“You’ve got all the luck.” Aldric complained irritably as he shifted on his mount. His horse had fallen into a crack that had opened in the ground when the Beast had escaped and had to be put down. Now he was getting used to a new horse. Daveth’s horse had emerged unscathed.

“I have an entire building drop on me and I have all the best luck?” Daveth asked, puffing away on his pipe.

Aldric shrugged. “It’ll take me forever to break this horse in the way I like.” He complained.

Daveth shrugged indifferently at that and tugged on his bracer indifferently.

“So, tell me: did you spar with Merillele?” Aldric asked curiously.

“I was tempted.” Daveth replied. “She seemed... formidable.”

Aldric nodded. “She was a formidable woman. Now I see where they get it from.” He squirmed in his saddle again. “Why didn’t you? I thought you liked testing yourself against others.”

Daveth rubbed his chin as they headed south. “Had a weird feeling.”

Aldric blinked at this. “The fuck are you talking about? A ‘weird feeling’? What does that mean?”

“Well, if you continue to be a dickass, I’m not gonna tell you shit.” Daveth warned, and Aldric held up his hands in surrender.

“I just felt like... There was this feeling like, “If I won, then it would mean something to the Sisters watching”. I didn’t know what that meant, so I didn’t.” Daveth explained. “Maybe it would have meant having to fight off all the Golds that were in camp. Maybe it would have meant something else. I don’t really know. I just knew that something would happen.”

Aldric snorted with a smirk and lit his own pipe. “You know what I got from her?”

Daveth glanced his way.

“Complete and utter disdain. Oh, she was respectful and polite, but the condescension was so thick I could have touched it.” Aldric complained.

“Condescension?” Daveth asked.

“It’s basically what you feel when Captain Aldric talks down to you, Daveth.” Malacath pointed out helpfully.

“Like bugshit.” Daveth offered, and Malacath nodded.

Aldric let out a loud and ostentatious sigh at this.

“...We’re heading to Therannia, aren’t we?” Daveth asked his captain.

Aldric eyed Daveth. “What makes you think that?”

“I’ve known it for a while. I can see it all over your face. Saving Malacath’s people is something you want to do.”

Aldric nodded. “We saw the refugees. We’ve heard Malacath’s story. Malachi needs to be ousted from power. He’s consorting with demons, Daveth. That’s got to count for something on the scale of righteousness.”

Daveth nodded. “I knew you were going to choose to help him.”

Aldric rubbed his chin. “You’re not going to object?”

“I’ve given it some thought.” Daveth replied. “We could have gone back across the mountain pass, gone back to doing milk runs for the cities on the other side of the mountains. We could have gotten entangled with the Angel Queen’s territories.” He burst into laughter. “We could have gotten ourselves mixed into the argument between Yukiko and Merillele. But I figured you were set on marching to Therannia.”

Aldric nudged his horse a bit. “Not going to object, huh?”

He gave Aldric a bleak look. “We all have to die sometime, man.”

Aldric returned his look. “Oh shit, this is about Audra, isn’t it?”

“Audra?” Malacath asked, blinking in confusion.

Aldric took a breath, held it, and let it out. “Audra and Daveth were... involved. She died not long before you showed up.”

“Ah.” Malacath replied, at a loss for words.

“The Angel Queen killed her with fire... and I tore the bitches’ head off.” Daveth added. “It’s all right, Aldric. We’ll see to Malachi and do for him, too.”

“I can’t believe I fucking forgot.” Aldric cursed himself. “Daveth, you don’t have to do this. Take some leave. Head back north. Cross the Mirras. I’ll give you some money. Don’t do this, man.”

Daveth shook his head.

Aldric hadn’t been too keen on the details of their relationship. In a larger scope of the word, he didn’t care. His army was free to intermingle with each other as long as it didn’t cause conflicts of interest, and as long as they didn’t have children. Aside from those rules, he turned a blind eye to whatever happened. He’d had his own dalliances with Tsubame and Lynnabel as well.

