It was a long ride from the Ouros Gate to Therannia. The trail itself wasn’t able to allow the Seventh Seal in formation, but Aldric pushed for it anyway. He rotated the formations that rode on the outside of the trail regularly so that those that rode in the flanking position wouldn’t be more exhausted than the rest of the Seal.

Daveth rode silently, most of the time with his eyes closed. Whether he was asleep or not, nobody could say, and nobody was willing to check, either. His silence was a moody one, and his silence felt as heavy and as sharp as a sword. A few muttered that if they did manage to rouse him, he’d cut them in half with his anger alone.

Aldric left the giant alone, working over his strategy with Malacath. There was a border gate at the edge of the country, but it likely wasn’t manned, since Malachi Sunstorm had concentrated his forces in the capital. Still, there were miles of farmland and small hamlets filled with peasantfolk, responsible for keeping the nation fed.

“You know, it looks like if we take this route here, we can avoid most of the larger townships.” Aldric pointed out to Malacath, who nodded.

“I agree. There’s no point in occupying them.” He nodded. “We might want to take this town as a base of operations, however. We’d be able to fall back out of the capital and resupply easily.” he marked on the map and passed it back to Aldric, who nodded.

“We’ll deploy the Tross there.” he affirmed. He glanced over at Daveth who rode wrapped in his cloak of silence, eyes closed.

“What do you think, Daveth?”

The giant opened his eyes, and held his hand out for the map. Malacath passed it over, and Daveth followed the marked-out route with a thick finger.

“Why didn’t you choose this town, which is a bit further away?” Daveth asked.

“It’s further, as you said. Also, the terrain isn’t ideal. There’s a river, and the northern edge of the town is pressed against a short cliffside.”

Daveth smirked a little. “Meaning we can use the terrain and the river to further slow down any pursuit.” He muttered. “Trap any forces from the capital between the cliffs and the river and they’ll be begging to retreat. No commander worth his salt would be pushed into that wedge with no way out.”

Malacath blinked. “So if we have to fall back, we can force the enemy in there.”

Daveth tipped Malacath a nod, marked the map, and passed it back over.

He folded his hands on the pommel of his saddle and closed his eyes again.

“Is he always like this?” Malacath asked Aldric quietly.

“No, I’m not.” Daveth replied, his eyes still closed. “I’m thinking.”

Aldric blinked a few times. “Our assault on Therannia doesn’t begin for some time, Daveth. It’s a long way. We’re weeks away from the border at best.”

“Then I’d better get my best thinking in while I still have time to do it, right?” Daveth quipped.

Aldric shook his head and raked his hair back with his hand.

As they were setting up camp for the evening, Aldric pulled Daveth aside.

“Your moody brooding is fucking up my program, Commander. I normally wouldn’t care, but it’s making the soldiers nervous. Nervous means stupid mistakes.”

Daveth eyed Aldric. “When is a bear not a bear?”

Aldric frowned at him. “What bullshit is this?”

Daveth shook his head. “I figured it out as we rode. A bear isn’t a bear if it’s a person.”

Aldric gave him a baffled look. “What the bloody fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Your Anglish is showing, Cap.”

“Fuck you. What’s this runic shit you’re spitting?”

Daveth shrugged. “Dunno. I was thinking this morning, and it just sort of popped into my head. Like, I was just sort of there, and there was a bear, sort of... I dunno, circling a tree. There was a Yamato in the tree. But I just knew that the bear wasn’t a bear.”

He gave Aldric a lopsided grin. “I figured it out.”

“What’s all this supposed to mean?” Aldric stated.

Daveth spread his hands and shrugged. “I’ve got no fucking clue. I’ve been wondering what it means this entire time, and I’ve got no fucking clue.”

Aldric palmed his face. “You’ve been thinking about this... bear... thing... all fucking day?”

Daveth nodded. “I didn’t understand it. Wanted to figure it out.”

“You couldn’t have just... written it off as a dream?” Aldric asked the giant.

Daveth nodded. “Might could be. Didn’t care, though. I didn’t have anything planned for today except keeping my ass in the saddle, so I decided to think about it. Carefully.”

