Lynnabel was waiting for her sister in their shared tent, and was visibly shocked when Alysia stumbled inside, stiff-legged.

“How did the Lord Commander’s bout with the Nauders girl go?” Lynnabel offered by way of conversation, instead of asking after her sister’s health, which was obvious.

“As well as could be expected from that- from the Lord Commander.” Alysia grimaced. “My shoulder is dislocated and I think my shoulderblade might be broken as well.” She let out a gasp. “And maybe a rib. Lynnabel, help me with my armor.”

Lynnabel was already doing so without even asking, unlatching her sister’s breastplate and negotiating the straps and buckles that held the rest of her sister’s armor together.

“Did you face her? Was she this strong?” the woman asked her sister, wonderingly. She’d seen the Nauders folk from camp and they seemed a robust and hearty people.

Alysia shook her head. “The fight was between the Lord Commander and the Nauders girl.”

“What was she like?”

“Pale as milk, with ruby eyes.” Alysia reported as she carefully eased out of her leathers. Her report was punctuated with groans and hisses of pain. “Arrogant and flashy. Her equipment wasn’t bad. A breastplate and mail skirt. A longsword and a halberd.”

“That tells me half of nothing, sister.” Lynnabel complained. “How did the Lord Commander fight her?”

“With contemptuous ease.” Alysia spat. “He pounded her into the dirt twice, and when she went for a third strike he picked me up and used me to pound her into the dirt again.” She rolled her eyes at Lynnabel. “This time, I was the donkey.”

Lynnabel’s eyes widened at that. She remembered quite clearly when Daveth had snapped, grabbed the nearest thing to hand, which was a donkey and hurled it at the two sisters in a blind rage. Then he’d picked them up and hurled them, as well.

In truth, as a result of that, Lynnabel’s respect for the man had risen. She’d placed some distance between herself and him in deference to Alysia’s bizarre fascination with him, but over and over Lynnabel kept wondering who would come out on top in a fight between the Matron of their Order and Daveth.

Merillele, the Matron of their order, was wise, crafty, and unbelievably powerful. Every year she beat back challenges for leadership from hundreds in the Order. She carried a strength that was legendary, and yet Lynnabel wondered who might win in a fight between the two of them.

*****

Ever since the War of Liberation, Darnell had done everything in its power to separate itself from their association with Innana, the Golden Lady. It didn’t change how the Anglish felt about most races, but the Second Subjugation of the Yamato had brought with it a modicum of tolerance; from time to time a non-human face could be seen in the milling throng of people.

The thing that had crawled out from beneath the temple had pale skin with thin silvery strands seemingly woven throughout. Its eyes were featureless orbs of shifting pink and blue, and metal antlers sprouted from its head, sweeping back along its skull.

Guards immediately tried to arrest it, no demihumans were allowed on the palace grounds without an escort, and they certainly weren’t allowed on the grounds naked, but it had learned long ago how to deal with weapons of that sort.

*****

Daveth was watching Dorothea and Alysia spar with each other when Morden approached like oily smoke.

“Morden.” Daveth acknowledged, as he watched Alysia and Dorothea trade blows. Dorothea was going all out against the wolf sister, but Alysia simply turned aside every blow without effort. It seemed she’d learned to hold back.

“Commander, the camp was attacked last night by bandits.” Morden reported.

Daveth stopped watching the two women and focused his attention on the man.

“How the fuck did they get through the scouts? I thought Audra was better than that.” Daveth disputed angrily.

“Audra and the scout file are gone, Commander. She said it was on your orders.”

Daveth palmed his face. “Fuck. That’s right.” He wiped his hands down his face in an effort to restrain his frustration. “I sent them to the southwest to scout and map.”he remembered. “How bad was it?” Daveth asked, finally.

“Not bad at all.” Morden replied with a shrug. “Some light wounds, nothing the healers couldn’t fix. Some of the bandits carried the insignia of the Carrion Crows, but most didn’t.”