What was Daveth’s relationship with Audra like? Aldric wondered. She was a playful, teasing sort, just right for his second-in-command’s attitudes. He suspected that Audra had started playing around with Daveth because Alysia couldn’t make up her mind about him. Daveth himself seemed utterly oblivious to Alysia’s interests in him. The man was convinced that Alysia wanted to stab him.

Maybe pointing Daveth towards Alysia would work? He wasn’t sure. Alysia was a hothead, and maybe telling Daveth to bed the woman could cause all sorts of problems down the line.

But Audra was dead, and he’d left it to the Shrine Maidens of Yamato to see to her remains. Her family would receive the consolation money, and that was the beginning, middle, and end of his involvement with Audra herself. But Daveth, however... He still had his hands full with a seven-foot tall giant possessed of insane berserker rages.

They had a long journey ahead of them. They had to head south through roughly seven or eight hundred miles of unknown and potentially hostile terrain. Malacath would be able to guide them somewhat; he hadn’t been looking to go back home, so it wasn’t important for him to remember landmarks when he’d left with his army in tow.

Malacath’s soldiers vacillated between looking forward to returning home and usurping the mad king, and demanding to be released from service because they had been running away for a reason. Eventually, Malacath’s men saw reason, though Aldric silently noticed a few of the more stridently oppositional disappear from the ranks. They would settle in for the night, they’d break camp the next morning, and the noisemaker would be missing at morning roll.

Aldric took Malacath aside along with Daveth.

“You know, you’re doing this the wrong way.” Aldric advised the elf, who gave him a baffled look.

Daveth stroked his beard and nodded. “Totally the wrong way.”

“Ah, you noticed, too?” Aldric called over to Daveth, who was packing his bowl full of tobacco.

“Yep. Was thinking about having a talk with him, but you beat me to it.”

Aldric barked a laugh. “Fine. Let’s hear you say it while I get my pipe set up.”

Daveth eyed Malacath. “Whatever you were before, you’re not from Therannia now. You’re part of the Seventh Seal. We do have rules. They’re breaking them. So we punish them the Seventh Seal way.”

Daveth puffed his pipe alight and shook out the lucifer. “First, you have to know that every punishment in the Seventh Seal is physical, it’s painful, and it must be public. The guilty must be seen by everyone. Everyone must see and know what the guilty one did.”

Malacath blinked at this. “Does that... work?” Aldric and Daveth both nodded.

Daveth nudged Malacath. “Besides, it beats leaving them to bleed out in their bedroll. With everything you’ve said to expect, we’re going to need everyone and a lot more, besides, in order to survive.”

Malacath nodded. “I see I was wrong in my thinking. You’re right, of course, I should have dispensed discipline in the manner of the Seventh Seal.”

Aldric pointed his pipe at Malacath. “For the most part I think of you as equal to Daveth, with a handicap because you don’t know our way of doing things, but you need to keep an eye on the whole Seal, not just your former troops.”

Malacath nodded, and then eyed Aldric and Daveth, chuffing away on their pipes.

“Am I expected to take up that habit, too?”

*****

“This, I think, is the southern edge of Montesilvano.” Aldric muttered as the Seventh Seal moved across the land.

“How can you tell?” Daveth asked, rubbing his eyes. During his time in Philippa he’d been pulling double shifts. The sudden change to single shifts- and leaving the country of Philippa- left him with an almost overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

“The stone posts along the road.” Aldric replied simply, keeping the smugness from his voice. “My historians taught me that in times past, Anglish Nobility used to buy up estates here to retire.”

Daveth straightened his back. “So we raid a few ancient estates for treasure? Count me in.” He replied, a little more energy in his voice.

Aldric wiped his face from brows to chin with his hand.