Aldric let out a sigh. “I can see my worry was wasted. Keep your eye on the target and your head in the game, Commander. The last time I invaded a country, I had one hundred and twenty seven cannon with me. This time I’ve got three hundred men, women, and elves.” He paused, and squeezed his temples with his fingers. “I really, really, really want things to go well. I need you with me on this one, Daveth.”

Daveth nodded and headed to where the mess tent was getting set up.

Aldric watched the giant get intercepted by Alysia, who spoke in a voice too soft for Aldric to hear, but she was carrying a sack. She gestured a few times, and Daveth nodded, but wiggled his hand in a seesaw fashion. She marched off, head high.

Aside from the occasional eccentricity, Daveth was a good addition to the Seventh Seal. One of his better choices, he decided.

*****

Alysia and Daveth sat across from each other in front of a small cooking fire.

Some of the scouts had taken the liberty to hunt as they scouted, and Alysia had used some of her coin to buy many of the birds and rabbits they’d collected.

As they sizzled and cooked over the fire, Alysia was interrogating Daveth.

“Lord Commander, our next fight seems to lean heavily in favor of magic.” She began, her face screwed up in her perpetual scowl. “There are no Sisters who would learn magic, but it would help greatly to learn how to combat against it.”

Daveth rubbed his chin. “There’re three ways to deal with enemy mages: Have your own mage deal with them; get them before they get you; and .... guile.”

“Obviously, Lynnabel and I are not mages, Lord Commander. What does it mean to ‘get them before they get you’ exactly?”

Daveth blinked and shrugged. “A mage can’t cast magic if you kill him first.” He explained, and she nodded.

“Guile is...” He paused. “You remember the fight with the Angel Queen? I threw a cask of wine at her. I thought that if she cast fire, the alcohol would catch fire and burn her. It didn’t.... and even if it had, it wouldn’t have made a difference because of her insane regeneration, but it cost me nothing to try.”

She nodded at that as Daveth adjusted the food around the fire to cook evenly.

“I once threw a bag of flour at a mage that was casting a spell. The spell hit the bag of flour instead of me; the bag exploded, and flour went everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. In our faces, up the nose, in the eyes, in the mouths, it was hard to breathe. I followed it up with a spear to the gut. No more mage.” he added as an afterthought.

She nodded at his simple explanation. “I shall try to live up to your expectations.”

He gave her a baffled look and handed over one of the rabbits.

Days passed. Daveth spent his days in the saddle; his evenings were spent sparring with whomever wanted to test themselves against him.

The veterans passed coin from hand to hand and laid odds. Nobody bet against Daveth; he was impossible to beat. Rather, they wagered on how long the opponent lasted with him. Stronghammer was a solid contender, whirling his hammers in brutal contention against the giant. He always lost, but he lasted much longer than even Lynnabel, which was a surprise for the both of them.

Malacath joined the fray, exuding a professionalism and calm demeanor that was left in tatters as Daveth entangled the man’s arms, disarmed him, and sent him cartwheeling across the sparring area.

Malacath wasn’t used to that. Fights in Therannia were measured in the way they would enhance their abilities and their weapons with magical power. Daveth had discovered this when Malacath was down in the pit with Aldric back in Therannia, and had spent some considerable time trying to break the Therannians of the habit of simply believing that the magic they infused into their bodies to enhance their abilities, into their armor to protect themselves, and into their weapons to assault their enemies was enough.

It was hard for them to come to grips with the idea that a man with no magical talent to speak of could simply beat them over and over, without taking a hit. It wasn’t limited to Daveth, either. Many of the Seventh’s Seal could do the same, Daveth was simply flashier, in that he could toss his opponent across the field.

Step into their defense, disarm them, kick their feet out from under them, roll them into a pin. Lock your blade with theirs long enough to step forward, punch them in the face, kick them as they were staggering, and offer the finishing blow as they hit the ground. Use a hatchet or handaxe to hook their sword and yank it from their grip, chop at their hands, wrists, knees, whatever happened to be closest. There were many ways of dealing with the Therannians in a way that simply didn’t use any magic at all and left the elves baffled and flummoxed that this could be so.

So they struggled, over and over, to try and overcome this crippling deficiency.

One evening, Daveth was waiting for his next challenge when the Wolf Sisters entered the ring.

“Good evening to you, Lord Commander. Today is the day we beat you.” Alysia challenged with a grin.

“Both of you, together?” He asked, and she nodded.

