Daveth was heading south from Landeck when he came across an elven woman heading south. Her clothes were somewhat rumpled and she had a disheveled appearance, her clothes were spotted with stains.
As he passed her by, he slowed his horse and eyed her a second time. Her clothes were definitely stained, as if she’d recently been subjected to a barrage of fruit.
“Are you all right?” He asked her curiously.
She shot him a wordless glance, and then did a triple-take, likely at his height.
“Are you some new torment?” She asked, her voice flipping from exasperation and disappointment.
“Trust me when I say I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Daveth offered.
“Then it probably would best be wise of you to ride on, monster. They’ll be on me again soon enough.”
“Monster...” Daveth muttered. “And who would that be?” He asked.
“Huh?” She asked.
“Who are the people that’d be on you?” He asked.
She shrugged. “Does it matter? Likely you’ll be the next to fling rotten fruit at me.”
Ah. There was an odor to her.
“Okay, Why would someone throw fruit at you?” Daveth asked skeptically.
“Do you always harass travellers this way, stranger?” He snapped at him.
Daveth chuckled a little. “I’m a little drunk... and I’m bored.”
“Well, you’ve had your little show.” She made shooing gestures at him. He barked a laugh.
“Why were they throwing fruit?” He repeated.
“Does it matter?” She asked, her voice resigned.
“It does to me.” He replied simply.
She sighed. “I’m an ice mage. There, are you happy?” She snapped at him.
Daveth rubbed his chin for a moment, and then produced his pipe and packed it full of tobacco while he guided his horse with his knees.
“I don’t understand why people would throw fruit at you simply because you’re an ice mage.” he offered, and pulled a box of lucifers from his saddlebags with a somewhat acrobatic twist. He struck the match, waited for it to burn a bit, and puffed on his pipe until the tobacco was well and truly lit.
The elven woman watched this activity with some small measure of disdain. “People that smoke smell bad.” She pronounced, and faced forward again and started a more aggressive march down the road.
“You don’t smell too great right now either.” Daveth observed, and casually dismounted while keeping pace with the smaller woman.
“Tell me why being an ice mage is a bad thing.” He encouraged. “I’m a soldier, so that makes me something of an idiot. As far as I know, it seems pretty useful.” He thought for a second and barked another laugh. “You would have been intensely popular during our campaign in Bel-Arib.”
She eyed him a little, but continued her determined march down the road.
“What’s Bel-Arib?” She asked.
“A land filled with burning deserts as far as the eye can see.” Daveth replied immediately. “Also killer bees and.. And monsters.” He finished awkwardly. The Seventh Seal had marched into Bel-Arib with two hundred soldiers and come back with thirty-eight. There had been more members of the Tross then there had been soldiers.
The woman, who was close to middle-aged, sighed. “Nobody actually remembers The Long Night of Endless Winter, but superstitious people... in some places... think that ice magic is just one step away from channeling the Void of Oblivion itself.” She complained. “At best, I’m a bad luck charm. At worst... I need to be killed for the sake of the world.”
Daveth puffed on his pipe a few times and eyed the road behind them.
“Can you channel the Void of Oblivion?” He asked, one ear out on the thunder of approaching horses.
“Of course I can’t!” She shouted. “Nobody can! Oh, there’s Void-crazed bastards out there that would love to hasten the arrival of another Long Night of Endless Winter, but the Void of Oblivion can’t be channeled, it’s a place you go when your soul’s been abandoned and there’s... no hope at all for you.”
She burst into tears, then. She could hear them, too.
“S’cuse me.” Daveth muttered, and pulled out a crossbow from his pouch.
“First one of you that shoots her gets a bolt in the eye.” Daveth offered in a cheery voice behind his pipestem. “And you keep waving that spear around, you’re gonna find it right up your ass.”
“You her familiar?” A man called out.
Daveth eyed the woman. “Want a bodyguard? Mind you, I don’t come cheap.”
She hesitated a moment, but nodded a little.
“I’m her bodyguard, fuckstick.”
Daveth eyed the dozen men that had arrived on horseback with spears and bows. They wore boiled leather and bits of mail that had seen better days.
“Fuck off kindly, and you won't be dragging corpses outta here.” He warned.
“You might be Hymir-kin, but we’ve done for your kind before.” The man replied. “You die to a bow or a spear easy enough.”
Daveth eyed the men carefully, and waved at the elven woman, hoping she’d get behind his horse. The beast was a golem; a spear thrust or an arrow fired from a bow wouldn’t hurt it none.