“No, you twit. And for good reason, too. You see, when an Anglish noble retires, their entire staff of side-servants and attendants and horsemasters and stableboys and cooks and cleaners and all of their families retire too in order to keep serving the noble in their dotage.” Aldric waved his hands out at Montesilvano. “There are probably villages- entire cities, even, teeming with people whose ancestors served Anglish nobility before the War of Liberation. If there’s treasure, it’s gone.” He paused and rubbed his chin, and added in a lower voice, “And there’s the Witch Hunters, of course.”

Daveth gave Aldric a puzzled look; he hadn’t heard that term before. “What’s a ‘Witch Hunter’?” Daveth asked.

“Well, some of the history is muddled, but they were a mercenary group with a very specific charter: to hunt down and kill all magic users.”

Malacath lifted an eyebrow at that. It was no wonder Malacath was concerned; his entire army used magic to a greater or lesser degree.

“The Anglish gave them carte blanche, I’m told. Free reign. “Hunt down and kill whatever magic user you like, as long as you can prove that they’re magic users.” or something to that effect. Katarina lon Pavlenko, grandmother of the Liberator, once burned the entire city of Norn to the ground because of a magic user, I’m told.” Aldic explained. “Back then, the Anglish were a lot more... zealous... than they are today.”

Daveth and Malacath listened to Aldric’s rambling tale with curiosity. Daveth himself was indifferent to Anglish history unless it was directly relevant to a fight or a treasure hunt. Malacath had a more practical question.

“What do these ‘Witch Hunters’ have to do with us?” He asked, fingering the lock of hair with the gold and black beads that he allowed to grow long.

Aldric glanced at Malacath. “It’s said that there’s a Witch Hunter stronghold in Montesilvano. It’s not unreasonable to think they survived the War of Liberation. They cultivated a power- an ability I don’t understand- that cancels out magic.”

Malacath shuddered; Daveth looked indifferent.

“So we’re going to keep going, right?” Malacath urged, and Aldric laughed.

“Nah. According to some maps there should be a city coming up in a bit. Well, if we’re lucky. We need supplies: Food, fresh water, feed for the horses, a bunch of incidentals I can’t be arsed to remember, and time to prepare for the march to Therannia. You mentioned it was a long-ass trip. A long trip like that will be tough on morale.”

*****

As far as cities went, Silville, on the outer edge of the southern horn of Montesilvano, was a more modest one. It bustled with the hum of traffic and the shouts of shopkeepers belting out their wares.

“All right.” Aldric announced. “Daveth and Malacath, we’re going in. Morden, disposition the camp, and get ready to bring the Tross in for trade.”

Morden tapped his temple and nodded, then turned to the army and began calling out positions.

Malacath eyed Aldric. “What’s going on?”

Aldric looked to Daveth. “Explain it to him.”

Daveth gave Aldric an obscene gesture. “It’s trade, Mal. Most cities don’t look happily when a mercenary band shows up on their doorstep. They think we’ll kill, rob, and rape them all. So we have to go into the city, find whoever is in charge and ask permission to trade. Usually we have to spend some money to grease the wheels. Once we get permission, we send the Tross in with a list of everything we need.”

Malacath rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Several questions come to mind.”

Daveth rolled his eyes, but gestured for the elf to ask.

“First, ... would we? Kill, rob, and rape them, I mean.”

Daveth barked a laugh. “Everything has a price. If we were hired to sack the city, we would sack it. Aldric is fine with looting. Sometimes, when you’re on a campaign and you come across a better sword, or maybe a bit of plate armor or whatever suits your fancy, you can claim it as spoils of war.” Daveth pulled out a short, broad-bladed sword from his weapon’s pouch, twirled it, cursed it as it nicked his finger, and tucked it away.

Absently sucking on his finger, Daveth added, “The kinds of people that enjoy rape don’t tend to last long in the Seventh Seal. We follow a code, we have rules. Once they realize that we’re not villains, they tend to leave pretty quickly.”

Malacath nodded.

“As for civilians... It’s not a hard rule, but we tend to avoid killing civilians.” He scratched his beard, and smiled. “Proper application of force.”