He gave them a smirk. “So how would you like to face your defeat? Swords? Spears? Maces? Bare fists?”

“You have always been like this, Lord Commander.” Lynnabel complained, drawing her sword. “But we have been learning.”

Daveth pulled a longsword from his pouch and settled into a stance. Alysia whirled her blade and settled into hers, while Lynnabel simply readied her sword.

Alicia went first, bringing her sword in an overhand strike. Daveth swatted the sword aside in time to deflect Lynnabel’s thrust.

He moved to disarm Lynnabel, but Alysia recovered enough from his deflection to bring her blade in from the side, forcing him to throw himself into a roll away from the two sisters.

Lynnabel closed with him and attempted to lock blades with him, Pushing him so that Alysia could attack from his blind side.

Daveth chose to circle, trading swings with Lynnabel with enough force to make their blades ring like bells as they crashed.

Daveth let out a startled breath as he realized that they were fighting with their full strength, the both of them. They seriously meant to defeat him. He wasn’t expecting that.

He loosened his grip on his sword so that when Lynnabel swung, his sword went flying. Her eyes widened, he lunged forward and grabbed her wrists, and pivoted, swinging her around to collide with Alysia.

Alysia ducked, and Lynnabel twisted, rolling over her sister’s back, entangling Daveth’s wrists. He yanked his arms apart, forcing Lynnabel’s arms across her chest, and then booted her back, knocking her off her feet as Alysia once again tried to thrust at him from under his guard. He looped his arm around hers and threw himself down, pulling her off her feet. He caught her other hand as she tried to punch him, then rolled away again and scooped up his own sword as Lynnabel charged in, barely deflecting her strike.

“You weren’t kidding.” He breathed.

“No, I don’t think we were, Lord Commander.” Lynnabel replied. “Today is the day we beat you.”

He shoved her back as Alysia came again, and the two of them traded blows. Alysia was using a flashier style than Lynnabel, with more flourishes and whirling her sword about than Lynnabel. He wondered where she’d picked up the style, and realized she’d gotten it from him.

They came at him together; sometimes as a pair, their movements in sync, sometimes singly, giving the other a chance to recover. Their swords clattered and rang as they traded blows. Either way, if he didn’t do something to incapacitate at least one of them, they would make do on their promise to win.

Alysia first? Lynnabel? Neither of them seemed out of breath. It didn’t even look as if they’d broken a sweat. He was drenched in sweat, however.

They were pressing him hard.

He took a moment to rake his sweaty hair away from his face, and that’s when they struck together. Alysia charged in from the front, Daveth went to step back and found Lynnabel crouched behind him. He allowed himself to fall backwards and roll as Lynnabel stood up, as he regained his feet she again came at him aggressively, her slashes and thrusts coming with brutal, machine-like killing efficiency. He put more power into his swings, trying to disrupt her rhythm, and discovered he couldn’t.

How long had they been fighting? He couldn’t tell. It might have been for a few minutes, it might have been an hour. He admitted to himself that he hadn’t been prepared for this level of coordination.

They were wearing him down.

It came to him as a brief flash of insight. They’d accounted for this, were banking their success on it. His real fights were terrifying things, but they were usually short, intense bursts of shocking speed and murderous strength. When he sparred, he took it easy on his troops and let them trade blows with him as he gradually increased the difficulty.

He had no problems winning in terms of stamina in those instances; however the Wolf Sisters were different, they were working together in near-perfect coordination to keep him mobile, to keep him from pressing any advantage. Whenever he moved from defense to offense, they were quick to push him back into a defensive state.

He traded blows with Lynnabel, and then pivoted, dropping his sword, planting his foot into the ground and shoving forward, launching himself forward into Lynnabel.

He slammed into the woman, knocking her backward. As she fell, she turned, trying to turn it into a roll, but he grabbed her legs and heaved, tossing her into the air.

Alysia had a moment to gape at him in shock, and then his meaty fist slammed into her bracer with enough force to numb her arm and force her to drop her sword. He snaked his arm around her waist, twisted, and reached out his other arm to catch Lynnabel about the waist with his other arm as she fell.

“You two... are a pain in my ass.” He growled into their faces and then heaved the two of them up and slammed them together, breastplate to breastplate. Their heads collided together. He dropped them both to the ground, and went looking for his sword.