“Fucking-!” Daveth shouted, and Alysia snapped her head around at his outburst. Dorothea moved to strike the distracted woman, but Alysia gave her an indifferent backhand without looking, knocking the albino girl out.

“What is it, Lord Commander?” Alysia asked.

“Bandits hit the camp.” He spat. “Carrion Crows.”

Alysia frowned. “That doesn't make sense. We defeated them in Doran, did we not?”

Daveth shrugged. “According to those in the know, there’s at least six different warbands of the Carrion Crows.”

“Ah. Vendetta?” Alysia immediately asked.

Morden shook his head. “Like I said, only a couple carried the insignia. The others seem to be locals.”

Daveth blinked. “Locals? The Duchy of Nauders has native bandits?”

Morden shrugged. “Bandits and thieves are everywhere, and they don’t much care for things like borders or nations.”

“But the average bandit doesn’t like outsiders on their turf.” Daveth rebutted.

Morden nodded. “True enough.”

“So who hired who? Did the Crows recruit some local talent? Did the locals bring in the Crows? Why? What’s the endgame?” Daveth pondered.

“Perhaps you should ask the Nauders girl.” Alysia remarked, jerking her thumb at the unconscious woman laying in the dirt.

“Good idea. Morden, give her a bucket.” Daveth ordered, and the man’s eyes widened.

“A bucket?”

Daveth nodded. “Of course. It’s what happens to everyone caught sleeping when there’s work to be done.”

“Your funeral.” Morden advised, trotting off.

“A... bucket, Lord Commander?” Alysia asked tentatively.

He blinked and glanced down at her.

“Ah. You wouldn’t know. You and your sister are always up at first call.” He began, and smiled a little. “If you’re caught oversleeping, or sleeping on the job, first offense is a bucket of water tossed on you to wake you up. After that it’s floggings, fines, stocks, and dismissal.”

“She’s probably not going to be very happy.” Alysia muttered.

“I don’t much like having to fly the Duchess’ colors, or having her” he pointed at the unconscious girl, “eyeballing our every move. Her happiness is the least of my worries.” He stated flatly. His lips quirked up a little in a smile.

“Besides, it’ll be hilarious.”

*****

The Quartermaster of the Tross had been a veteran campaigner before time and wounds caught up with him. No army travelled alone, there were horseshoes to be fixed, bits of armor and weapons to be mended, archers needed arrows. Tents needed to be mended. Soldiers needed to be fed and entertained.

Everything needed to be unpacked and set up whenever they stopped, and likewise packed up, boxed up and put on carts at the slightest hint of danger, or when it was time to leave.

Most sane cities wouldn’t let an army camp within their walls, let alone mercenaries, which weren’t too far removed from bandits in the eyes of most people. But they would allow quartermasters and their retinue into the city for trade. Coin had to flow, after all.

And so, while the Seventh Seal was hired by the Duchy of Nauders, they found themselves camping on the edges of towns, or parked outside a city, and the wheeling and dealing would begin.

However, there were only two steelsmiths in the capital city of Nauders, and compared to Angland or Silesia steel, their skills were woefully inept. In a way it made sense; most fine steel in the known world was used in weaponsmithing. Things like tools could be bought from just downriver in Tannit. The smiths in the Seal struggled to contain their baffled frustrations that a capital city didn’t have proper blast furnaces for steel forging.

Still, they picked up a warrior that did side work as a blacksmith; he called himself Stronghammer and he instantly won Daveth’s approval when he shattered the giant’s sword and nearly took Daveth’s knee as well.

*****

Edvard came out of his daze as he tripped over a rock, stumbling and bumping into the wall. He blinked and pushed himself upright, and adjusted his clothes, and glanced about himself. Where was he? It wasn’t like him to lose himself in thought; after all, he was a merchant.

He frowned at the swimmy, foggy, drunken feeling in his head. Strange.

He shook his head, trying to dispel his confusion. He wasn’t far from his office, so he tugged on the bottom of his vest to straighten it properly and began walking, trying to sort his thoughts.