“Excuse me?” Malacath replied.

“A barfight deserves a barfight. A soldier deserves a soldier. An army deserves an army. You don’t fight a barfight with swords. Likewise you don’t fight on a battlefield with beer steins.”

Malacath cracked a smile. “I get you.” Daveth nodded agreeably.

“Anyway, back to my questions: If we need to trade?”

“We ask nicely.” Daveth replied simply.

“And if they say no?” Malacath asked, realizing at some point in their past conversation Daveth addressed him as ‘Mal’. The only people that had ever done that in his life were his mother, his little sister, and his wife. He’d have to tell the giant to avoid that mistake again.

“We ask nicely with money.” Daveth answered simply.

“If they refuse us completely?” Malacath asked.

“Hasn’t happened often, but when it does, we leave. Aldric can be pretty persuasive, though.”

“I can be pretty persuasive.” Aldric called back, and Daveth rolled his eyes.

Suddenly Daveth sat up in his saddle and sniffed the air as if he were some beast.

“The fuck is that smell?” He muttered, baffled.

Malacath sniffed the air, but couldn’t smell anything beyond road dust, the smell of his horse, and his own sweat.

“Aldric, you smell that?” Daveth called ahead. The Captain sniffed a few times and shook his head. “Just the fact that I need a bath.”

“We all do.” Daveth muttered to himself, but his brow wrinkled with the smell that nobody apparently noticed but him. A strange odor permeated the air, faint sulfuric fumes scratched at the nose and prickled the eyes with its acrid stench. Overlaying the sulfur was a thick, cloying fragrance, a musky, flowery robust odor that made one think of wilted flowers, overripe fruits bursting with pungent aromas of exotic spices. The perfumed air made him recall half-forgotten dreams of riotous lusts, desires suppressed, and a straining, seeking yearning for a release that always seemed just beyond reach.

“Something’s not right.” Daveth muttered, shaking his head.

Malacath adjusted his position on his horse to more quickly reach his sword if necessary.

“What is it? Trouble?”

Daveth swayed in his saddle minutely, but shook his head sharply as if to clear it. “I don’t know.”

As they entered the city, Malacath eyed Daveth as the man pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbed his face, shook his head, and adopted an intense look of concentration. From time to time his hand would brush the ridiculous pouch at his belt that seemed to contain all sorts of weapons. Malacath couldn’t even begin to understand the depth of the magical enchantment on the thing- where had he gotten it?

“Marauder! Hey, Marauder!” A voice called out, and Daveth jerked in his saddle.

A young woman pushed through the crowds, waving her hands over her head in an exaggerated fashion.

“Commander, should I-” Malacath began, reaching for his sword, but Daveth waved his hand. “Go with Aldric. This is a learning experience for you.”

“I can’t let you go unprotected-” He began, but Daveth laughed the urgency away. “I need protection?”

Malacath grit his teeth, but after a few moments, he wrestled with his reins and urged his horse to follow Aldric.

Daveth looked down at the girl and swung down from his horse. The woman was nondescript, with an ordinary, uncomplicated face, a peasant’s dress and no visible weapons.

“What do you need?” He asked, peering down at her. She bobbed a curtsey, and gestured behind her.

“Lady asked me to call out “Marauder” and if you answered, to ask and see if she could speak to you.”

Daveth wiped sweat from his face and struggled to keep his concentration. The smell was overpowering, sickly sweet and inviting, underlaid with something like sweet rot, a scent filled with forbidden lusts and the kind of danger a mantis might feel before mating with a female of his kind. Sure he might be able to mate, but he would have his head devoured in the process.

“Lead on.” He muttered and produced a handkerchief and mopped his face and clenched his fist where he’d cut himself earlier. The pain was a focus, it allowed him to think past that intoxicating smell.

She led him down a somewhat narrow street; he didn’t bother having to lead his horse; Growler would follow him. He never bothered looking behind him; if he had he’d’ve seen Aldric and Malacath following at a discreet distance.

