‘A land of opportunistic scum.’ is what Aldric called Philippa, but whether or not that was true was something outside of Daveth’s understanding.

Aldric had explained that, before the War of Liberation, Philippa had been more than a nation, it had been an entire city that spanned a nation, a city-state webbed across the land with roads and individual city-regions all working together in concert for the good of the whole. If Darnell was the Jewel of Humanity, then Philippa was surely its crown.

As for why it collapsed; Aldric had no idea. It seemed impossible for it to collapse. It was, geographically speaking, directly south from Darnell, across the Mirras. Help was just a matter of a few weeks’ travel by ship. There were layers of government authority, so even if one region fell, it should have been able to maintain law and order.

But it had fallen, and no attempt to correct it had worked. Philippa had decayed, falling apart into individual warring factions, and even those factions had schisms of their own. Self-proclaimed kingdoms fell apart. Warlords rose up and were slain. Dictatorships fractured and crumbled in the ashes of their own hubris.

Far to the east of Philippa, past Blackwall, past Ardeal, and just south of the country of Lyonesse was the Black Plateau, a noxious and poisoned land that the Anglish considered off-limits. “Do not go there,” they warned, “for madness and the Void's wild vengeance are the Black Plateau's only gifts to the presumptuous.” and, informally spoken, the same could be said to apply to Philippa. The only ships that actively tried to go to port were privately owned and charged cutthroat prices; the Anglish had learned at great expense what sort of reception awaited them.

Daveth eyed the rapidly approaching coastline. “Are you ...sure this is a good idea?” He muttered down at his captain.

Aldric looked up at Daveth, hating that the other man was head and shoulders taller than himself.

“We talked about this at Tannit. I thought we’d agreed that Philippa was a good idea.” Aldric replied.

Daveth unfolded arms as thick as tree trunks and nudged Aldric. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about them.”

He tipped his head to the side. Aldric didn’t have to walk around the giant to know what the man was worried about.

Sixty Yamato women, in the characteristic garb of Shrine Maidens stood on the deck in formation, swords sheathed at the waist, bows slung over shoulders, wicked polearms that looked to be a cross between a quarterstaff and a sword clutched in hand. They glared at everything. They frowned at anyone that looked in their direction. Anyone that approached them would find hands falling to sword hilts, spears being hefted, bows hurriedly strung.

“You didn’t think of it as a bad idea in Hitotsuna Town.” Aldric muttered around his pipe.

“I hadn’t expected them to be so... confrontational.” Daveth replied. “They’ve always been...” He paused, searching for the right word, “courteous... before. Not friendly, but at least polite.”

Aldric nodded at that. “So think about it for me. I think I can guess why they’re like that, I’m curious if you can guess it, too.”

Daveth frowned down at Aldric, who distracted himself with filling his pipe. “You’re not going to give me any clues?”

Aldric snorted. “Everything you need to understand the situation has already been put in front of you. All the puzzle needs is someone to put it together to see the picture.”

Daveth swore. “Fuck you and your ‘abstract thinking’ games. If you know what it is, say it, before some sad sack of shit gets his liver carved out of him by one of them.”

“Abstract thinking is what makes a good commander- or a captain.” Aldric replied comfortably. “Any soldier can follow orders. Any competent soldier can be shown a battle map and understand his place in it. But it takes a thinking man to come up with those strategies, those plans, those battle maps. To understand the territory, the lay of the land, the very weather itself, and decide how the battle will be fought, how it will change, and how, ultimately, it will end.”

“But-” Daveth began, but Aldric shook his head. “I’ve given you all the hints you deserve, and more. The rest is up to you. Either figure it out, or don’t. Our conversation on the matter stops here.”

*****

“Yukiko.” Daveth called as he strode over to the ranks of Shrine Maidens, all of which immediately shot him hot looks of anger and disapproval.

A middle-aged woman in a black coat who carried a metal-shod staff eyed Daveth with a tired sort of exasperation on her face.

“Yes?” She answered expectantly.

Daveth frowned as he thought, picking his words with care.

“You and yours have been increasingly on edge since we left Hitotsuna. Has anyone in the Seal treated you rudely, or dealt with you in a way you think is unfair?” He asked cautiously.