Today he had several appointments to keep. Inga at the deer farm had several that would yield some few hundred pounds of meat when processed at the butchers; he’d negotiated the deal that would allow the meat to be sold at three of the five shops in the Duchy and a good merchant always followed up on their transactions. He’d already been to the tanneries and ordered the leather that had been processed; there were plenty of leatherworkers that were eager to buy in many of the townships.

In Nauders, merchants were the middlemen between those that produced the raw materials and those that produced the finished goods. They arranged contracts between blacksmiths and smelters, between loggers and woodworkers, and merchants arranged for people to sell the finished wares in shops. Edvard was pretty well-to-do, having shops in Courland, Ansbach, and of course in the city of Nauders as well. There were a number of small hamlets scattered through the Duchy; Edvard and the other merchant nobles often sent wagon trains across the territory, peddling their goods.

Edvard began crossing the market when he spotted a man with a battered suit of plate armor at one of the vegetable stalls. Edvard’s mouth twisted.

Outlander. Mercenary, most likely. A leonine woman in unadorned but polished steel plate flowed through the bustle of traffic to talk to the man, and they shared a chuckle at something that was said.

The woman was attractive and lithe, she moved with a flowing grace that was alluring. She glanced at everyone that passed by, and when her eyes met his, he froze. No feline, that one. No, she was a wolf.

Her eyes were a slivery grey that reminded him of the wolves in the forests. She glanced away at someone else, and his heart seemed to unstick itself from his chest and he was able to keep walking.

Hadn’t there been some rumor about an army coming into the city? He wondered, and shook his head. First the deer, and then the smelters. He unconsciously glanced at the towering granaries.

*****

Dorothea shot glowering, hate-filled looks at Daveth’s back as she huddled in her thick crimson cloak; her hair dripping, but Daveth was also accompanied by the silver-haired woman she’d sparred with earlier, and the most sinister-looking man she’d ever seen in her life. If Dorothea had spotted him walking alone, she wouldn’t have hesitated to run him through. He looked malignant, with greasy black hair and an oily grin that seemed to ooze sleaze. She kept one hand on her money pouch and her other hand clenched her cloak closed against the cold. Getting doused with a bucket of freezing cold water in the heart of Nauders in late autumn was no joke, despite the half-giant’s chuckles, the looks of smug satisfaction that radiated from the wolf-eyed witch and the sickly-sweet grin of the man in the thick black cloak.

“What’s that?” Daveth asked, and turned to the man in black.

“Looks like granaries.” The man replied.

“Not those, Morden.” Daveth replied irritably, and Dorothea moved around the giant, but on the opposite side, away from the ‘Morden’ guy. He probably gave Daveth the idea to hit her with a bucket of water.

She saw what he was pointing at. Certainly in the distance the granaries rose like towers, but what was directly in front of them was a pitiable stage constructed with a handful of splintering barrels with a plank laid across them.

As they watched, a man heaved himself up onto the stage, dusted himself off, clapped his hands a few times and blew on them. The air was getting brisk, something Dorothea wouldn’t have had to worry about if she were dry. She frowned up at the giant again.

“Sometimes things like this are set up to distribute news.” Dorothea offered. “Though they’re better maintained.”

The man took a breath, tugged on his coat and announced, “Friends! Countrymen! The Countess has decreed that there are to be no caravans to Tannit this week!” The passersby slowed and listened to the man as he began his speech.

“It’s clear that those in the White House”, he invested that title with all the scorn he could muster, “have no love or understanding of their people, the people they were sworn to guide and protect! How are we to get our wax for candles, our oils for lanterns? How are we to lay by stores of bread and butter and milk for the winter months? Of course, they don’t have to worry about things like that! Nooo, they simply loll about, indolently eating summer foods imported from Einsamkeit, drinking Anglish wines, and bathing in the taxes of our hard work!” The people listening began to murmur and mutter amongst themselves.

“You know, when he puts it that way, the White House sounds like a bunch of people I’d like to get to know.” Morden offered and Daveth chuckled, the rumbling of a boulder.

Dorothea turned on them. “It’s not like that at all!” She objected.

