“I still think me going in there is a bad idea, Cap.” Daveth opined as he adjusted the bracer on his arm.

“Yeah well, fuckin’ deal with it. You shouldn’t have stuck your dick in a goddamn monarch.” Aldric replied. “Remember to fuckin’ kneel, keep your goddamn mouth shut, and let me do the talking.”

“I’m not kneeling.” Daveth immediately replied.

“You damn well better.” Aldric shot back. “You’ll do as you’re ordered, Commander, or I’ll find someone better equipped to do the job.” He paused and then added, “I seem to recall you brought a weapon into the throne room. You’re not doing that, either.”

Daveth rolled his eyes at this sally. He’d taken a sword from his pouch in anticipation of needing a quick draw. He was used to his weapon pouch now, and could draw any weapon he wanted with a thought and a gesture. He was carrying an army’s worth of weapons and it looked like an ordinary hip pouch.

Daveth rubbed his eyes, and motioned to Malacath to follow him.

“What is it, Commander?” Malacath inquired as they trekked across the campground.

“Well, this is shit you should know already, but you’re still a bit-” He began, but cut off. “What do you think we’re doing?” He asked.

Malacath rubbed his chin. “Meeting with the file leaders and telling them about troop dispositions, right?”

“Got it in one. Here’s your map; I’ll leave it to you. Don’t worry about fucking it up; I’ll be with you while you call out troop dispositions just in case.”

“I was thinking... we can have half here, half here, with the command and Tross in the middle, like so.” Malacath offered, drawing on the map with his fingertip.

“Personally I think it’s a great idea... but the Tross has smiths that work ‘round the clock. I don’t have a problem with it, but Aldric claims the constant hammering keeps him up at night.” Daveth explained, and Malacath nodded thoughtfully.

“Also, the Tross is basically managed by the quartermaster. Putting the army commander and the quartermaster next to each other can cause strife sometimes.” Daveth offered.

Malacath frowned at that. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, if someone wants something, they go to the quartermaster. You put the captain’s tent- or yours, or mine, for that matter- nearby, if the quartermaster says ‘no’, people will simply go to our tents and say “give me this”. He paused and then added, “You will definitely be happier putting the troops and Tross like so-” He demonstrated on the map and then added, “and the command tents over here. Don’t forget to point the file leaders tents towards the command tents so that they can reach out to us if necessary.”

Malacath nodded. “I understand why you do this the way you do, now.”

Daveth nodded. “Good, because I’m tired of hunching.”

Malacath rolled his eyes.

Daveth waved Malacath to come with him, and the elf obediently followed after.

“You probably feel a little out of your element.” the giant mentioned. “You... probably feel alone.”

The elf frowned at him, and then got the meaning of what Daveth said.

“All of them- all my men, they all volunteered. I said, “If you want to follow the king, you can do so.” I chose to leave, and they chose to follow.” He wrapped his arms around himself, his armor clinking. “They’re all dead. All of them but one. What kind of commander am I?”

Daveth rubbed his mouth.

“It haunts me too, Mal.” He finally admitted. He took the elf aside and told him about the nightmare that was Bel-Arib, and the blasphemy of Ankar-Set. The wholesale slaughter of the Radiant Sons on his watch. The bad death of Jonan. The nightmare of the volcano on the Shaper’s island. The loss of Audra.

“There’s too many lost under my watch. There’s only a few I even recognize anymore.” Daveth muttered. “There’s so few of... the originals. Those that stuck with us and survived through everything.” He grinned bleakly. “There’s too much blood on my hands for me to find any peace.”

The elf looked up at the giant with a newfound respect. “I misjudged you, Daveth. You have my respect.”

“The only thing we can do is grin at death and hope that maybe we’ll get lucky, that this time we die first.” Daveth replied darkly.

“If it spares my men the horror of a meaningless death... yeah. I’d happily pay that blood price.” Malacath replied. “Maybe my wife and sister would forgive me, then.”