“I’ve stood in the shadow of Timwaite Pass.” Daveth declared, puffing thick stacks of smoke from his pipe. “I’ve seen the men that guard it. They’d break you with one hand, boy. They’d bend you over and stump-fuck you until you squealed like a woman. It gets real cold and lonely up there. Turn around and go home. Last warning.”
“Fuck-”The man didn’t get to finish as the crossbow bolt punched through his neck.
“Who’s next?” Daveth called, and there was a number of saddles creaking as they dismounted.
*****
Daveth wound a strip of bandaging around the meat of his arm around an arrow that’d lodged there and tied it off with a brief cackle of laughter and then stuck the long end in his teeth.
“‘ey elf lady. You got a-” He started to call out, but stopped with a grimace. “Fuck it, nevermind.” he muttered, and tugged a knife from his boot and cut the bandage short. He replaced the knife and pushed himself to his feet. He tucked the roll of herb-soaked bandages in his saddlebags and reviewed his handiwork.
One of the men groaned and turned over with a whimper; his arm had been shattered.
“I warned ‘em.” Daveth muttered to himself. “I fuckin’ warned ‘em.” He scooped up one of the corpses and tossed it over one of the horses’ saddles, and repeated it with most of the men who were either dead or dying. He did this with the arm that didn’t have an arrow sticking out of it.
“Oh, no no no, not you, my friend.” Daveth muttered with a malicious chuckle as he spied a familiar face trying to crawl away from him, groaning and choking in the dirt. “I always keep my promises.” He picked up the man’s spear and went to work.
When he was finished, he pitched the corpse over the man’s saddle, and approached the last man, the man with the shattered arm.
He strode over to the man and pushed him over flat on his back and planted his boot square on the man’s chest, turning the man’s scream into a wheeze.
“I’ll let you take your friends home, because I’m feeling generous.” He took his foot off the man’s chest and grabbed the man by his neck and hauled him up. “Look grateful.”
He pitched the man over the saddle of another horse, and selected one for himself.
“Nah, they can’t complain.” He argued with himself. “Yeah. Payment for services rendered.”
He led the smaller horse over to his, and then peeked around it to find the elf woman huddled against the side.
“Can you ride a horse?” He asked curiously. Her eyes were wide with shock and fright, but she nodded hurriedly.
“Fantastic. I’m heading south to Tannit. You?” He asked.
“Anywhere is better than here.” She offered in a tiny whisper. He gave her a half smile.
He struggled into his saddle while she climbed into the saddle of the horse he’d procured for her.
“An ice mage.” He muttered, and then grimaced. “Lost my fuckin’ pipe again. Bastards.”
The elf woman eyed the giant with two arrows sticking out of him. “Can you even ride?”
He shrugged and groaned in sudden pain.
“More to the point, you feel like signing up with my mercenary band? You’ll be respected and be surrounded by soldiers that’d be happy to kill to protect you.” He offered.
She thought about it for a while as they rode down the highway to Tannit.
“They won’t try to kill me?”
Daveth nodded. “You cast your magics at the enemy and I guarantee each one of them would kill to keep you alive.”
“Hmm. Never been part of an army before.” She muttered.
“Think about it as we ride.” Daveth offered. “If you’re no good with fighting, then you’ve got a great shot at being hired by the Tross, keeping our foodstuffs preserved.”
When they stopped for the night, she helped him take out the arrows and rebandaged his wounds.
“I don’t know about others keeping me safe... but I at least know you will.” She offered, and slipped into his bedroll.
*****
Tannit was filled with the hustle and bustle of various mercenary bands, as well as the swirling autumn leaves of the trees that dotted the landscape. Daveth pointed out the banner of the Seventh Seal.
“That’s the one I serve in.”
“That’s the Seventh Seal?” she asked curiously. He nodded. During their trip he’d learned her name was Seralla, and she was originally from a village called Apopka. She’d spent some time learning herbs at the local church in Higgenfal, and was sent to Landeck to complete her learning. Once the people in Landeck learned that the only spells she could cast were ice spells, the witch hunt was underway.
The people of Landeck were descended from Nauders stock, and that meant she wouldn’t receive a good reception in Nauders either. She might get a few side-eye glances in the Merchant Cities depending where she plied her trade, though she stood to learn more magic at the Tower of Secrets in Tannit, or the Mage University of Innsmouth if she decided to head further south.
