Since he was recruited from the gallows by Aldric so many years ago, Daveth had seen a lot of warfare. Long battle-lines that seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon, frantic scraps in darkened alleys where desperation and fear lent the air a bitter tang, The thrill of the ambush; the frustration of being ambushed. He had learned the heartbeat of a battle, how it pulsed and flowed and ebbed around him, and the instincts that came with it. When to give way to a charge, when to stand fast and hold ground against one.

Here, in this open city street paved with interlinking carved stones, in broad daylight, something in his instincts told him to be wary, despite no sign of danger. His eyes scanned the streets, where people drove wagons or pulled carts loaded with goods to and fro.

There, a team of men had set up a line to pass sacks of goods from one to the next as they disappeared inside a warehouse. There, a woman marked off something on a wooden board as men rolled barrels into a building. There, a trio of men stacked boxes. He scanned rooftops, but saw nothing. He gazed into empty alleyways and saw nothing. His escort, Dorothea, also saw nothing, though he didn’t put much faith in her observations anyway. There was something here, he thought, something important. He passed a quartet of men rolling barrels into a granary as glanced around, looking for the hidden threat.

Was it to be an ambush? Some men leaping out with swords? Crossbows from an elevated position?

An elf rushed up to Daveth.

“Ears.” Daveth acknowledged, still scrutinizing the area. “Tell me, you notice anything off?” He asked the scout, and the man took a look around.

“Everything you humans do is weird.” Jasin replied wryly.

“You’re half human too, so that means you’re half weird. Don’t fuck with me; I got the creepy crawlies like someone’s gonna knife me in the back.” Daveth replied, glancing around.

Jasin sighed and looked around. He probed rooftops, eyed cupolas, peered into alleys.

“Four things seem off to me.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “One, you didn’t ask why I’m here. It’s to tell you to report to the captain, by the way.” he added sardonically, before continuing, “We’re pulling out of the capital and going to move on the Fangs of the Serpent.”

Daveth’s eyebrows rose at that. Aldric had placed the Fangs of the Serpent at a thousand men, and that didn’t count the Carrion Crows and whomever else they’d scooped up and pressed into service. The Seventh Seal was just two hundred men and women. Either Aldric had a death wish or he had some killer strategy cooking in his mind.

“Two, a giant-ass man in a land where giant-hunting isn’t just a sport, it’s a national pastime.” He smiled to take the sting out of it, but Daveth frowned at him, so he hurried on. “Three, it’s broad daylight and the lady has her hood up like it’s the dead of winter.”

Daveth looked down at Dorothea. It did seem to be a habit of hers to keep her hood up.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She admonished. “My eyes are sensitive in the sunlight.”

Daveth looked back at Ears and made a hurry-up gesture with his hand.

“I don’t know if this counts as weird, but those guys seem to be rolling barrels of lamp oil into a granary.” Jasin finished and pointed just down the street from where Daveth and Dorothea had just passed.

“What-” Daveth started, but was silenced as an earthshaking rumble vibreated the stones under his feet and a jet of flame roared out of the doorway to one of the granaries. He watched, stunned, as spurts of flame jetted from the windows.

Daveth grabbed Dorothea by the shoulder. “Get some people to put out this fire!” He shouted, but she already took off running, yelling for buckets.

Daveth eyed the other granary on the other side of the street. “Ears, you’re with me.” He pointed at the other granary and they moved towards it just as an extremely nervous looking man ran out.

“Grab him-” Daveth ordered, but the second granary went up with a rumbling, stone-throated roar of flame like the first. The intense blast of heat and flame forced both the suspicious man and Jasin off their feet and would likely have sent them both hurtling through the air, but Daveth snagged the half-elf by his cloak and the man by his jacket even as he staggered backwards himself.

*****

Somewhere, a bell was being rung as people were organized to quench the blazes in the granaries. Even if the fires were immediately put out, the possibility that winter would be a lean and hungry one was very real. Grains did not grow especially well in Nauders’ climate, and so much of it had to be imported from either Tannit or Doran. The granaries and storehouses which contained the majority of the capital’s foodstuffs were typically warded with preservative spells against spoilage and vermin, but they were no defense against fire.

The would-be terrorists weren’t well-learned in their craft, either. The fire, once started, caused the dust-laden air in the confined space of the granary to combust, which in turn caused the barrels of lamp oil they’d rolled in to split, spilling their contents much faster than they expected. The conflagration was many times stronger than intended and the backblast turned most of them into boiling torches.