“Until then... let’s see you get the troops deployed.” Daveth grinned, and it was the rictus of a dying man.”

Malacath nodded. “You got it.” And they grinned at each other.

Daveth gestured as Malacath called out the camp arrangements to the file leaders, who eyed Malacath warily, but followed along willingly enough.

“They don’t trust me.” Malacath muttered, a note of frustration in his voice.

“They don’t know you. It comes with time.” Daveth replied.

“It’s just a camp layout.” He complained.

“No, it’s more than that. Wherever we set down, that is our castle, that is our fortifications. We have to think about how to best place our men so that we can respond at any time from any direction when we’re attacked. Camp placement is important.”

Malacath nodded in understanding. “What’ll it be like when we reach the Nauders capital?”

“Heh. I’ve got the Tross cutting trees and buying up every goddamn shovel we can get our hands on so that when we arrive at the capital we can have berms and palisades set up just in case they decide to massacre all of us.” Daveth replied. “We’ll stand a good chance of repelling their assaults. I’ve worked with their army. They’re not bad, but they’re not the Seventh Seal.”

“You think they’ll attack?” Malacath asked, and Daveth shrugged. “Coin toss. Aldric tell you about Triple Red?”

Malacath nodded. Triple Red was a callsign for when they were in enemy territory and attacks could come from any direction at any time. Secretly, Aldric and Daveth had warned the surviving members of the original Seventh Seal that had made it back from Therannia to be on Triple Red around the mercenary bands they’d scooped up from Tannit. Any of them could be an Anglish plant to gut the Seventh Seal from within.

“Also, it took us forever to get up here. The Seventh Seal relies on speed to get our objectives- you know this. We’re going to be running drills to get the new meat up to speed- literally. Work out a rota that starts out with a hundred men at a time on drills, then bring it up to five hundred at a time. Work them hard. Press them hard.” Daveth ordered Malacath.

“And what will you be doing?” Malacath frowned.

“Trying to keep my head attached.” Daveth replied.

“Good luck.” Malacath offered sardonically. “Oh. Take this.” He offered Daveth a cloth pouch.

The giant took it, feeling a solid shape within.

“What’s this?” Daveth asked.

“A present. Don’t lose it, because I’m not making you another.” Malacath replied.

Daveth opened the pouch and pulled out a magnificent pipe, all carved wood with silver inlays and a carved amber pipestem.

“It’s enchanted. Pack the bowl full and a spark will light it.” The elf smiled wanly up at him. “Don’t fucking lose it, because I’m not making you another one.”

Daveth chuckled. “You make Aldric one?”

“I figured you could make him jealous.” Malacath offered with a grin, and rubbed his thumb and fingers together in the universal sign for money.

Daveth laughed harder. “You got a deal.”

*****

Daveth joined Aldric on a small rise, packing his pipe full.

“Fucking Nauders, am I right?” Aldric muttered, eyeing the far-off capital city.

Daveth made a face. “Last time I stood on this hill, I killed a dozen Carrion Crows with Audra and Morden, then lured the rest of the warband out of those woods'' he pointed with his pipe, and then pointed back the way he came, “where we’re camped now.” Daveth replied, puffing on his pipe. Without warning, a couple plumes of smoke escaped Daveth’s mouth. “Took a spear in my leg for it.”

Aldric eyed Daveth. “New pipe?”

“Lost the last one.” Daveth replied. “How we gonna do this, boss? Same as last time? Just ride in?”

Aldric nodded. “You, me, Malacath, maybe Jonan and the Wolf Sisters. Might be best if it was just you, me and the elf. Not sure, yet.”

“Any idea what they want?”

“Not yet. Heard some rumors.”

“Yeah, same.” the giant replied. “They basically boil into three camps.”

“Oh?” Aldric replied.

Daveth extended a finger. “Defend against the Anglish.” He extended another. “Timwaite Pass and the Northern Avalanche.” He extended a third. “Return the Merchant Cities to Nauders rule.”

