little to the side to show she didn’t understand.
“She’s strong.” Daveth began. “I could sense that much when we shook hands. Terrifyingly strong.” He added, and pulled out his pipe and packed it full, lighting it with a practiced hand. “But I don’t want to fight her. It’s a complicated feeling that I can’t explain.”
Lynnabel smiled at him. “I’ll be certain to send her your regards in my next missive, Lord Commander.”
He glanced at her. “You do that sort of thing?”
She nodded. “The Matron is interested in all of the places where Sisters serve.”
Daveth tapped his finger against his lips thoughtfully at this revelation.
Malacath joined the group on deck. “All present and accounted for.”
Daveth nodded, and offered his pipe to the elf, who declined with a wave of his hand, and then offered a small flask of wine.
Daveth tipped it back and his eyebrows lifted. “That’s pretty good.”
“That’s the taste of my homeland, Commander Daveth. It’s what we fought for and saved. I thought you deserved to know what victory tasted like.”
“You got enough of that to share with the Seventh Seal? I think everyone deserves to know what they fought for and saved.” Daveth asked.
Malacath nodded. “I do, in a bag of holding.”
“Good man. Save it for when we hit Einsamkeit. Alcohol this good is no good at sea.”
He eyed Malacath thoughtfully. “You’ve never crossed a sea, have you?” He asked, and the elf shook his head.
Daveth grinned. “Alysia, Lynnabel, I’ll leave it to you two to explain to him what to expect.”
*****
He awoke near a familiar, broken-down farmstead near a familiar beach. An inky-black ocean, limitless in every direction, lapped the shore. To the side, a waist-high stone wall ran the length of the field. Tiny plants pushed small leaves through the blackened soil.
Off in the distance, the city that had been forbidden to him by a girl with flames in her hair sat mute and empty, locked in ice and ashes, a frozen necropolis locked in time. Who built it? Who used to live there?
He looked to the sky; the air was usually filled with warm embers of life-giving fire.
The sky stood empty and mute. No girl came to greet him, no warm laughter at his fumbling attempts to pronounce the name of this place. Whatever had called this place home was gone. He was alone.