*****

Daveth had an obligation to return to Aldric, but instead he sent Jasin ahead to report what’d happened. Once the teams of men were in place to quench the blazes in the granaries, Daveth took the unconscious man they’d captured, ducked into a nearby inn, roped the man to a chair, and ordered some food and drink while he waited for the man to wake.

Dorothea arrived at the inn, brushing soot off her heavy scarlet cloak with equally sooty gloves, accomplishing very little.

“I don’t recall telling you where I’d be.” Daveth observed. She rolled her crimson eyes at him.

“Think, Commander. You tend to stand out in a crowd.” She spat back, and he grinned in response. He gestured to the man, who slumped against the ropes that held him to the chair.

“Figure we can get some answers.” He offered, and she nodded. She grabbed the man by his collar and administered two brisk slaps to his face, which roused him almost instantly.

*****

Daveth tore little bits of chicken from the roast in front of him. The man seated opposite him eyed the chicken apprehensively, and glanced at him every few minutes. Daveth overshadowed the man the same way a fully grown man would overshadow a young teen, and the man was obviously put off by it.

To the side were the remains of two other chicken carcasses stripped of meat, testament to Daveth’s appetite.

“Why did you say that the Duchess was keeping the merchants down?” Daveth asked casually, tucking a piece of meat into his mouth. “I mean, she hasn’t restricted trade for you.”

“Yes, well...” The man trailed off.

“Go on.” Daveth urged quietly.

“It’s hard for us to get decent trade. She’s not letting us arrange our own caravans.” The man replied.

Daveth glanced at Dorothea. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.” Dorothea shook her head.

“Merchants typically pool resources and hire wagons, horses and the like to move goods from one place to another.” Dorothea replied.

“I know what a merchant caravan is.” Daveth replied irritably. “I don’t understand what he means by saying that the Duchess won’t let them make their own. What he’s saying doesn’t make sense in the slightest.”

Dorothea nodded. “You’re right, it’s nonsense. The only ‘restriction’ she places on caravans is that the Duchess has a small detail of guards attached to merchant caravans.”

“For protection against bandits, right?” Daveth asked, and Dorothea nodded. “The Landsberger between here and Doran is very long and can be perilous. I’ve gone on a couple of those details myself.”

“Right, no doubt where you demonstrated your unparalleled skills in battle.” Daveth responded, a light smile on his lips. She frowned at him askance. She couldn’t tell if he was insulting or joking.

Daveth had already turned his attention to the man. “So there’s nothing stopping you from putting together your own caravans, is there?” He asked.

“Well...” He trailed off for a moment. “No, I guess there isn’t.” He admitted.

“So tell me why you decided to set fire to the granary.” Daveth asked. The man trembled at this, but cringed back when Daveth pulled the chicken in half, steadfastly ignoring the burning heat.

“We did it so that she’d take us seriously.” He finally replied.

Daveth glanced at Dorothea, nonplussed.

“So she’s got no reason to stop you from making caravans... offers to protect your caravans from being robbed by bandits, and in return you decide to fire her granaries so that she’d take you seriously.” Daveth finally weighed, and took a long pull from his tankard. “As far as I can tell, you’re just fucking stupid.”

“That’s because you’re an outsider, behemoth.” The man retorted instantly, fire flashing in his eyes.

Daveth raised his eyebrows at that outburst.

“You understand you’re going to die.” Daveth confided in the man, and the man subsided unhappily and nodded.

“You knew that she wouldn’t stop you from putting together a caravan and yet you fired the granaries because you wanted her to take you seriously. Do you understand how that doesn’t make sense at all?” Dorothea repeated gently.

The man nodded.

“So why did you do it?” She asked.

“I...” He trailed off, a confused look flashing across his face. “I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t make sense, does it?” Daveth repeated again, and the man shook his head.

“You had company when you did it, right?” Daveth asked, and Dorothea nodded. “At least three others were with him, though it’ll be some time before we can tell for certain. The fires were intense.”

“Who gave the order to fire the granaries?” Daveth asked the man bluntly, and Dorothea’s eyes narrowed as she waited for the man’s answer.

“I don’t remember.” The man replied simply. “I feel like I should, after all we all went to the meeting together.”

Dorothea’s pale eyebrow twitched at that.

“Meeting?” Daveth asked, frowning.

“Yeah, there was.. no, it wasn’t like that... but I’m sure... no...” The man said thoughtfully to himself. “It doesn’t make sense. I know there was a... meeting, but I can’t remember going to one.”

He frowned. “This isn’t like me at all; I am a merchant, remembering things is part of my job, but there it is, all the same.”