“So, either Timwaite Pass, or the Anglish.” Aldric muttered,

“More like, ‘Timwaite Pass’.” Daveth corrected.

“Oh?” Aldric replied, eyeing the giant.

Daveth thumbed his beard. “I’m pretty sure it was the night of the banquet. The Duchess told me that her loyalties were to the Anglish Empire.”

“We’ve been away for years, Daveth. Loyalties change.”

Daveth nodded. “Could be. Won’t know until we head up there.”

“Where’s the elf?”

“Running drills to get the new meat up to Seventh Seal speed.” Daveth replied.

“Good man. We’ll give it three days, I think, then we’ll head into the capital.” Aldric mused.

“He wanted to put you right next to the smithies.” Daveth added.

“Well, he’s not perfect.” Aldric decided.

“Fucking Nauders, right?”

“Fucking Nauders.”

*****

The Duchy of Nauders itself was roughly horseshoe-shaped, bending around a mountain they called ‘Anzeige’. At the peak of the bend was the capital of Nauders, and the arc of the horseshoe carried a smattering of cities and small towns. One of the ends of the horseshoe ended up in the small pass that was choked by Landeck; the other end was choked with small broken hills and difficult terrain.

A little to the north of Nauders was a difficult chain of mountains, like a thick seam running east and west, almost completely impassible except for one gap; Timwaite Pass.

Beyond that gap was a land that was called many names; The Forbidden Wastes, the Land of Eternal Snow, Arborea, The Land of Eternal Winter, World’s End, The Land of Eternal Night, and other similar epithets.

No one ventured past the pass and returned back. No maps had been made, no charts. There were rumors enough to fill the Mirras, however. The Tower of Eternal Night was supposed to be there. The Queen of Spiders herself was supposedly banished there by Darius Trakker.

Lunatic mages often quested for it, drawn to it like iron filings to a lodestone.

Nauders kept a close eye on Timwaite Pass for a different reason: There were things that lived in the Forbidden Wastes that hungered for the lands of men. Monsters, ravenous beasts, abominations, horrific things to threaten the sanity of any man, woman, or elf.

The most feared of all was the armies of the Northern Avalanche; a race of half-giants with baffling powers that formed massive warbands and waged an endless war against everything- monsters, men, even each other. From time to time one of those warbands would head south to Timwaite Pass, and Nauders would do its best to hold off the screaming horde.

There was one instance in recent history where a warband made it south via the furthest coast, the country of Urthan. They invaded, pillaging, raping, murdering, forcing the Urthan in a desperate retreat south- into Anglish lands. The Anglish pushed back, and the Urthans were forced east in a series of campaigns known as the Eastern Marches.

The only reason the Northern Avalanche didn’t march in total against the world is because they fought each other just as much as anyone else. Every so often, a few of the monstrous half-giants would stumble through Timwaite Pass, long white hair blowing, eyes glowing a sinister blue, wearing full plate with iconic symbols to the False Gods carved into the steel, that jagged white fang on the breastplate, and the men stationed there would hammer them with ballista, would charge at them with spears, would hack at them with axes and swords.

Every man served a turn at Timwaite Pass, even if no Hymir-kin showed up that winter. It was important to know who you were fighting, so that you knew who you were protecting.

The Hymir were the giants. Some claimed they were twelve feet tall. Some said sixteen. All the stories claimed they were exclusively male, and needed human brides. The Hymir-kin were their half-giant offspring.

Daveth never got a good reception in Nauders. To them, he was Hymir-kin, despite the fact that he’d been born in a logging village several hundred miles southeast of Nauders. His father had been a clerk to the mayor; his mother was a waitress at a bar.

Worse, he’d dishonored the Duchess in a night of drunken revelry that left men crippled and in desperate need of healing.

Even moreso when she’d birthed a child after the Seventh Seal had left. Despite her reticence and firm refusal to name the father, it was clearly obvious to anyone who the father was.

Aldric’s contact, a man who worked as both an informant and spy was summarily banished from Nauders.

