Daveth was riding his massive warhorse with Dorothea tailing him on the right and Audra on his left. They were passing through an area of low hills near the mountain they called Anzeige. From time to time Audra would encourage Daveth to follow her into the forested foothills, but there was a mischievous light in her eye so he refused every time.

However, when she returned from the snow-dusted pine forest, she carried something she munched on with great relish.

Catching Daveth’s eye, she offered him a portion. “Want some?” She asked, and he picked up the crumbly, papery thing delicately with his thick hand.

“Honeycomb. Found a beehive in there. It’s sweet.” Audra explained in between bites. Daveth gave the honeycomb a cautious sniff, and then stuffed it into his mouth. There were things wriggling around in there he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask about, but it was so overwhelmingly sweet it was as if his mouth had exploded with syrupy honey.

“Surprisingly good.” He complimented, and she nodded.

“Commander, I think it wise we return to Nauders and report to the Duchess-” Dorothea began, but Daveth shook his head. “She already knows everything I could tell her.”

“Still, she could use your presence to-” Dorothea offered, but Daveth again shook his head.

“No... no. I think not.” He replied evasively. It seemed Dorothea wanted to give the Duchess as much time with the giant as possible.

“So then, what are we doing out here?” Dorothea asked irritably, drawing her crimson cloak around her to ward off a gust of particularly bitter wind.

“Don’t you know?” Daveth asked curiously. Dorothea shook her head.

“Heh.” Daveth chuckled, and stuffed some more honeycomb into his mouth. “Audra, tell her.” He ordered as he ate more of the honeycomb.

The outside texture was papery, but melted away in the mouth. The comb itself was somewhat waxy, with individual cells filled with raw honey. Audra wanted to tell Daveth that the usual trick was to chew on the honeycomb wax until the sweetness was gone, and then spit it out, but she got a kick out of him chewing and swallowing as if it was a regular part of a meal.

“No way. It’ll ruin the surprise.” Audra protested. Daveth chuckled again.

“Well, it definitely will be a surprise.” He murmured in the morning air.

“So far all we’ve done these past few days are these meaningless patrols where nobody goes.” Dorothea complained.

“And why do you think we’d be doing this?” Daveth asked, and then added in a sour voice, “certainly not for our health.”

“That’s for sure.” Audra piped up.

“I can’t guess.” Dorothea immediately surrendered.

Daveth caught Audra’s eye and rolled it ostentatiously at her, causing her to giggle.

Audra shifted sides, coming alongside Dorothea on her small horse.

“Daveth’s chasing another banner.” Audra confided in a voice that purported to be subtle and quiet but wasn’t.

Dorothea scrunched her pretty pale face up in confusion. “What does that mean?”

Daveth gave Audra a glance and a frown, but Audra continued anyway. “We’re bait. We’re trying to get the Carrion Crows to come out hiding and attack us.”

Dorothea immediately tried to grab for her sword, and Daveth laughed dryly.

“You’ll know when they come for you.” Daveth advised. “Your cloak sticks out like a banner; it’ll draw them right to us.”

Dorothea gaped at him from under the depths of her hood. He was dragging her around, back and forth across these hills every single day as bait?

“Should have worn something that blended in a little better.” Daveth offered, shrugging his leather cape that was draped with a massive bear hide. “You’re a big red flag. I figure they oughtta start shooting at us soon.”

“H-How many are there?” Dorothea asked hoarsely.

Daveth shrugged. “Could be as many as fifty or so. Maybe more.”

“And you only brought us three?!” Dorothea yelled, and Audra’s head whipped around as she noticed something.

“We’re not exactly helpless.” Daveth replied defensively. Audra nodded.

“Daveth could beat you to death with your own horse if he wanted.” She praised, and Daveth rubbed the scar on his nose irritably.

“So are they coming?” Daveth asked, and Audra nodded.

“How many?” He asked, drawing a sword from under his cloak, testing the edge with his thumb, and then sheathing it.

“About ten.”

“They have the banner with them?” He asked, and Audra shook her head.