“Come to think of it... I think the Shrine Maidens of the Yamato teach magic too.” Daveth muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“I’m hardly a maiden, Daveth.” Seralla replied with a smirk, and then she frowned. “You’ve got a fever.”
“Prolly.” Daveth agreed. “But there’s a mage in the Seventh Seal that’s skilled with healing magic. Just gotta hold out until then. Nothing to worry about.”
“I should think it’s something to worry about. Those arrowheads-” She began, but Daveth waved his hand dismissively. “Nicola’s done some impressive healing in the past. I’ll be fine.”
“Do... you plan on sleeping in her tent when we arrive in camp?” She asked in a small voice, but Daveth heard it anyway.
“I have my own tent.” He replied with a laugh. “And as long as it doesn’t interfere with my responsibilities, you’re welcome anytime.”
She blinked a few times. “Just who are you, Daveth?”
“I’m the second-in-command of the Seventh Seal. The captain is Aldric.” He replied, and she eyed him curiously. He didn’t seem to behave like a commander would.
*****
Seralla followed Daveth through a maze of tents. He moved with a comfortable ease and grace that made her blush; she herself seemed to find every single tent-cord, peg, and churned up piece of earth to trip over. He selected a tent seemingly at random and ducked inside. She followed after.
Inside, Daveth sat down on the edge of a cot, which groaned alarmingly.
“I swear Daveth, I keep thinking I oughtta get a cot just for you.” a dark-skinned woman replied to Daveth’s indifferent greeting. “You keep breaking the cots for normal people.” She turned to face Daveth.
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“Fever, bandages... Someone tried to poke holes in you, didn’t they?”
Daveth laughed. “They weren’t very good at it.”
“How’d they do it? Spears? Swords?” The woman asked.
Daveth shrugged indifferently. “A couple arrows.”
“And you had to take the arrows out yourself, didn’t you?” The woman complained, and then turned and spotted Seralla as Daveth shrugged indifferently.
“Who are you?” She immediately challenged, hand dropping to a dagger at her waist.
“She’s an ice mage.” Daveth offered. “I was thinking she’d be good for the Tross.”
The woman eyed Seralla. Inside, Seralla quailed. The dark-skinned woman had eyes that were like brittle chips of stone; cold and hard. She radiated an aura of barely-restrained violence.
“You’re a mage.” The woman confirmed, and Seralla nodded. “What’s your specialty?” She asked curiously.
Seralla swallowed; it was difficult to breathe in the face of someone like her interlocutor. “I-Ice magic.” She managed.
“Hmmm.” The woman murmured thoughtfully. Seralla wasn’t sure of what to make of that. The woman Daveth was casually talking with looked like she was about to scoop Seralla up and devour her whole and wouldn’t care one way or the other if Seralla tried fighting back or not.
“Who taught you?” The woman asked. There was a certain indifference to her voice.
“I was self-taught.” Seralla offered. The woman raised an eyebrow.
“Lucky you didn’t burn yourself out or explode. You have a pact with your Patron, right?” The woman asked, and Seralla nodded.
Her Patron was the White Hart, a gigantic deer that lived in the forests near Apopka. Apparently he’d lived there for centuries. He was a little strange, and liked having endless conversations about the human world.
“You’re scaring the poor thing, Nicola.” Daveth rose to her defense. “and I still have two holes in me that I shouldn’t.” He reminded, and then gestured. “Seralla, Nicola. Nicola, Seralla.” He gestured at Nicola. “She’s our resident healer. She’s also gotten us out of a pinch or two.”
Nicola snorted. “Just don’t expect me to work any miracles, Commander. Technically I’m still an apprentice.”
“Technically you’re a better mage than Commander Malacath, and his whole nation was filled with magic.” Daveth rebutted.
Nicola laughed, and to Seralla it was like it was like the sound of a handful of gravel tossed down a steep boulder. There was no humor in it.
“Speaking of unwanted holes, You think I should remove the one on your face that keeps spitting garbage?”
“I kinda need my mouth. Just the arrows, if you don’t mind.” Daveth replied, a note of chagrin in his voice.
Nicola suddenly blazed with the power of magic, a level of magic that Seralla herself could never hope to achieve. She knew without a moment’s hesitation that if she were to try to channel that much magic she would, like Nicola suggested, burn herself out, go mad, or explode.
“You’re good to go. The infection was pretty bad but you’re squared away.” She paused, and then added, “And I remind you that if I catch you smoking in the medical tent again, I’ll start sealing shut some of the holes in you that you need.” Nicola warned.