The woman arched an eyebrow. “Besides a certain giant of a man that refuses to address me by title?” She asked pointedly. Daveth gave her a half-smile. “Shrine Priestess, then. Same question.”

“‘Priestess’ will suffice, young man.” She retorted, and Daveth rolled his eyes. She might do him the courtesy of calling him ‘Commander’ in return, but only if he prodded her, which didn’t seem prudent at the moment. She continued, “Your men have treated us well.”

“Then why the hostility?” He asked simply. She gave him a complicated look.

“We’re on edge because the Yamato have not had a particularly good history with the continent of Rothgar.” She explained. “We made one expedition to this continent, in an effort to cleanse what the Anglish refer to as the Black Plateau.” She shook her head. “The records of that expedition were not... positive. There’s also the question of eminent domain with the Anglish.”

Daveth blinked. “I thought you were allies with them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You think us allies?” She shook her head. “Even if we were, we would still require permission from the Anglish to construct a Shrine.”

Daveth gave her another half-smile. “It’s providential for you then, because apparently there’s no functioning government to be found within Philippa.”

“I fail to see the benefits.”

Daveth blinked. “And yet you’re here.” he replied, baffled.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I was dragged out of bed by my sister Priestesses, and told- told- to accompany you and your men and establish a shrine in Philippa. I was not given an explanation, nor was I given the option to refuse.”

“Not my fault. I didn’t do it.” Daveth countered, raising his hands defensively.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Obviously.” she retorted scathingly.

Daveth absently pulled out his pipe and thumbed it full, subconsciously adjusting his posture as the ship heaved against the waves.

“We’re going to try and bring a little....” Daveth trailed off and gestured with his pipe as he sought the words Aldric had used, “stability to Philippa.” He mentioned. “Which should give you plenty of time to set up a Shrine and do... whatever it is you Shrine Maidens do, when it’s not poking holes in people.” He finished somewhat glibly.

“With zero concern for any consequences for a Merchant Cities mercenary band to be operating on Anglish soil. You really think that there will not be repercussions? When the Anglish find out a foreign government -allies though we might be- has opened a Shrine, do you really think they’ll wave it off as something of no concern? And what of the interim? While we struggle to build a Shine in hostile territory, where competing warlords kill each other for the smallest scrap of power, for the tiniest sliver of territory?” The woman sighed. “I fear my sisters have made a horrible decision that will result in all of our deaths.” She explained, rubbing her forehead irritably.

“Well, when you put it that way, you’re fucked.” Daveth offered with a chuckle, as he pulled out a wooden box of lucifers. “But Aldric knows some people here. Enough, at least, that we can set up a beachhead. From there, a Shrine for you and a fortified place for the Seal.”

He tried striking the match, but the wind snuffed it out. Yukiko waved her hand, and a tiny flame danced on her fingertip in defiance of the wind and waves. Daveth gave her a more genuine smile as he carefully puffed his pipe alight.

“Think ... happy thoughts. Ambitious thoughts.” He encouraged.

“There are a lot of things that you are ignorant of, Commander, but...” She smiled a little. “I’ll try.”

*****

The newly-reforged Seventh Seal, alongside sixty Yamato Shrine Maidens, led by Priestess Yukiko disembarked in the pearly gray of pre-dawn with all the speed they could muster. The Seventh Seal prided itself on how fast it could move; the Shrine Maidens themselves simply shouldered what they could carry and stepped off the ship.

The town that Aldric led them to was composed of about a thousand souls tucked behind a maze of walls and rubble that Daveth immediately picked up on; the maze was not just to confuse invaders, but set up several lethal killboxes.

“No towers.” He noticed suddenly. Aldric glanced over at him.

“In a land like this, a tower is like a signal fire, announcing to the rest of the world that they’re ready for war.” Aldric replied. “The people here are farmers and a few hunters. They’re not ready for war, they’re hiding from one.”

Daveth nodded. “So what’s our objective?” Aldric tugged out a scroll tube from his hip and passed it over.

Its contents was a map of this particular area of Philippa and a group of five small towns loosely connected with a few roads.

“With paved roads like these, I don’t understand how they can stay so isolated.” Daveth muttered.

“To use the roads is to invite death.” Aldric replied. “Nobody uses the old paved roads anymore because it’s too easy to get ambushed using them.”