Daveth was not welcome. The Seventh Seal was not welcome.

But then the young Duchess Elenora Edelweiss had sent out a letter far and wide, requesting the specific assistance of the Seventh Seal. All sins would be forgiven and amnesty granted.

The capital of Nauders was carved from white stone. Paved in white stone. In the summer it was nearly blinding, and Daveth wondered exactly how anyone was able to do anything in the city.

But it was late summer, and fall would be approaching.

Aldric, Daveth, and Malacath rode towards the gates of the city. Just like last time, Daveth appeared nervous and uncomfortable.

“...They’re gonna kill me.” Daveth muttered.

Daveth and Malacath didn’t say anything, just eyed the giant, who was puffing away on his pipe.

“When we get up to the palace, put that thing away.” Aldric advised. “Where did you get it, anyway?”

“Man in camp made it for me.” Daveth replied. “It’s self-lighting.”

“No shit?” Aldric asked, surprised.

Daveth nodded, and shared a look and a nod with Malacath.

“I’d wondered whether or not you’d have the audacity to show your face.” A familiar voice piped up from the gate.

Dorothea was a cousin to the Duchess, and had served as a liaison between the Seventh Seal and the Duchess while they had served here last. She’d also been the victim of a few of Daveth’s pranks. Just like last time, she wore a crimson hooded cloak that billowed in the wind.

“Have you improved your swordsmanship?” Daveth asked curiously, and Dorothea nodded.

“Good to hear.” He replied. “Are we allowed entry?”

She sighed and nodded. “It wasn’t my idea, mind you. I don’t know how Elenore managed to convince Sybella, either. But you and yours are allowed permission into the city. Trade is permitted too, but you’ll need to have your audience with the Duchess, first.”

Her eyes narrowed at Malacath.

“It’s a warning, but his kind aren’t particularly welcome.” She added.

“Joy. Two commanders, and neither of them welcome.” Aldric spat sarcastically. “You wanna fuck around, or we heading to the palace?”

Dorothea frowned, but moved her pale horse and gestured for them to follow.

The city’s buildings radiated a pale sterility that was muted by people moving in and out of them, horses and carriages moving up and down the streets.

Malacath took all of this in with a strange mix of sophistication and wide-eyed wonder. Einsamkeit, Begierde, and Tannit had earned a few thoughtful glances, but the Nauders capital itself seemed to captivate the elf in a way that the other cities didn’t.

“See something you like?” Daveth asked the elf.

“This is a proper city, with aesthetic appeal.” Malacath replied.

“What’d you think of Blackwall, then?”

“A city of industry. You could feel the pride of the people that built it. The shipworks were magnificent.”

Daveth stifled a yawn.

“My apologies if I let you down, Commander.” Malacath replied.

The giant waved his hand. “I haven’t slept well since we arrived.”

Aldric snickered nastily. “He fears for his head. Keep that paranoia, Daveth, and you just might keep it attached.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, and forgive me if it’s inappropriate, but what happened to that elven mage? I don’t think I've seen her in some time.”

“Elven mage?” Daveth asked, baffled.

Aldric leaned towards Malacath. “She went her way when we crossed Landeck.”

Malacath gave Aldric a confused look. The captain waved his hand. “I’ll explain later.”

“If you’re done gossiping, the palace is just ahead.” Dorothea announced coolly. “I heard the last time you were granted a... proper audience, you showed up armed. Please do not make that mistake again.” She reminded the giant.

“I’m a good boy.” Daveth replied contritely. “If you have your doubts, you can fetch the stocks and chain me up.”

“No.” Aldric vetoed. “We are not criminals. Carry yourself with some fucking dignity, Daveth, and we should be just fine.”

Dorothea raked the trio with her crimson gaze.

“I might make a few jokes on my way to the headsman, though.” Daveth muttered.

“A fine way to go.” Aldric agreed, but cautioned, “We’re not there, yet.”