The building he was led to looked to be somewhat palatial, but had fallen on hard times. The windows were boarded up indifferently, the pillars were cracked and stained and covered in creeping vines, and everything was covered in a mess of graffiti. Surrounding the building were huts and tents scattered in indifferent patterns. The smell of open latrines and the buzzing of flies was everywhere.

“Don’t they know how to look after themselves?” Daveth muttered, shaking his head in disgust. The camps of the Seventh Seal were more organized than these slums, and latrines were taken care of on a rotating schedule.

“Probably... nobody showed them how.” Aldric spoke up from behind him. Daveth turned, surprised.

“I thought you were going to-” Daveth began, but Aldric held up a handkerchief to cover his face and cut the smell.

“My second in command wandered off, and you think it’s fine? I had to see what had caught your eye.” He looked over the homeless camp and waved his hand over his face to destroy the smell. “I bet we could get some of the regulars from the Tross in here and have them straightened out in a week.” Aldric muttered.

Daveth nodded, and the woman he was with pointed towards the dilapidated palace. “The woman that wants to see you is in there, on the second floor.” she explained.

Daveth gestured for her to go on ahead, and he followed after.

The first floor was filled with people at work. The sound of industry filled the air; metal on metal, saws cutting pieces of wood, hammers tapping away at some thing or another. In one corner, a number of women huddled together around a mass of cloth big enough to bury Aldric under, and Daveth could see needlework of some sort going on.

The woman led him up a grand staircase, with Aldric and Malacath in tow, the two of them desperately hiding their disgust behind handkerchiefs.

There was some sort of clapboard scaffolding blocking off one wing of the mansion; the woman led him in the opposite direction and took him to a set of double doors with intricate loops of tarnished brass.

The scent he’d smelled even before they’d made it into town was strongest here. Apparently even Aldric and Malacath could smell it here. Aldric blinked at the change.

“Daveth, this smell-” He began, and then a memory flashed across his mind. “Daveth, don’t fucking go in there!” He urged tightly, snatching at the giant’s arm. “It’s fucking death in there!”

Daveth turned to Aldric, baffled at the sense of panic baking off the man.

Aldric rarely panicked, and when he did, it wasn’t for very long.

“What do you mean, man?”

Aldric looked up into the giant’s face. “Listen: You never once forget a smell like that. Not ever.”

“So talk, man.” Daveth grabbed his captain by the shoulder.

“It was twenty years ago. I was called to lead a punitive force against the Yamato pirates in their harbor. Simple mission, right? Sink their ships, blow up some of their docks as an example. A warning, you know? ‘Don’t pull this shit again, if you know what’s good for you’. That sort of thing.”

Daveth nodded slowly.

“Our ships started sinking, one by one, and everywhere, that damned smell. Like sex and perfume and...” He winced and scrubbed the side of his head with his fist. “It’s like every raunchy thing you ever imagined; the worse, the better. Things you’d never even get a seasoned whore to do for you... or to you, no matter how much you paid.” He groaned and shook his head. “You know what I’m saying, right? It gets in your head and gets in your heart.” He panted, and scrubbed sweat from his face. “That raid on the Yamato harbor... was punctuated by two things: That damned smell... and death. I survived by bare fucking luck. Twenty fucking ships and only I survived.” His voice wavered; Daveth could see the haunted desperation on Aldric’s face; the terror that carved itself in the lines on his face.

“Don’t go in there, Daveth. Let’s fucking get out of here. Fuck this town. Fuck the job. Let’s take a fucking boat to Hesperia.” Aldric was babbling now, nearly insensate.

Davbeth closed his eyes and listened for the sound of his heartbeat like that monk had taught him. He listened to the sound of his breathing, listened to the mysterious biorhythms inside himself.

“Every living thing has a beat, youngster. You find your strength by finding the pace of your heart, the depths of your lungs. Reach deep enough and you can feel the beat of others around you. Earn that secret, and no one will ever be able to defeat you.”