“So... game trails? Hidden roads? Magic?” Daveth guessed.

“Well, the last time I was here, nobody was going anywhere. They hunkered down in their cities and stayed put.” Aldric explained. “We were able to convince them to try trading with another village- that’ll be our next stop, by the way- and so trade is going to start springing up again.” He grinned nastily and added, “And this time we’ll be using the roads.”

Daveth tugged on his beard as he considered the map. Aldric was doing his secretive thing again, which meant that it was Daveth’s responsibility to figure out his plan and react accordingly.

*****

Daveth rode his mammoth horse next to one of the wagons they were guarding, absently toying with one of the guns he’d picked up from the dwarves. Despite the fact that it was a rifle, it was designed for someone far smaller than him, and so it looked like a toy in his massive hand. He handed it over to Aldric.

“So how does it work?” He asked curiously.

“You don’t know?” Aldric goggled at him in surprise. Daveth shrugged.

“If I could have figured it out, I’d’ve used them against the Carrion Crows.” Daveth replied somewhat defensively. Aldric chuckled.

“I thought guns were just smaller versions of cannon, but I couldn’t see any fuse.” Daveth explained.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, man.” Aldric replied. “We’ll have a talk about it later. Right now-”

Daveth nodded and jutted his chin up at a short cliff that had been cleaved in two to allow the road to pass through it. No matter how you looked at it, it was the perfect spot for an ambush. Already the Seal’s ranks were shifting formation as they approached the cut.

“I hate ambushes. Always feel like we’re outmatched at the start.” Daveth muttered.

“You gonna try punching the cliff down?” Aldric offered sarcastically.

“I was thinking of tossing you up there, actually.” Daveth snapped back irritably.

“What a horrible idea.” Aldric affirmed, and checked the draw on his saber.

“Could use some mages about now.” Daveth muttered as the first ranks of the Seventh Seal entered into the bottleneck.

“That’d be nice.” Aldric agreed, leaning forward in his saddle to watch over the front ranks. If something happened, he’d head up front; Daveth would hang back with the Tross. The only mage they had now was Nicola, the last apprentice mage from the once-terrifyingly famous all-mage mercenary band, the Radiant Sons. Aldric had absorbed the tattered remnants of the Radiant Sons into the Seal, only to have most of them massacred by the Anglish. They’d picked up another small band of mage-mercenaries, the Ebon Hand, but they’d all lost their lives fighting against a giant lava hound summoned up by the dwarves that lived under the Shaper’s homeland.

No mages had approached the Seventh Seal this time; maybe word had gotten out about their low survivability in the Seal. It seemed strange; It wasn’t so long ago that Daveth couldn’t see the value in using mages. They were flighty, incomprehensible, and prone to breaking ranks and running when things got too hot. A pikeman would set his pike and hold if he was told; a mage was too overwhelmed with self-preservation to stand against a charge. Or, at least, that’s how he’d seen it before.

Was it the quality of the mage, then? The ones they’d managed to scoop up and scrape together in the beginning had been few and far between, men and women with scraps of magical talent but no real training. The Radiant Sons were peerless; at the height of their notoriety, they’d been a thousand strong, could ride and wield sword and axe alongside the best of soldiers.

Daveth considered this as he pulled a sword from his pouch and laid it across his lap. If an ambush was going to happen, it would happen soon.

“Right now I wish we’d sent Audra and her scout files out and around and up the cliffsides.” Daveth muttered tensely.

“That ... might have touched off something bigger than we can chew.” Aldric suggested. “Think small, move small.” He offered, and that’s when the mutant on the cliffside stood up.

Mutation had not been kind to the man; forcing a third arm up in the gap between his neck and shoulder, forcing his head into a permanent tilt to the right. Nevertheless, he held three large rocks in each of his fists and he began tossing them down on the Seventh Seal.

The horses shied and let out screams, the ranks fractured. One of the cavalrymen unlimbered a horsebow and fired several shafts upwards at the man, who barked a doglike laugh and ducked behind a boulder as the arrows clattered uselessly against the stone.

“Son of a pigfucked goat-” Daveth swore as a second mutant wobbled to the other side of the narrows. He was grossly, morbidly obese, his ovoid body topped by a tiny, hairless head. His entire skin was a yellow the color of old urine, skin covered in patchy scales. His tiny arms whirled for balance as he tottered to the edge of the cliff on stumpy feet, giggling girlishly. A jet of noxious liquid spurted from his navel, showering the ranks beneath him in a stream of virulently green gluck that sizzled like acid on everything it touched.