Daveth tore off a swath of meat from the chicken and stuffed it into his mouth. He turned to Dorothea and mumbled around a mouthful of food. “Dorothea, go ask the innkeeper for more of those potatoes with the cheese and bacon on top. A whole plate.”

Dorothea frowned up at him. “You’ve eaten enough chickens to feed a family of four for a week and you want an entire plate of baked potatoes?” She asked indignantly. Daveth nodded.

“I’m a soldier. we live and fight on our stomachs.” He said lightly. “Here, give me parchment and ink real quick, I need to jot something down so I don’t forget.” He gestured at her peremptorily. She sighed and frowned, and got up to place his order.

When she came back, she gave him the parchment, inkpot, and quill she’d borrowed from the innkeeper.

“The food is cooking, you’ll have to wait.” She informed him, and he nodded. “Good. I’ll have time enough to write this out.”

He settled himself in his chair and began to write. Dorothea watched him as he struggled with the paper and ink.

“Would you like me to...?” She offered, and he glared at her, silencing her. He passed her the paper, and made an imperious gesture at her.

She glanced at the paper. The writing was barely legible. She eyed him carefully. He was literate, but not particularly schooled in penmanship. She had no idea why her cousin was fascinated with the man; she could only find herself irritated at him.

It was a note for her to return to the Seventh Seal and a request to Aldric for some mages.

*****

Dorothea returned with Morden and one of the remaining Radiant Son apprentices.

“Aldric’s hopping mad, you know.” Morden reported. “He was hoping to stomp on the Fangs.” Morden opened without any preamble. Dorothea gave him a baffled look; Daveth gave her a confused look for a second, but then remembered she hadn’t been there when the Audra had revealed the army steadily growing on their flank.

Daveth nodded. “I expected that much.” He remarked. “What do you think? A flogging?” He asked, and Morden shrugged.

“Maybe he’ll send you naked into their camp.” He offered. “Redemption in death.”

“Fuuuuuuck.” Daveth complained, and gestured to the mage. “You are?”

“Apprentice Dustin. The Captain’s regards, sir.” he replied politely.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Daveth replied, and gestured to Edvard. “Poor man can’t seem to figure out how to pour piss out of a boot. His wits’re scrambled. Can you tell if it’s drugs? Magic?"

Dustin pushed his sleeves up and in a peevish voice he muttered that this wasn’t his field of study, but Daveth waved his complaints away indifferently.

“Yeah, this guy’s mind is a mess. Someone’s fiddled with his wits.” Dustin finally reported. “With respect that this isn’t my area of expertise, it’s obvious someone used magic on him not too long ago.” He shook his hands and wiped them distastefully on his robes. “From what I know there are spells that are something akin to hypnosis. They open up your mind and make it susceptible to suggestion.”

“Sus-?” Daveth began, and then frowned at the unfamiliar word. Dustin sighed.

“Susceptible. It means it makes you easy to convince. There are usually rules that come into play with such things. You can’t normally convince someone to do something they wouldn’t normally do on their own. Magic overrides those rules. They can give you a command and you’re stuck in a loop, trying to convince yourself to do it or not do it while you do it anyway. Poor bastard’s going to be a vegetable.”

“Shit.” Daveth grumbled, and thumbed his beard. “All right.” he drummed his thumbs on the tabletop in thought as he worked things over in his mind.

“Morden, Dustin, head back to camp and tell Aldric to sit tight. Dorothea, it’s probably best you take him into custody. Stick Edvard here in a cell somewhere.”

He stood up.

“And you, Commander?” Morden asked curiously.

“I’ve got some explaining to do.” Daveth remarked heavily.

*****

The last time Daveth visited the palace, he’d been with Aldric. There’d been a couple of people coming in and leaving through the front gate at the time; the massive building also held the massive chambers of the Council of Merchants and the House of Lords. Today however, the steps were empty.

The guard stopped him, and he simply shrugged, told the guy he had business with the Duchess, and shouldered the man aside. The man glared at him and tried to impose himself between Daveth and the main doors of the palace; Daveth simply picked the man up and slung him over his shoulder casually.

He pulled the massive door open and strode down the massive entryway with the fluted columns, the man cursing and twisting and trying to break free all the way. Up ahead would be the throne room; to the right of that was the conference room where Aldric and Daveth had spoken with the Duchess about the job. To the right and down a length of hallway, up a flight of stairs and then down another hallway was the massive banquet hall and ballroom where they’d been entertained but a month prior.

One of the guards stepped in front of him.