There was something in the room beyond the door. Its beat wasn’t human. No human had that sense of being. It might look human, might behave like a human, might smile up at him with perfect, bow-shaped lips touched with a hint of makeup, but it wasn’t human. What throbbed beneath its modest breast was not the heart of a person, but something completely different.

He took a breath and struggled to suppress an unaccountable lust, strange desires blooming in his mind, the feeling of raw flesh grinding between the teeth, the sharp scent of paint on canvas, the hot, sweet feeling of thrusting into willing flesh, the scrape of nails and teeth across skin.

A low, sweet laugh echoed from behind the door and through the halls. Everyone, everywhere in the building clutched at themselves, fear and anger and slow, relentless lust and desire washing through them in waves.

Daveth’s hand fell to the latch. There would be no surprises for him now.

The doors opened wide as if in invitation, revealing a room that wrenched the eye and turned the stomach. The walls were covered in rippling waves of silk dyed in flowery, fleshy pinks and reds; the floor was covered in woven rugs with curving, swollen and suggestive orchids blooming. Cushions both large and small scattered across the room.

The only furniture was a small, bubbling fountain in the center of the room that steamed gently, and six fireplaces that were equidistant from each other in the ovoid room. The air was thickly redolent of perfume and spiced incense.

A small girl reclined lazily on a mounded pile of cushions, her silken robe scandalously open, slipping off one shoulder. As they entered, she waved them in, taking a lazy draw from a hookah.

“Come in, come in.” She encouraged, her voice hot and sweet with implication and suggestive meaning.

She produced a small bottle and picked up a wide, shallow bowl, and began to pour. As she eyed her opponents from the bowl, she smiled craftily, revealing fang-like incisors. Her eyes were violet, flecked with red, her skin without flaw, her limbs clean and well-formed. Her hair was a long and luxurious tumble of black and purple.

Protruding from her forehead were two small horns, jet black clips of polished ebon. Her smile was exactly as Daveth had imagined before he came through the door. It was warm, it was rich, it was sultry and inviting and promised sensual rewards beyond comprehension.

She stood and swayed to Daveth and proffered the shallow bowl, brimming with a clear liquid that was rank with the scent of alcohol. Flower petals danced across its surface. Her offering had a weird, sensual submission to it.

“For the Marauder, there will ever be a dish of sake at my table.” She murmured respectfully.

Daveth picked up the dish; it was surprisingly heavy; some sort of ceramic? He wasn’t certain what was expected of him, but it wasn’t terribly difficult to figure it out; she was offering him alcohol. It smelled rich and pungent, too. Probably stronger than even the rotgut that Jonan favored.

He took a drink and fire exploded across his tongue. The fumes clogged his sinuses and he swallowed reflexively, sending molten lava searing down his throat. He struggled not to choke. It was like drinking pure distilled spirits!

He pulled the dish away from his lips, which had gone numb. The alcohol was rich, heady and his brain was already simmering in it.

Not sure what to do with the remainder, he offered the bowl back to the thing that looked like a young girl of perhaps twelve. She took the bowl back and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow on that perfectly shaped face.

“The Marauder is both honorable and generous, I see.” She murmured gently, and drank the rest as if it were water. She smiled up at him and licked her lips sensually.

Daveth struggled to stay conscious. There was no way he could stay sober, there was no way he could stay sane, the best he could do at this point was desperately, frantically struggle to stay awake. He clenched his fist, and the cut on his hand from the Orgus blood-drinking blade he’d looted from the deserts of Bel-Arib seared with burning pain.

Sight and sound returned to him, then. He was thoroughly pickled, but he might be able to remain standing. Walking might be problematic, but he could stand, maybe.

“You called for me?” He asked, through numb lips. His tongue felt like a strange organ in his mouth and his teeth felt too crowded.

She smiled up at him. “Later for that, I think. Come, come. Sit. I have treats to delight all the senses.”