The Palace hadn’t changed in the years since the Seventh Seal’s last visit. Long rows of narrow white column approached the dias where a number of albinos stood. Elenora reclined on a white-and-silver throne, a dainty elbow leaning on the arm.

Both Daveth and Malacath were set to kneel, but Aldric waved his hand at them instead.

“I’ve been given to understand we’ve been invited here for a reason. Given the somewhat... tense circumstances of our last parting, I’d like to know why we’ve been invited back.”

Elenore seemed to be preoccupied with eyeing Daveth again, though without the wide-eyed wonder she’d displayed the last time they’d presented themselves in her throne room.

“Why is a mercenary band brought or sent anywhere, captain?” Falki, Elenore’s brother spoke up. “Money. We would like to recruit your services once again.”

“Well then, I’d like to offer my respect to our new and familiar clients, in hope of a fruitful relationship.” Aldric replied, and swept a bow. Malacath and Daveth repeated the gesture in their own ways; the giant dipped his head, Malacath swirled his armored robe about himself somewhat dramatically and bowed respectfully.

“I should like to speak with them in the Edelweiss conference room, I think. Bring the necessary maps and have wine sent for.” Elenore decided, and then smiled. “It’s both a delight and a pleasure to see familiar, if road-stained faces.”

She rose to her feet in a smooth motion and gestured for the members of the Seventh Seal to follow.

The Edelweiss Conference room was paneled in wooden tiles, stained and polished in interlocking starbursts. Hanging from the walls was the Edelweiss sigil of a white tree on a green background.

As they seated themselves around the table, Daveth’s chair creaked warningly, ominously. Aldric shot him a look, and Daveth shrugged. There wasn’t much he could do about that.

The servants kindled a large fire in the fireplace, and unrolled a huge map across the table. Small round polished stones were placed at the corners to keep it from rolling back up.

Aldric and Daveth tapped their fingers against their lips thoughtfully while Malacath eyed the map with a certain undisguised curiosity.

“As expected.” Daveth muttered.

“Yes, but why?” Aldric whispered back.

Elenore swept into the room, followed by her brother Falki and a wizened older woman who glared at them with ruby eyes.

“I am led to understand that your band has increased somewhat... significantly, since our parting.” The Duchess opened.

Aldric raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing, instead leaning forward a little bit and tapping the map.

“Timwaite Pass.” He stated flatly, eyeing the map. The pass itself was somewhat serpentine, and the ground uncertain.

“Yes, that’s right.” Elenore agreed. “Before the War of Liberation, an outpost was built on the other side of the pass, meant to act as a warning post in advance of an invasion of the Northern Avalanche.”

Aldric said nothing.

“It didn’t last long, did it?” Daveth offered. “You can’t fortify, and you can’t reinforce should something go wrong. Stationing anyone there would be a death sentence.”

Elenore sighed, but nodded. “That’s right.”

“You want to send the Seventh Seal to reclaim the fort in the Land of Eternal Night.” Aldric decided, his voice flat, cold, and deadly. “I’d thought we’d paid our dues for the ... problems we caused the last time we were here, Duchess, but you aim to murder us to a man, don’t you?” He looked to the Duchess with naked, cold, murderous fury on his face. “You might think little of mercenaries, and I’ll admit we did you a poor turn, but I warn you here and now, we are no easy meat.”

He rose to his feet, wondering who he should shoot first, Daveth forcing himself out of his chair with the dull crack of shattering wood, Malacath waving two small balls of fire into existence.

“We’ve been to hell and back and you can ask the smoldering corpses of the demons we left in our wake how hard it is to kill us.” Daveth boomed, and heaved the table over.

Falki jerked his sword from his scabbard, the two guards leveled their spears at the three mercenaries, and Dorothea, startled, eyes moving from Elenore to Aldric, tugged out three throwing knives in each of her hands.

“When we die, eleven hundred soldiers will march into the capital with the order of ‘no quarter’ given. Men, women, children; all dead at your hand.” Aldric warned.