“Archers!” Aldric called, but the ranks of men were running pell-mell, trying to escape the acid that dissolved armor, melted skin, and ate through flesh. Horses staggered, collapsing, crushing their riders underneath.

“Fucking-” Aldric barked, he sword, useless, in his hand.

A pistol shot like the crack of thunder caused the jaundiced mutant to explode in a shower of gore that splashed, sizzling, along the cliffside. A second shot took the three-armed mutant in the chest; he pitched off of the cliff with a wheezing cry, slamming into the stone-paved road with a wet crunch of bone.

A woman appeared in the screaming masses, a golden fog shrouding her feet. As she walked among them, their cries tapered off into shocked shouts of wonder.

She continued picking her way through the press of soldiers until she stood in front of Daveth and Aldric.

She was tall for a woman, taller than most women, and about as tall as Aldric was. Her hair was done in a thick braid that hung across one shoulder and draped down to her belts. She carried herself with aristocratic grace, and Daveth suspected her roving eye picked up the slightest detail.

“Which of you is in command?” She eyed the two of them carefully. Her eyes were a deep vibrant green, the green of polished emeralds.

“I am.” Aldric replied. “Who wants to know?” Daveth interjected.

“The woman that healed your men and horses.” She replied simply, flipping her braid over her shoulder with practiced ease.

“What do you want with me?” Aldric asked, and she gave him a cocky grin.

“Have you heard of a woman calling herself ‘Odessa’?” She asked curiously. “Black hair, blue eyes... a formidable woman. You’d know if you’ve seen her.”

Aldric gave the woman in front of him a puzzled look. “No, can’t say I have. What business is it to you?”

She shrugged. “It’s between her and I.”

“Why should we tell you if we have?” Daveth challenged.

The woman ticked off points on her fingers ostentatiously. “I killed the mutants- I cannot abide them-, I healed your men, and their horses as well.” She looked over her hand up at Daveth.

Daveth gave her a complicated frown. “...I saw her.” He muttered. “It was a couple of years ago, in the deserts of Bel Arib.”

The woman slumped. “Bel-Arib, again. I hate that place.”

Aldric nodded. “I personally hope to never set foot there again.” He sympathized. The woman shrugged.

“If I have to go there, I suppose I must.” She muttered, then she straightened. “Last question and I’ll leave you to it: Have you encountered any Champions?”

Aldric’s face went blank and neutral. Daveth eyed him, and shrugged. “We had one with us, for a time. She died in a fight with a lich, an undead creature.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “It’s very difficult to kill a Champion.” She offered. “This Lich, did they have a name?”

“Nothulzoth the Interred.” Daveth replied, and the woman frowned again, staring off into the distance. “That one is unbelievably persistent.” She muttered, frustrated.

She looked up at the both of them. “Thank you for your time. It seems I’ve got some more traveling to do.”

She turned away, and then turned back, a puzzled frown on her face. She had a scrutinizing, but puzzled look on her face.

“That sword...” She muttered, and gestured at Aldric’s saber. “I don’t know how you got it, but it served my master for nearly fifty years and me for ten. Someday I’d like to know how it found its way into your hands.” She muttered, and then shook her head as if to dispel her thoughts.

Aldric traded glances with Daveth, but the woman simply holstered her pistol and strode down the road, back the way they’d come.

Daveth opened his mouth, but Aldric gestured. “See to our men. I’ll keep an eye on our asses, in case she comes back.”

Daveth nodded and urged his horse forward.

The trip through the narrow defile was mercifully Free of further ambush. In fact, it seemed the woman from before had killed a number of mutants as she traveled through the canyon they passed through, their twisted, cancerous bodies laying here and there.

“Seems they got in her way.” Daveth observed.

“They’d be in our way if she hadn’t come this way first.” Aldric replied.

“And your sword?” Daveth asked, and Aldric shrugged.

“I’ve no fucking clue. It was my grandfather’s sword when he served in the Anglish Navy. It was my sword when I did the same.”