“Bah. Scouting party.” Daveth complained, and somehow, bafflingly, produced a bow from beneath his cloak. How did he do that?

He deftly hooked his foot around it and strung it with a smooth motion, pivoted his horse so that he was facing Audra’s direction.

“C’mon elf. Point me at my target.” Daveth complained, and Audra pointed. “They should top that rise in about fifteen seconds.”

At the five-second mark, Daveth began launching arrows. Dorothea couldn't see where he was drawing them from, but as the bandits topped the rise that Audra indicated, they began to die.

The first arrow took a man right in the eye, a feat that dropped the jaws of both Audra and Dorothea. The second shot missed completely, the third shot buried itself in a man’s shoulder, producing a pained howl, the next shot missed, the fifth shot struck the man with the arrow in his shoulder right through his heart, silencing his scream.

Each shot afterword found its mark, either in an arm, a leg, or through the chest. Daveth’s seemingly casual volley had killed four of the ten men, and wounded the rest.

“Go!” Audra yelled, producing her own bow. Daveth made his bow disappear and a sword appeared in his hand and he rushed bandits, his breath puffing little clouds of frost with every panted breath.

Dorothea followed after, awkwardly drawing her own sword. She wasn’t used to fighting on horseback, while Audra prepared her own volley of arrows.

Daveth reached the men in record time, his massive horse rearing and slamming into a bandit’s horse. There was a brittle crunch of collapsing bone as the bandit’s horse sagged with a scream from a broken shoulder. Daveth’s swing went wide, completely missing the man entirely, but as the man’s horse collapsed, pitching him the the ground, Daveth’s horse stove in his skull with a blow from its hooves.

Dorothea screamed and made a ridiculous overhead slash that by all rights should never have connected, but to Daveth’s surprise she connected, slashing a brutal chunk from the man’s face as she passed.

As the four remaining tried to retreat, Audra’s hail of arrows felled them in their tracks.

Daveth immediately dropped to the ground, pulled out a knife and went to work amongst them, slitting throats, casually looting fallen weapons, money pouches, a necklace here, a ring there. Audra arrived as he was doing his grisly work; Dorothea was staring at him, aghast.

“You’re looting them?” She shouted aghast, and Daveth pointed at the surviving horses, ignoring Dorothea’s outrage. Looting the dead was permitted in the Seventh Seal, and he was far more interested in getting anything useful or of value from the fallen than he was in having a debate with Dorothea.

“Audra. Round up the horses. Let’s see if these fucks were carrying anything with them. If not, we can sell the horses to the knackers.”

“You know, it pisses me off when you get to them first.” Audra complained, but Daveth laughed. “You complain even worse when Morden does his thing.”

Audra gave him a disgusted face, but he was right. Daveth took weapons and money and trinkets, occasionally a bit of armor that seemed useful. He had no qualms raiding enemy stores and making them his own. Morden, however, had a fascination with clothes. He’d strip the dead, wash their clothes, and sell them in the cities to secondhand clothes shops if they were of decent quality, to the ragpickers if poor.

Most people found Morden’s hobby distasteful, but as long as you followed the rules of the Seventh Seal, you were given a great deal of leeway in what you could get away with, even if your fellows found it in shockingly bad taste.

“Do what thing?” Morden asked, rising up from the low grass behind Dorothea, who let out a breathless shriek.

“Eh.” Daveth gestured at the fallen Crows. “You gonna?”

Morden shook his head. “I think we should group up here a little, pretend we’re the Crows, keep a watch out. Might spot them. We’ve got their lair, but these hills are a rat’s nest.” He eyed Daveth. “You after their banner, sir?”

After a moment of struggle, Daveth nodded. He told himself that what he really wanted was to thin the numbers of the forces gathering against him, but he couldn’t lie to himself; he wanted that banner.

It’d felt good to command his troops against the Carrion Crows in Tannit. It’d felt great to capture their banner, as had been the tradition since time immemorial- you conquered someone, you took their banner as your trophy. Daveth had gotten a taste of that tradition in Tannit, and he knew what it meant, what it felt like to be on the forefront, to conquer, to overcome, and to bask in the glory of your victory. To personally own the banner of the one you defeated.