“What’re you think you’re doing? You can’t come in here unannounced!” The guard yelled angrily, levelling his ceremonial spear.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell the bastard!” the guard atop Daveth’s shoulder squawked. Daveth stared down at the guard, reached out and gripped the bronze blade and bent it to the side. “I have two shoulders.” Daveth said dangerously. “I can carry two as easily as I can carry one. Let me pass.”

The guard took an uncertain step backwards. “Tell me why you’re here.” He stammered defiantly.

“I’m here to see the Duchess. I have to talk to her.”

“There’s formalities for that.” The guard disputed. “You need to settle an appointment.”

Daveth frowned. “Do I look like I have the time to set an appointment? Move.”

Daveth stepped around the guard and continued on, the second guard following, stridently commanding the giant to stop. The first gave up trying to escape and hung limply, occasionally cursing Daveth and bemoaning his impending fate when his commanding officer learned of what had transpired.

Daveth stopped at the throne and frowned at it’s lack of occupancy.

“Where is she?” He asked, turning to the other guard.

“I’m not telling you shit.” The man replied, and drew his sword. “Drop the guard and give yourself up. You’re under arrest.”

Daveth pulled the guard from his shoulder and casually tossed the man at the guard, who panicked and dropped his sword. The two collided and hit the floor in an ungainly heap.

“Just tell ‘em I strongarmed you.” He advised as they both tried to struggle upright. He sketched a bow and headed to the conference room.

*****

“Was that the alarm?” Falki asked suddenly, raising his head a little. He was with his sister the Duchess and the town selectmen for a couple of hamlets on the eastern arc of the Duchy.

The Duchess frowned at him irritably. “Of course it wasn’t. There’s never been a reason to sound the alarm before.” She replied testily. “Why would it sound now?”

There was a muffled thump outside the conference room, and a raised voice.

“Leave off, gods damn you. You keep pulling this shit and I’m going to accidentally hurt you.”

Falki rose to his feet and the selectmen drew back as Falki bared his sword.

“Elenora, get back.” He whispered tightly.

There was a muffled curse, and then there was a ferocious impact against the doors of the conference room. The Duchess let out a short scream.

“Don’t worry.” Falki reassured her. “The door is thick.” He loosened the knife at his belt and prepared to fight to the death.

The doors blew inwards with a crack like a pistol shot, and Daveth staggered in, swamped with guards. There were several draped over his shoulders. One dangled from Daveth’s neck. There were three or so wrapped around his waist. One clung to his leg like a cat climbing a tree. He shrugged them off as Falki screamed and drew back his sword for a strike.

Daveth ignored him and glanced at the Duchess, who had her back pressed against the bookcase.

“Ah, there you are.” Daveth said with a lopsided grin.

Falki lunged forward, but Daveth batted the man’s sword aside casually, caught his wrist and turned it. The blade clattered to the floor as Daveth shrugged forward, dislodging one of the guards that was casually draped over his shoulder. The guard tumbled off Daveth's shoulder and hit Falki square in the chest, knocking him over.

“Can you get these guys to leave off?” Daveth asked with a pained expression. Everyone was staring at him with mute shock as he disentangled himself from several guards.

“We found some clues and we need to act quickly. I wanted to talk to you and let you know what we’re going to be doing.”

The Duchess struggled to find her voice. “N-normally these... these things are normally done with more... decorum, Lord Commander.” She said shakily.

“No time for that.” He replied gruffly, and she recoiled as if rebuffed. “We’re on the cusp of something big, I can feel it. I need to tell you what’s going on.” He gingerly stepped over the struggling mass of guards he’d pulled off of himself.

He glanced back at the door. “Ugh. Sorry about the door, Duchess.” He said regretfully. “I couldn’t knock and I only had one foot free.”

“You should have... you should have been arrested or...or killed before you got here, Lord Commander.” She stated warningly.

He chuckled. “They tried. Don’t worry, they’re not hurt.” He glanced down and spotted her brother. He leaned down and moved a guard aside and hauled Falki into the air, off his feet. The smaller man squirmed in Daveth’s implacable grip as Daveth solicitously brushed the dust off the man and settled him on his feet.

“Nobody was hurt. No bones broken, no cuts. There might be some bumps and bruises, but for the most part they’re fine. They did their jobs well, so don’t reprimand them.” Daveth encouraged, gesturing to the pile of groaning guards. “But I couldn’t let them get in my way. I’ve got important things to talk about, and it won’t wait.”

She glanced at Falki, and the guards that were groaning quietly and trying to extract themselves from the pile.