“They did have some agreeable wines at the ball I attended.” Daveth mentioned as an aside to Morden, completely ignoring Dorothea’s outburst as he scanned the crowd of people that had gathered.

“Really? What sorts?” Morden asked curiously as the man strutted back and forth across the impromptu stage, angrily venting his complaints against the Edelweiss and their complete disconnection from the common people.

“I don’t fucking know. I bet Aldric could tell you, though.” Daveth replied indifferently. Morden thumbed his chin and tugged on his greasy beard at this.

Dorothea rolled her eyes and made a complicated face. “Of course we’re going to bring out the best for a ball.” she explained to them as if they were stupid and the fact self-evident.

“I know.” Daveth agreed, and Dorothea’s eyes jerked back to his. “But is the Duchess blocking caravans from heading south?”

Dorothea shook her head. “There’s been no such decree.” she stated flatly. “More, it wouldn’t make sense to. We rely on the trade caravans as much as everyone else does.”

“Alright, I’ll lead. Morden, pull a fade and tail. Alysia, you’ve got my back, and Dorothea, stand over there out of the wind and pay attention to drying off.” Daveth muttered quickly.

Morden stepped back and behind Daveth, swirling his cloak around. While he stood out in black leathers and a black coak, the inner lining of his cloak was a nondescript brown. With a scarf wrapped around his face, he was just another man going about his business.

Dorothea’s eyes jerked from Morden’s sudden transformation and equally quick disappearance into a side alley, and Daveth’s purposeful stride towards the makeshift stage. She stepped forward to stop him, but Alysia seized her arm.

“Over there.” She directed to where Daveth pointed.

“I don’t follow his orders.” Dorothea spat, but Alysia yanked her closer.

“Daveth is a battle leader and a proper warrior.” She growled. “You’d do wise to learn from him.”

Dorothea turned just as Daveth tipped over the stage, along with the man atop it.

“Fuck off!” Daveth yelled, shooting a hot glare at the people that had gathered around to listen to the man. “You wanna go buy your shit for winter, go and fucking do it. Don’t let assholes like this tell you what you can and can’t do.”

He kicked his way through the barrels and picked up the man by wrapping a massive hand around the man’s clothes and lifted him up. “Fuck off outta here.” He commanded, and gestured to Dorothea and Alysia, confident that the man would scurry off and Morden would tail him.

Sooner or later they’d get a lead, the lead would turn into a thread, the threads would turn into a rope and whomever it was that was trying to foment rebellion would have a noose they braided themselves.

Hopefully, anyway. The Seventh Seal were mercenaries, not detectives.

Dorothea gave Daveth a baffled look, and an urgent one at the back of the man who dashed away.

“Are we not going to arrest him?” Dorothea gave Daveth a bewildered look. “What are you even here for?”

Instead, Daveth looked to the silver-eyed woman. “Alysia, do you have a cloth on you? One you use to wipe off your sword, or armor?” Daveth’s hands described the size of a handkerchief.

Alysia nodded. “I do, though it isn’t clean.”

“That’s fine.” Daveth replied, and then turned to Dorothea. “Point us to an inn, so we can get out of this blasted cold and get some hot food into us. Also, you need to dry off.”

Dorothea gave him a frustrated glance. “What are you saying? I don’t understand. We need to catch that man!”

“An inn. A tavern. A place with a hearth that serves people food for coin.” Daveth explained patiently.

“But he’s getting away!” Dorothea explained as Alysia tugged out a scrap of cloth she used when cleaning her sword and handed it over to him. He twirled it into a rope, and then lightning-quick he had it around Dorothea’s head and into her mouth. Before she had the ability to fight back or complain, she was gagged and hoisted over Daveth’s shoulder.

“Looks like we’ll have to find one ourselves. Alysia, can you do it?” he asked the silver-haired woman as Dorothea kicked and squirmed on Daveth’s shoulder. Some of the passersby were giving them strange looks, but for the time being they gave Daveth a wide berth.

“I passed through here earlier with my sister. I believe there’s one just down that road, past the marketplace.” Alysia pointed.