*****

Daveth turned to Audra. “Audra.”

She looked up from her perusal of a saddlebag’s contents.

“Are we still safe?” He asked, and Audra consulted the sky, the hills, and the forest to the south. Dorothea tracked the conversation, but didn’t understand any of it.

“Just barely, I think. I’d feel a lot safer if we pulled back.” the elf advised. Daveth nodded as though he understood.

“I don’t understand.” Dorothea complained, and Daveth glanced from Audra to Morden, down at himself, and then finally at Dorothea.

“No...” he began, and then cut himself off. “No, I don’t think you would.” he offered unhelpfully.

Dorothea opened her mouth, but Audra cut her off with an upraised hand.

“They’re coming. This time, I think it’s for real.”

Morden grimaced and hauled himself into the saddle of one of the looted horses.

“The scout’s right, Commander. We’re too exposed. We got what we wanted, I think, but we’re too far out. We need to reel them in before we get pulled out like a sore tooth.”

“You have a horrible habit of mixing metaphors.” Daveth cursed, pulling himself up and into the saddle of his gigantic warhorse. “Dorothea, saddle up. I don’t want to be responsible for telling the Duchess you died under my watch.”

Shock flowed through Dorothea’s veins as icy sweat slid down her back. Death? What? Just what did he mean?

She scrambled into the saddle of her horse, which was much smaller than Daveth’s, it was showy and pure white, like the skin of the White Nobles. She adjusted her crimson cloak while Daveth hauled his around, facing south.

“We have to draw them in. Give them a taste for blood so they’ll follow.” Daveth explained quickly. “Audra, you’re too small; they might not be baited. Princess here is showy enough, but too important.” He glanced at Morden, who gave him a tiny shrug.

“I’ll do it.” Morden offered.

“What’re you all talking about? What you’re saying isn’t making any sense!” Dorothea argued hotly.

Daveth gave her an exasperated look. “You’d’ve understood the moment you deigned to pay attention.” He argued. “Why do you think we’re out here? This is a military action.”

There was a brief moment of comprehension on Dorothea’s face. They weren’t just out, riding around aimlessly. Whatever Daveth was doing had a point. He was right; she hadn’t paid attention in the meetings with the Seventh Seal. She always stood off to the side, indifferent to whatever it was they discussed in low voices. She was there to make sure they didn’t do any lawbreaking. She was the representative of the White House of Nauders, it was her responsibility that they kept to the contract. She didn’t have to listen to any of their plans except to make sure that they were on task.

“Audra, how much time?” He asked.

“Thirty seconds if we’re lucky.” She reported from the back of her horse.

Daveth glanced around. This clustered knotwork of hills and valleys made it impossible to see anything in any direction until you were practically right on top of it. Daveth’s files from the Seventh Seal were in the forest to the south, awaiting the signal to rush out and assault the Carrion Crows. Daveth had brought Audra and Dorothea with him because he needed the elf as a scout, her elven ability to judge distances by sound alone and her knowledge of the territory. He’d dragged Dorothea out with him as unknowing bait. Her well-bred and blindly white horse screamed importance. Her crimson cloak was blatantly visible against the landscape, a brilliant flag that was inescapably obvious.

Over the past few days he’d trawled back and forth with Audra and Dorothea, hoping to tease out the Carrion Crows, ideally and hopefully without the backing of the Fangs of the Serpent. He wasn’t sure if they were working together; couldn’t guess. Maybe they were. It wasn’t impossible to assume that the Fangs had hired the Crows as auxiliaries, underlings to do the scut work of a proper military action.

“I’ll do it. Morden, see to the Princess.” Daveth said finally. Morden nodded.

*****

The Crows burst over the edge of the hill and startled yells and howls erupted from them as they caught sight of their prey. Audra, knowing the plan, immediately headed south towards the forest, shouting for Dorothea to follow. Morden followed after Dorothea, nipping at her heels, using his body as a screen to deflect any arrows shot towards Dorothea.