Audra rode back to them. “Battle up ahead, sir.” She reported. Her hair had grown back, but one of her ears drooped like it had wilted.

Daveth and Aldric exchanged glances, and forced their way forward, towards where the canyon opened up.

On either side of the road, two forces squared off. One looked to be a sizable force, perhaps two or three thousand men. The other force was a much smaller number, and as they churned and milled about, it was difficult to get an exact count, but it looked like at least four hundred.

Aldric looked to Daveth. “Support the underdog, or stand with the other group?”

“Not our fight.” Daveth replied, and folded his hands on the pommel of his saddle.

“Suppose so.” Aldric nodded, and they ordered the Seal to take up ranks as the larger force massed for a charge across the road, cavalry lowering lances, archers nocking arrows.

A bugle signaled a charge, and the larger force rushed down on the much smaller force. Daveth shook his head; there was no discipline in that charge, it seemed every man was for himself. A proper charge should have been information. Still, they had numbers, and it was numbers that would win the day.

“FIRE!” A man roared from the smaller force, and suddenly the front ranks thrust their hands forward and long jets of fire blasted out, arcing across the road, smashing into the charging troops. Archers launched flights of arrows even as they crumpled in flames.

“Seems the underdog doesn’t need our help after all.” Aldric observed as the much larger force tried to scatter to avoid the jets of flame.

“HAILSTORM!” The voice shouted again, and the men and women in the front ranks pulled back as fist-sized chunks of ice hurtled through the air so quickly Daveth could hear them humming as they rocketed past.

The chunks of ice smashed through the remaining ranks as the larger force tried to organize a retreat.

“Wish we had a crank-gun. That’d show them we’re not to be fucked with, either.” Daveth muttered.

Aldric raised an eyebrow. “Which side?”

“Both. Neither. I don’t know. I’d rather we didn’t get our asses dragged into this fight.” Daveth replied.

“Audra, get Morden up here with the rifleman files.” He pointed at the milling forces desperately trying to retreat from the mages.

She vanished, and while Morden was forcing his way through the ass-end of the narrow canyon, the retreat finally succeeded and the much larger but much less coordinated force quit the field.

The smaller force likewise retreated, but in the opposite direction.

“Well... shit.” Aldric muttered. “I figured a show of force might net us another ally.”

Daveth barked a laugh. “You just want the mages for yourself.”

Aldric laughed nastily. “They fight in coordination. They’re formidable. I’d rather have them with us than against us.”

Daveth nodded. “You know what I see?”

“Mmm.” Aldric replied. “Get the Tross up here and let the gleaners get to work. Tell them to be quick. Look for insignia, sigils, something that can tell us who it was that got their shit royally pushed in.”

In addition to providing food, horseshoes, arrows, and other work, the Tross also had the inglorious responsibility of cleaning a battlefield when it was over. They’d take armor, weapons, any foodstuffs, strip the corpses for anything of value. Usually those in the Seal that’d participated in the fight could claim their own loot, but in this case, the Seventh Seal hadn’t gotten involved. Anyone wanting loot would have to purchase it from the quartermaster.

As the Tross went to work, Aldric and Daveth studied the map they’d been making as soon as they’d arrived in Philippa. They guarded merchant trains from one small town to another, there and back again, killing small groups of bandits and keeping fights from breaking out.

“I had my doubts.” Daveth muttered, “When we landed, I didn’t think we’d make it past the first town. But you were right, those five towns were ripe for the plucking. Steady work, low risk, kill some bandits and get a hot meal, bandages, clean water. Not too shabby at all.”

“As long as those towns keep trading with each other, business is flowing, and business is good.” Aldric agreed. “There should be another town up here past this canyon a ways. Least, that’s what we’ve been told.”

“Same offer? A trade route through the pass to the towns on the other side?”

Aldric shrugged. “That, I don't know. This canyon will always be a spot for an ambush. Anyone can get up there and dump shit down on top of anyone that happens to go through it. Doesn’t have to be mutants or freaks, either. Some asshat with a boner and a grudge could decide that they own that pass and depending on how it goes, could rain fury down on everyone.”

Daveth frowned. “We don’t have the men to secure the pass and keep it secured.”

Aldric nodded. “Agreed. Not our job, either. We get the towns talking to each other on either side, we might just convince them it’s in their best interests to secure it for themselves.”