“Good.” He strode through the crowd, Alysia following in his wake as he waved people aside.

*****

Once safely ensconced in a tavern, they casually shoved tables around so that they were near the fireplace and dumped Dorothea unceremoniously on the floor near the fire while Daveth selected a chair that looked like it might support his weight without breaking.

“Alysia, see if you can get us some food. Hot. Also some ale. Ask after wine. I doubt they have any, but ask.” He poured a handful of coins into the Wolf sister’s hands and sent her on her way to the counter.

Daveth leaned down and eyed the gagged Dorothea. “I’m going to ask you a couple of yes or no questions.” He rolled his eyes. “To see if you have your wits about you.” He took a long and deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“Are you warm?” He asked her, and she grudgingly nodded.

“Good. Next question: Will you listen to me?”

She gave him a hot glare, but after a moment, she nodded again.

“Even better. I’m going to un-gag you now. Or, if you like, you can do it yourself.” Daveth offered magnanimously.

She yanked the gag out of her mouth and made horrible faces. “That thing tastes awful. It’s filthy.”

“It’s used to clean a sword after combat, so... probably.” Daveth replied as a woman bustled over with tankards.

Daveth eyed the woman. “Do you have something hot to drink? My friend here got doused with water. I’m worried she might take a chill.”

The barmaid eyed Daveth, and then Dorothea. Her expression changed when she spotted Dorothea’s pale skin and red eyes. “An Edelweiss? Here?” She blurted and took a step back, but Daveth had a long reach and snatched the woman back.

“She’s helping me find some people. It’s important.” He compelled her to look into his eyes. “She’s cold, wet, and in need of something to warm her up. Can we depend on your hospitality?”

The woman nodded. “Of course. It’s just rare to see one of the White Children so far from the capital this close to winter.”

“We have our own winter preparations to make, just the same as you.” Dorothea offered with a grimace at the rag she was holding. Her mouth worked at the taste, as if she was trying to sick it up.

“I’ll bring her some mulled wine.” the barmaid decided, and Daveth nodded and let her go.

He looked over at Dorothea. “Normally I’d suggest you have a seat here, but I think you’re better off down there, by the fire.” She nodded at this.

“So you want to know why I let that man go.” Daveth offered, and Dorothea nodded. “Isn’t it obvious? To find out where he goes.”

Dorothea gave Daveth a baffled look, and he gave her a confused one in return.

“You’re not getting it.” Daveth decided after a long moment.

“We should have arrested him.” Dorothea affirmed. “That would be one less troublemaker on the streets, one less person inciting mobs and riots.”

Daveth shook his head patiently. “The man’s a fool, and the people listening to him are fools. What matters is who he works for.”

Dorothea’s eyebrows dropped in concentration. “I don’t understand.”

“What did he look like to you? Was he a man of importance? Was he an official?” Daveth asked, and she shook her head. “He looked like a herdsmith, or perhaps a farmer.”

“Your Duchess doesn’t think that farmers and herdsmiths are complaining like that” he gestured at the door, “on their own. That means we need to find the root. Arresting that man would do nothing because he knows nothing. Eventually, maybe, he’s going to be contacted again by those that’re really behind this, and then we’ll be a step closer to catching them.”

“Ah.” Dorothea agreed, finally. “I understand now.”

Daveth nodded. “And now we have to return to the palace. Morden will catch us up later when he has something to report.”

“Why the palace?” Dorothea asked as Alysia returned.

“How many people make their home in Nauders?” Daveth asked.

“Well, between the capital, Courland, Ansbach and the smaller towns, I would say roughly half a million people.”

“Only two hundred soldiers in the Seventh Seal to cover all that territory.” Daveth pointed out as Alysia returned with the barmaid, carrying platters of roasted chickens and a tarnished silver pitcher steaming with the scent of hot wine mulled with herbs. He selected a chicken and unmindful of the heat tore off a massive chunk of meat and stuffed it into his mouth. “And only a handful of soldiers are allowed into any town at any one point in time. We want to catch these people, we need as many people in the towns as we can get.”