Daveth followed in the rear, weaving his horse in tandem with Morden’s so that the Crows wouldn’t have an easy shot at Dorothea. The Crows themselves chased on horseback, a few exploratory arrows ruffling the air.

There was more than fifty of them in this group, and they had their bannerman with them this time, which meant that if they were very lucky, the commander ro the captain of the Crows was with this group. They chased after Daveth, their signature tattered black cloaks streaming out behind them as they raced in pursuit.

Daveth twisted in his saddle and fired a wild shot with his bow that had no chance of hitting anything. This goaded the Crows on, to see desperation in so large a man. It was Morden who took the first arrow, catching in his shoulder. Daveth couldn’t tell from his angle if it’d gotten trough the man’s cloak, breastplate, and leathers, but Morden twisted in his saddle and dropped his sword. He slumped forward in his saddle and managed to keep upright though, so Daveth gave him the benefit of the doubt and hoped the man was acting.

An arrow brushed his ear; the pain was sizzling hot and blood flew in scattered drops. Daveth swerved a little, and the second shot hit him in the lower back. Daveth couldn’t tell if it had gotten through; all he could do was struggle with the shock of understanding that he had been shot.

The third arrow hit higher, punching into the layers of leather over his right shoulderblade and slicing through. The pain from that one was obvious.

Where was the forest? Daveth asked himself stupidly, hearing everything roaring as if from down a long tunnel.

The pain of an arrow punching directly into his thigh from behind dragged him back; the forest was directly in front of him and his troops were rushing out in disciplined lines to cut the Crows apart.

He allowed himself to go limp and he slumped from the back of his horse and hit the dirt. How badly was he hurt? He didn’t know, wasn’t sure. Could he stand? He needed to stand. In his mind he grabbed onto the pain in his leg, grabbed it both meaty fists and strangled it as he forced himself to his feet, turning and drawing a sword right as a man in a tattered black cloak thrust a lance at him.

Daveth’s hands closed around the lance and he felt the shock of impact force his feet through the dirt. The pain was rage now, and would not be denied.His hands released the lance at just the right moment, twisting his body awkwardly as the lancehead slipped past him to strike the ground. The man’s eyes above his tattered black veil registered shock as Daveth yanked him from his horse.

He wasn’t sure how badly he’d been hurt. He wasn’t certain if he could stand. He knew that if he could survive the battle, his wounds could be tended to. He intended to survive the battle. A blade was in his hand, a blade he couldn’t remember drawing, a blade he savagely dragged across the Crow’s throat.

Obeying instinct, Daveth threw himself to the side as another rider hurtled past, horse hooves churning the dirt inches from his head. A hot flash of pain speared up from the arrow in his thigh; Daveth forced himself to his feet, hand going for the weapon’s pouch at his belt.

One of the Orgus blood-drinking blades slid into his hand, too long to be called a shortsword, too short to be a longsword, slightly curved with a broad blade, clipped point, and strange green runes scrawled across the length of it.

The blade was cursed, a thing of terrible magic. It was endlessly thirsty for blood, and it didn’t care where that blood came from. A wielder of one of those blades could find himself fumbling the blade, nicking his hands, cutting into the thigh when attempting to sheathe it, any number of small but dreadful wounds with which the blade could drink. Daveth himself carried a variety of scars from the blades. Across the dreadful expanse of the deserts of Ankar-Set, he’d managed to collect thirty of them.

They were dangerous, nightmarishly thirsty and surprisingly well-balanced, perfect for throwing.

Daveth hurled his cursed blade at the nearest Crow with all the strength of his giant’s body; it punched into the man’s chest and sank up to the hilt. Even if the blade wasn’t cursed, the wound was fatal. “Archers!” Daveth shouted, feeling the rage burning in him, demanding to be cut loose.

Another blade came to his hand, a gigantic two-handed sword that had actually been forged a day’s journey from where he was now. The sword was titanic, with part of the blade wrapped in leather so that in the heat of battle the reach could be shortened. He charged forward and nearly buckled under the augur of pain that bored into his right thigh, swinging at a man who pivoted away from him on horseback. The blade sliced through the man’s tattered black cloak and bit into the man’s breastplate. Daveth screamed and shoved forward; the blade went into the man’s guts while Daveth’s leg folded under him.