Daveth nodded, shouldered his saddlebags. He eyed Seralla.
“You think she could be trained in other things? I mean, she’s an ice mage, but maybe she could learn healing or...” He trailed off and shrugged.
“I don’t know. I can try.” Nicola offered. She looked to the elven woman. “What are you interested in? I know scrying, some abjuration, some evocation, and a little illusory magic. Plus the usual spells the Anglish require every mage to learn.” She made a sour expression at that.
Daveth eyed Nicola. “The way you describe it, you know a lot. Why are you considered an apprentice?” He asked curiously.
Nicola rolled her eyes. “You don’t know anything about magic, do you? It’s not just knowing a lot of spells. It’s knowing which spells to use and when, and magical strength. I’m much too weak to be considered out of my apprenticeship.”
Seralla felt a spark of fear in her. Nicola had blazed like the sun when she’d used her magic, and she was considered an apprentice.
“Um.” Seralla began, and then tried to forge ahead. “I’d like to try to learn healing spells... and...” She trailed off and glanced at Daveth and looked back to Nicola.
“I get it, i get it. Daveth, fuck off.”
“She needs to meet with the quartermaster, though.”
“Will you give me permission to handle it?” Nicola asked. Daveth nodded, ticked off a salute, and ducked out of the tent.
“So I bet he beat up a bunch of bandits for you or something?” Nicola asked, her voice crisp and businesslike. “He does that. I once saw him pick up a horse and beat a man to death with it.” She shuddered, but Seralla realized it was just for show. The woman’s eyes were lifeless and cool.
It was strange to see people with such blank, dead eyes speak so casually and jokingly. Seralla couldn’t imagine anything that could cause that.
“I come from a village. It’s, ummm, kind of small. The things that we needed were... healing, protection, and ... agricultural spells.”
Nicola’s face went as blank as her eyes as she processed this.
“Agriculture.”
“Yes. Umm, helping crops grow, keeping them free of diseases and vermin. Things like that.”
Nicola sighed. “Listen lady, I don’t know shit about that. I can teach what I can teach, and that’s it.” She paused. “But I can write you a letter that’ll get you into the Tower of Secrets here in Tannit. They can teach you the things I can’t.”
Seralla nodded.
“Well, let’s get to work.” Nicola began.
*****
Daveth approached Aldric and Malacath at the recruiting table as a number of soldiers in red-dyed leather strode up to the table.
Aldric and Malacath nodded at Daveth; Aldric tapped his finger against his lips, and gestured at the men.
“Who are you?” Aldric asked, and scratched his chin.
“You’re the Seventh Seal, right?” the man at the front of the group. Daveth eyed them, there were about forty in total, with a group of women, and further in the back, a handful of elves of mixed gender.
“That’s right.”
The man in front let out a relieved sigh. “We’re all that’s left of the Crimson Sabers.”
“All that’s left?” Aldric asked, and the man nodded.
“You’re famous... or notorious... in the Merchant Cities, and frankly... We need security.”
Aldric frowned at this. “Security?”
The man nodded. “You’re freshly back from somewhere, right? At least, away from Anglish lands, right?”
“Quit dancing around like you’ve got a load in your diapers and tell me what needs to be told.”
The man grimaced, but nodded. “The Anglish are making war against mercenary companies. The Silver Wardens, The Mazarine Battalion, The Shrouded Knights...” The man trailed off, and then held up a clenched fist.
“You say the word, Captain Aldric and I’ll let everyone know! You’ll have an army at your command. Two hundred cavalry. At least three hundred magic knights. A thousand infantry, maybe more! Arquebus wagons! Bombards and their crews!”
Aldric blinked several times at this proclamation, and opened and closed his mouth several times at this.
“This is incredibly sudden.”
The frantically enthusiastic man nodded and trembled as he tried to calm himself down.
“I’d need to speak with whoever is in command before I agree to anything at all.”
The man barked a teary laugh. “They’re all here, Captain Aldric. Everyone that’s left from every one of the Anglish warbands. We- all of us- we... we want to talk. We’re ready, Captain, just say the word!”
“Give me... three hours. Gather up whoever is in command of each company, and come back here. I’ll give you my answer then.”
*****
Aldric called a meeting with Daveth, Malacath, and all the file leaders.
“This is too big for just a command decision. Here’s what we know: The Anglish Empire has apparently declared anathema against mercenaries operating in their territory. What this means is that... every single mercenary company that’s here is ... a shadow of its former self. They’re desperately trying to rebuild, just the same as we are.”