“Very well.” She said reluctantly. “It will be on the west veranda. Falki, would you escort the Lord Commander there?”

Flaki glared at her for a moment, and his hand made some movement, but she shook her head as some unspoken communication seemed to pass between them.

“Very well, Lady Duchess.” Falki said with a short bow, fist to heart. He glared up at the giant. “Well, let’s get going.”

On the way to the veranda, Falki glared at him.

“Relax, General.” Daveth remarked. “I don’t mean any harm. I’ve taken your coin, after all.” Daveth remarked, and Falki shook his head. “You’re too impertinent by half.”

Daveth shrugged indifferently.

“So what is it?” Falki asked as they rounded a corner and continued down the hall.

Daveth eyed the attractive artworks and vases and statuary that were placed at regular intervals.

“Your Duchy is rich and prosperous, if small.” Daveth remarked instead, changing the subject. “The House of Edelweiss has ruled fairly and well and has reaped the rewards of that governance.” He continued, stopping to point at a rich tapestry that hung on the wall.

“So? What does this have to do with-” Falki challenged, giving the painting a dismissive glance.

Daveth shrugged. “Nothing, really. Except that it paints the Duchy as a ripe, lush target, a fruit ripe for the picking.”

“You’re still not making sense.” Falki replied.

“Of course I am. Your enemy has wealth and affluence.” Daveth replied with finality. “They’ve hired a mage with the ability to magically compel people against their will.”

Falki froze, his face a mask of shock and horror. “Then the riots, and the demonstrations...” He breathed.

Daveth nodded. “I have a few suspicions about them. Maybe the riots are a distraction to hide something else. Maybe they're trying to instigate a civil war. Maybe they’re just supposed to cause enough discord that a young, untried Duchess will cave to the pressures of the masses. Maybe it’s just to get everyone riled up for the sake of being a dick to everyone.” Daveth expounded as they reached the balcony. “Either way, they had enough power and influence to find a mage capable of instigating these things. This means that we’ve got to make preparations.”

Falki nodded. “I’ll go fetch the Duchess. You stay here.” He stopped and eyed Daveth. “Don’t beat up any guards while you wait.” Daveth shrugged instead, promising nothing.

The veranda was a massive open space; there were a couple of stone tables, ornately and finely carved with loops, whorls, and knots in angular patterns. One of the servants who was placing chairs at the table invited him to sit. Daveth sat quietly as they did their work and withdrew, and he continued to sit quietly as time passed with no sign of the Duchess.

As the minutes piled up, Daveth began to frown with impatience. Shadows began to collect on the veranda.

Daveth lifted his head as one of the shadows shifted. Daveth considered the massive balcony and the shadows; whatever had moved had come from higher up. He was about to look up when several figures dropped onto the balcony from above. Each bore the unmistakable petite stature of elves, but they all bore massive wings upon their backs. Daveth’s eyebrows rose. Elves with wings? Were they mutants?

“The alarm came from the palace.” The elfin girl said to the two men with her. “We can only assume that they’re under attack. The current Duchess is a young girl, Elenora by name. Find her and protect her.” She ordered, and the three of them unhooked maces from their belts.

“The Duchess is fine.” Daveth called out, and the woman recoiled, whirling around. Daveth rose to his feet.

“Over here.” He called, and she leapt back a few feet in shock.

“Hymir-kin!” She yelled, and the three took a step back and settled their feet.

“This shit again?” Daveth complained, frowning. He raised his hands and they tightened their fists around their maces reflexively.

“I’m not armed.” Daveth announced. “I’m not attacking, but if you attack me I’ll defend myself.” He warned. “As far as I know, the Duchess is coming here to speak with me.”

“There was an alarm that the palace was being attacked.” The woman said, eyeing him suspiciously. Daveth laughed. “That was a misunderstanding.” He replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I needed to speak with the Duchess and the guards wouldn’t let me pass.”

“Don’t trust the word of the Hymir-kin.” one of the men warned the woman, and she nodded.

“What’s a Hymir-kin?” Daveth asked with a frown.

“You should know that name from the land of your birth: the giants of the Northern Avalanche.” She spat.

Daveth shook his head. “You’ve got the wrong idea. I was born in a city about three thousand miles that way.” He said, pointing vaguely southwest. He sat back down.

“Look, you can either take my word for it: the Duchess is fine, if angry with me- or you can go about your business. Either way I don’t care. If you attack me, though, you will die.” He warned.

She turned to the two men. “Search the palace. I’ll keep an eye on him.” She warned.