Daveth glanced back at Aldric and Malacath. Malacath had fallen in a stupor, and rivers of sweat coursed down Aldric’s face.

The creature looked at Aldric and a tiny line appeared between her brows as her eyes narrowed.

“We remember well, Anglish.” She spat, her voice sharp and cold. “We do not forget anything, and you will regret your intrusion unto the seventh generation.”

She stepped towards Aldric, and reaching up, took his head between her hands. Her nails were like her horns, polished black chips.

She looked up at Daveth pensively, and nibbled her lip. It was an unbearably sensual gesture, and Daveth struggled to resist pouncing on her with all his might.

With great reluctance, she released Aldric. “Vengeance against him would no doubt provoke you, my lord.” She decided and offered a graceful, seductive, submissive bow that seemed more like a dance than a genuflection.

She took up Daveth’s hand in her tiny grip and drew him towards the mounded cushions. “It has been so long since I have borne witness to the ferocity of the Marauder.” She chatted, her hands roaming up and Daveth’s arm. She pulled him down, and Daveth collapsed into the mounded cushions.

“I am not Ilaria the Songweaver, but I can give you whatever comforts and delights that will soothe your torment. Stay here a while, with me.” The girl urged, gently pressing a candied plum against his lips, which he accepted. Truthfully, he couldn’t taste it. His head sloshed with the overpowering strength of the alcohol she indifferently drank without effort.

She reached for another tray with some sort of meat that had been cooked in honeyed wine. It looked soft and tender and smelled overwhelmingly delicious. She helped him take a bite; the meat fell apart in his mouth, rich and succulent with an explosion of flavor that burst on his tongue like fireworks.

“I... can’t.” Daveth managed to struggle out.

She pulled back and ran a finger down Daveth’s arm. “You can’t? You won’t? You mustn't? What sort of refusal is this, Marauder? I can be patient yet awhile.”

Daveth struggled against the cushions, it was like swimming in piled silks.

“A war.” He gasped, and she straightened from her languorous position half-astride him.

“Of course it’s a war.” She grumped, and let out a petulant sigh. “A war, a war, an endless war.” Her smile suddenly refreshed itself. “Desires are a coin that should not be spent thriftily.” She immediately agreed with a light nod. “If you should come to my door again with such a coin, then I shall share my own coin with you.” She promised, and waved her hand.

Immediately, the thick, cloying scent that overwhelmed the senses vanished. She straightened her robe and picked up a sash, wrapping it around her waist with crisp, businesslike efficiency. She knelt by each tray of food and carefully placed a number of treats into lacquerware boxes which she wrapped in richly brocaded silk squares, which she stacked at Daveth’s feet. Finally, she placed the bottle of liquor next to the boxes as well as a sinuous dagger in an ornate sheath.

“I return to you the knife you once buried in my breast for love of the Songweaver.” She murmured and then smiled invitingly again. “It’s my hope that this blade does not find its way back to me, Marauder.”

She turned back to Aldric, who was mopping his face with his handkerchief. Her gaze hardened again, and her voice, which had been filled with innuendo, entendre, and sensual invitation was now crisp and cold and clear, like a rivulet of the purest water from a glacier.

“Anglish. There is a thing I would ask of you, a bargain: Tell me where I might find the House Caeparius. Speak this thing and consider your debt to the Oni forgiven.”

Aldric gaped at her. The vanishing of the strange incense had sobered him up, but the whiplash from blind intoxication to sudden sobriety left him reeling.

“House... Caeparius?” He repeated stupidly, trying to force his mind to work. Daveth was still swimming in the mounded piles of silk and cushions, trying to pull himself upright.

“That’s right. You humans place a great deal in House names, and Cassius holds a blood debt.”

Aldric blinked. Cassius? Cassius Caeparius? Who the fuck was that?

“Wait. Wait.” Aldric panted as he struggled to force his mind to work.

“I am waiting, Anglish.” She replied crisply.