He puffed on his pipe. “I just got an offer to bring them all- all of them- under the banner of the Seventh Seal.”
He looked to Morden. “You’ve had a look around. How many of them are there?”
“Seven different companies. If they were all to join the Seventh Seal, we would be... roughly eleven hundred strong, not counting Tross.”
“So much for a thousand infantry.” Daveth muttered to himself.
Lynnabel touched Alysia’s arm, but she closed her eyes and turned away. Lynnabel sighed, and stood up.
“There are two Golds and four Silvers serving among them, Lord Captain, Lord Commanders.”
Aldric rubbed his mouth in thought.
“Like I said, this is too big for me, Daveth, and Malacath to make on behalf of you. Something like this will radically restructure the Seventh Seal. I am asking you to help us decide whether or not this is a good idea.”
Alysia touched Lynnabels arm, and Lynnabel nodded. Alysia stood. “You have demonstrated your strength and honor, Lord Captain. But the Seventh Seal is small. I believe it would befit your station to demonstrate your strength with a force of arms that properly reflects your stature.”
Aldric’s mouth twisted at this, and Alysia adopted a patronizing look. “You met with the Matron of our Order, Lord Captain. She does not confer such personal greetings lightly. You are worthy. Let your company be worthy as well.”
She sat down and refused to look at anyone. Lynnabel also sat, but she glanced around at the other file leaders with curiosity.
“Will they retain their banners? Will we need more file leaders, or will we have to change the troop disposition?” One of the other file leaders called out.
“I think they should surrender their banners. Not because they’ve been beaten, but because they belong to the Seventh Seal.” another file leader spoke up.
“What about transfer of leadership?” Morden asked. “Right now we’ve got ten file leaders. If we keep the File Leaders as they are, each one will command a hundred troops.”
A middle-aged man with a long braid he kept tucked in his belt grimaced. “I can manage ten men because I know their habits, their dispositions, and how to position them in combat. You give me a hundred...” He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can live up to your expectations, Cap.”
A lot of questions were asked, but no answers were given by Daveth, Aldric, and Malacath.
The time where Aldric would meet with the other warbands crept closer.
The file leaders were dismissed; Alysia shooting a venomous look that would have boiled Daveth alive. He sighed. He gave up trying to understand her mercurial nature.
“Before we start talking with the other companies, Aldric... this.” Daveth waved the crumpled paper Darius had given him.
“I saw.” Aldric replied with a grimace. “They’ve been looking for us all over the place apparently.”
“I thought- don’t they have a way of contacting you?” Daveth asked.
Aldric shot Daveth a hot glare. “They did, up until your costly little stunt. They drove him out. I’ve got no contacts in Nauders anymore, thanks to you.” he spat acidly.
Malacath eyed the exchange. “What did he do?”
Aldric raked his hair back and retied it. “He diddled the wrong girl. Caused not one, but two incredibly costly scandals. If it wasn’t for his equally stupid but completely different stunt in Metzcal, we might never have recovered financially.”
“There’s clearly more to the story-” Malacath began, but Aldric moved his hand in a cutting off motion. “No Seventh Seal business until the talks with the other bands are completed. We keep things in house.”
Malacath nodded, and looked up at the giant curiously.
Each of the warbands sent a representative. Gerald, from the Crimson Sabers. Anneke from the Silver Wardens. Havek from the Mazarine Battalion. Veronika from the Shrouded Knights. Kast from the Nora Outcasts. Stenwyn from The Hounds of Dawn, and a familiar name: Derrik Alhambra from the Celestial Redeemers. Daveth raised an eyebrow at that; he thought Derrik and his templars dead on the Shaper’s island, and he said as much to Aldric, who nodded.
They introduced themselves and sat across the table from Aldric. Daveth and Malacath stood behind Aldric.
“I’ve been told by Gerald that the Anglish are hunting down mercenary warbands.” Aldric opened, and the representatives nodded. Anneke raised her hand, and Aldric pointed at her.
“Regardless of the outcome of this meeting, whether you choose to accept some, none, or all of us, I would like to beg that you take in my sisters and I.” She began. She studied the palms of her armored gauntlets. “Our last incursion was... catastrophic. We lost our entire command structure.” She shook her head. “There aren’t many of us, and we don’t even have a proper banner to lift anymore.”
“Just how did that happen?” Malacath wondered.
“The Black Cards.” Anneke replied, and Aldric immediately punched the table in blinding fury. “Fucking- I fucking told her-” He started, and blinked, realizing everyone was reaching for weapons.