The man dug leathered hands into the dirt as he struggled to get away; Daveth forced himself to lunge with his left leg in a leaping dive as he brought both of his fists down on the man’s back.

He felt the man’s breastplate give under his fists, bending and warping. The man let out a scream of agony, but Daveth would not be denied. His hands gripped the man’s neck and twisted; he could feel the vertebra burst apart under the savage fury of his rage.

Even his rage, a furious thing that seemed almost to exist as a separate thing living inside of himself, could not spare him from shock and blood loss for long. Darkness clawed at his vision, drove spikes of nothingness into his ears and strangled the scream in his throat as unconsciousness wrapped itself around him.

*****

“Give him the bucket.” A dry voice heavy with the accents of the Anglish pierced the black, and Daveth rolled without thinking, his body reflexively trying to avoid the shock of freezing water.

Captain Aldric laughed as the giant threw himself out of bed.

“Well done, Commander.” Aldric congratulated. Daveth gave him a baffled look, and quickly surveyed his surroundings. He was in a tent, he’d thrown himself off the cot he was laying on. He was stripped to his smallclothes, and a number of bandages wound themselves around his arms, his head, his right leg, and his upper chest.

“The Crows?” Daveth asked, and in response Aldric unrolled the Carrion Crows war banner with a flourish and a bow. “You’re starting to get good at this.” Aldric praised as Daveth accepted the tattered flag with a stylized crow atop a skull. One of the feathers was green, stark against the grim black and white. Its twin, the one that Daveth earned in Tannit, had a violet feather.

“I don’t-” Daveth waved it away. “I passed out on the battlefield.” He complained. Aldric shrugged and sat on the cot Daveth had vacated.

“Doesn’t matter. It was your men that took the prize; you’re their commander.”

“And you’re the captain.” Daveth argued.

“True!” Aldric agreed. “But you drew the greedy lot. Sixty Crows dead on your end; a paltry thirty or so on mine.” He complained. “But the Crows are done for. At least these ones.”

Daveth pulled himself to a sitting position.

“So tell me the good news.” Daveth encouraged.

“What good news?” Aldric complained. “There’s a battlefield for you to plunder while I make apologies to Dorothea for using her as bait.” he remarked pointedly.

“She does tend to stand out in a crowd.” Daveth pointed out.

“True.” Aldric agreed. “Still no handle on who is riling up the countryside, mind-wiping peasants. Don’t know what Captain Alden is up to or where his carrot ass is.” He spat cryptically.

“Captain Alden?” Daveth gave him a baffled look, and Aldric tugged off one of his riding gloves and gave Daveth a slap across the face with it.

“Never call him by rank unless he’s in front of you and you’re about to take his head off. For you, Alden is enough. I’m the only one you need call Captain.”

“Cut the shit and tell me who he is.”

“He’s an ass. Cunning, crafty, and a villain through and through. Got a head full of bright orange hair; looks like a flaming carrot. You see him, you kill him the moment you lay eyes on him, because if you don’t, he’ll do for you.”

“Aldric, what is it with you and him?” Daveth asked, curiously probing his bandages with fingertips.

“I’ve told you enough already. We’ve always been at odds, even when we were commanded to work together. He’s a bastard and a monster. I lost .... a lot... to that bastard, but he lost just as much at my hands. I can’t stand him, he can’t stand me. This is a standing order from me, Daveth: you see him, you use all your strength to punch his head clean off his shoulders.”

Daveth blinked a few times. “Don’t think I’ve ever punched anybody’s head off.”

“Then it’ll be a personal best for you.” Aldric commented agreeably. He moved to get up, and then stopped.

“Oh. While you were out on maneuvers, I got a dispatch from my friend in Darnell. We can set up that thing we got from the Duchess anytime you like.”

Daveth gave Aldric a double-take. How did he get his dispatches so quickly?

“What is it?” Daveth asked, and Aldric grinned and stroked his beard. “Come with me and find out. Trust me, you’re going to love this.”