Aldric pushed himself to a sitting position and took some deep breaths, then tugged his canteen from his hip with trembling fingers and splashed his face with the water, then wiped it down with the washcloth.

“Okay, okay. Anglish names have an etymology. A point of origin. We need to trace things back from the beginning.” Aldric explained. “Who is-was- Cassius Caeparius?”

The girl frowned at him, and Aldric raised his hands in surrender. “I’m trying to be helpful.” The girl turned away and breathed heavily through her nose.

“You Anglish felt it necessary to set foot on the sacred soil of the Yamato. They were warned, again and again. They were begged to turn back, because the Yamato did not wish for us to be roused.”

She smiled fondly at this. “They think to protect us. How silly is that?” She asked, her voice filled with gentle amusement. “I killed Cassius for his intrusion into our temple, of course. But before his death, the Pact.”

Aldric took a sharp breath at this. A pact was something of otherworldly powers, like demons. A Pact was a ritualized agreement.

Wait. Anglish intrusion? Was it the First or the Second Subjugation of Yamato? As far as he knew, the First subjugation of the Yamato was done with ships. The Second Subjugation involved the invasion of the islands and the burning of several of their cities and temples. None of the Anglish made it back from that invasion, but they didn’t need to; the Yamato unconditionally surrendered. But that was hundreds of years ago.

“Okay. I assume it was the Second Subjugation of the Yamato. House Caeparius. Honestly, a House with that name would likely have sprung from here, in Montesilvano... except that Montesilvano was still considered a “preserve” back then. If the House originated here, then they would have moved north, across the Mirras... to Darnell.” Aldric explained hurriedly.

The girl looked down on him, her delicate hands wrapped around her delicate waist.

“What is a “preserve”?” She asked finally. Aldric sighed and glanced at Daveth. He’d just explained it to the man before all of this started.

“Old Houses used to own properties here. Keeps. Small hamlets. They would retire here while their children would continue ... whatever House business they were involved in. But a few houses have come from Montesilvano. All the old blood mixing, maybe bastard scions sired from ‘retired’ households.” Aldric shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if a House starts or ends up here, what matters is that if they serve the Anglish Empire, they’re in fucking Darnell.”

He looked over at Daveth, who had finally managed to sit upright. He massaged his temples with the heels of his hands. His eyes were bloodshot and his face had the tinge like he was going to start vomiting soon. What had the woman fed him?

“What about him?” Aldric asked, and the girl eyed Daveth warmly.

“What of him?” She asked curiously.

“You said that... that he killed you.” Aldric tried to say it delicately, but gave up.

She shook her head. “When Cassius tried to kill us, he was in the wrong, and thus he earned the sevenfold punishment.” She hesitated, but in a lower voice, she explained, “When the Marauder came to us, we were in the wrong, and so he is owed an incalculable debt.” Her smile was a little sad, a little forlorn. “I hope that my humble offering here has expunged at least a little guilt.”

“Why is he ‘the Marauder’?” Aldric asked, and she turned back to look at him.

“Your time is concluded, Anglish. Take your men and leave.” The girl-creature spat, and strode out the double doors without looking back.

Malacath groaned and rolled over. “I tried, Aldric, I really tried. That magic was just too potent. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Aldric looked over at Daveth. “And you? You look like the ass-end of a seven-day bender.”

Daveth pointed at the bottle the girl had set at his feet and Aldric idly considered going after her. There couldn’t be many half-naked girls with horns and purple hair in the city, right?

The bottle itself was a vivid blue glass, and studded with sapphires. Aldric uncorked it and took a whiff; the raw, pungent smell of pure distilled alcohol raced up his nose and set him choking and gagging.

“Bloody hell, you fucking drank some of that?” Aldric muttered, shaking his head as he re-corked the bottle.

“I regret everything.” Daveth replied. “I regret being born. Fucking put me out of my misery.”

“Nope.” Aldric replied, and struggled to stand. It felt good to have his feet under him. “Come on, you fuckers. We’ve got a job to do.”