As he slid it back into his pouch, he realized night had already fallen.

When did that happen?

“It’s not over, Lord Commander.” Alysia complained, struggling to her feet.

“Yes it is. You did a good job. Now I have to rethink how I deal with you two.” He argued, his back to them. “Take that as your victory, and go to bed. We have a long day tomorrow.”

She charged at him, and he turned, bringing his fist around and blinked as Lynnabel ran right into it. He’d expected Alysia.

She flew backwards, eyes rolling into the back of her head. She hit the dirt hard, her feet kicking out and up into the air comically.

“It’s over. Take your sister back to your tent.”

*****

“Where are the Bloodwings?” Daveth asked Aldric as they continued their advance on Therannia. It’d been a couple of weeks since the fight with the Wolf Sisters, and they were a lot more docile than they had been before.

“They’re working on a project I gave them.” Aldric replied simply, and then edged his horse closer to Daveth. “Mage healers can regenerate. I’m having them work on Morden.” He muttered in a low voice.

A sword appeared in Daveth’s hand in an eyeblink and fury blazed from his eyes.

“You fucking cut his leg off, didn’t you?” Daveth seethed.

Aldric eyed Daveth carefully.

“He made the call himself, Daveth.” Aldric replied. “He wants to fight. I can’t-” He cut himself off. “I need him.”

Daveth sheathed his sword, but his anger was still painted all over his face.

“It’s wrong. It’s gross. It’s ...” Daveth muttered and shook his head.

“He asked for it, Daveth. It’s his choice to make. If it were you, and you chose not to do it, I’d respect your choice. If you chose to do it, I’d make sure that you got the best help I could get.” Aldric replied.

“I’d twist your head off if you tried.” Daveth warned, and Aldric nodded.

“According to Malacath, we’re not far from the border.” he said, changing the subject.

“I know.” Daveth replied dismissively.

Aldric raised an eyebrow, but Daveth pointed ahead. “See?”

Aldric leaned forward on his horse, but couldn’t see anything. He reached for his spyglass, but even with it, he couldn’t see a thing.

“I can’t see shit, you-”

“The sky, Aldric.”

A dark, bruised pattern of clouds hovered on the edge of the horizon. Strange lights flickered in the clouds, turning them a bruised green, sickly purple, and the dark red of a blood clot.

“Ugh.” Aldric grimaced. “Just looking at it makes me feel sick.”

Daveth nodded. “It’s hard to look away. You think to yourself, “I need to look somewhere else, watch the flanks”, whatever, and then you realize you’re staring at it again.”

Aldric pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to ride back and check on the Tross. Maybe that’ll break my focus and get rid of this headache I’m starting to get.”

Daveth nodded, and pulled out one of the meals the strange girl had given him.

“You still have those?” Aldric asked, and Daveth nodded. “They’re good.”

“And you’re still not sharing. Ass.” Aldric retorted, and let his horse fall back.

As Daveth ate, Alysia rode up to him.

“Still sore?” He asked without looking to check who had approached.

She shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“The point is, you got close. I’ll have to rethink how I deal with you and your sister. You should be happy you pressed me that far.”

“It’s not something to take pride in unless it’s a win.” She complained.

“Maybe you’ll get your shot. Or not.” Daveth replied indifferently. Feeling a bit malicious, he gestured at the clouds on the horizon.

“What do you think about that?”

She immediately turned her head. “It’s revolting and unnatural.”

Daveth nodded and tucked some food into his mouth. “I think so too. We’ll probably reach the border in a couple of days, and then it’s a march through the country to the capital.”

Malacath called a halt just before they reached the border, which was a simple waist-high low wall with a gap for traffic leading into it.

He had his elves bring out baskets filled with white-painted charms on leather things.

“These are protective amulets. They’ll absorb any stray magic that happens to come our way. They might not be strong enough to protect you in combat, but they should be able to protect you from the magic Malachi is using to taint the land. I say “should” because we had to make do with the materials we had on hand. They’re not very robust, so if they start to fall apart, then you know it’s time to exchange them for a new one.”

He paused for a moment. “They’ll keep you from mutating and protect you from the magic in Therannia, but only if they’re touching skin. Make sure to wear them always.”

After everyone picked up a talisman and put it on, they crossed the border into the land of Therannia.