“I’m sorry.” Aldric managed to choke out. “I lost... we lost... some valuable friends... to the Anglish Black Cards. The Radiant Sons.”
“I knew it.” Veronika stated somewhat hollowly from her seat. The Shrouded Knights were something of a mysterious order. They wore full plate painted white, and on top of that a full hooded and sleeved robe, equally white. Nobody had ever seen them out of their armor. They never took off their helmets for anything, apparently. They spoke so little it was hard to guess their sex, sometimes. “I had heard rumors, of course, that the Radiant Sons had disappeared, though I could not understand why. It was only after I learned of the existence of the Black Cards that I was able to connect the dots... though I had no proof at the time.”
Aldric nodded. He was going to say that Nicola was the last surviving member, but these were representatives of other warbands, and Derrik himself worshiped an Anglish Angel. For all he knew one or all of them could have been Anglish plants to attack the Seventh Seal.
“The Crimson Sabers ran into some of their rifleman squads when we went to turn in some bounties on criminals we hunted. We lost half our command staff. There’s a chance to rebuild, but...” He trailed off.
“A thousand years ago, Celestine Alhambra- my ancestor- was the pride and joy of the Anglish Empire. The Alhambra family enjoyed a millennia of good favor with the Empire. Upon my return to Darnell from the Shaper’s island, I found the family estates in flames and many of our retainers crucified.” he shook his head. “I reached out to some friends and came to the Merchant Cities, because... Well, frankly, their motto has always been, ‘Fuck the Anglish’. I- I wanted...” He shook his head. “I was born four hundred years too late, it seems. I wanted to serve them to the best of my ability, like my ancestors did. Do my family proud.” He shrugged again. “I’m wearing everything I own.”
One by one, the stories came out. Running afoul of ambushes. Assaulted by squads of soldiers. Assassins in the night. Night raids. Foodstuffs poisoned. They were denied entry to cities and even towns.
“We’re going to take a short break and a light meal... and then we’ll see whether discussing terms is a worthwhile pursuit.” Aldric decided. He gestured to Daveth. “I’m going to go and talk to someone.”
Daveth nodded.
Foul news flies faster than good, it seems. Why are you doing this, Elenore?
I grow weary of half-disciplined bandits masquerading as “mercenaries” suckling at the teats of the Anglish Empire- My Empire. Let the Anglish be protected by the Anglish once more. There is, of course, a spot open in my court- and my heart- for you, dearest Aldric.
Your antics will only stir up discord and strife. What were you thinking, attacking the Alhambras?
A once-proud family, now decayed and corrupt, riding on the successes of their ancestors a thousand years dead. Was it not you who said that Houses come and go, Dearest?
Aldric tossed the pen down at the sight of the latest missive. He had had his men turn his guns on the Alden estates and bombarded them flat in a precision strike from the harbor while he was at court. His pithy comment, the pinnacle of wit at his young age, his excuse to the Empress of the Anglish Empire.
He could do it, he realized. Scoop up all the disaffected and disenfranchised, forge an army into an arrow aimed right at the heart of the Anglish Empire. It had been said that Darnell had never fallen; he could break that record. He could take the city.
He could see his army, a motley thing of differing military bands with different commanders all deciding to do things their way splintering, fracturing, falling apart even as it was hamstrung by disciplined Anglish forces. His head would be magically preserved and stuck on a pike outside the city walls as a reminder that nobody defied the Anglish Empire.
I hope you and your Empire fucking burn. His pen snapped with his repressed fury as he sent his last missive.
He strode back to the conference tent and slapped down the letter he’d received from Nauders.
“This is the deal, take it or leave it: You hand over your banners. Not as losers, but as a formal declaration that you’re joining the Seventh Seal. Each of you join the rank and file of the Seventh Seal with the understanding that whatever you once were, you are no longer. You are the Seventh Seal, and will disposition as commanded. Your command structures will be disbanded and your privileges as commanders revoked. You will swear the oath. You will follow orders from your superiors. You will follow the rules of the Seventh Seal with zero tolerance or expectations of leniency. We march for Nauders to complete this job.”
He took a breath. His hand wanted to tremble; he didn’t allow it to.
“When the job is done, we will sit at this table again and you can decide if the Seventh Seal is where you truly want to be. If you think you’ll be better off on your own after the job is complete, then I will return your banner to you and you will be free to leave with an atmosphere of mutual respect.”
He took a breath and released it.
“So. Shall we begin?”