The city of Selville was ecstatic for the chance to sell. They had a massive influx of tradable goods but no way to move any of it. Daveth picked himself up a long leather coat, as well as new tack for his horse, his saddle was beyond repair and needed to be replaced. Aldric got himself a pair of whetstones, and was summarily mocked by Daveth with the discovery that the man didn’t even know how to use them correctly to sharpen his own sword.

The mages bought all sorts of mysterious plants and minerals that they jostled each other for, arguments flaring over which were more effective and which was more important for what use. Aldric and Daveth eyed each other over these arcane discussion, magic being wholly outside of their wheelhouse. Mages were mages after all. If the mages needed magnets and dirt and weird herbs and crystals, well, it didn’t matter to them , as long as it got results. Nicola, the sole surviving mage from the Radiant Sons trailed after the more senior mages from Therannia like a baby bird, picking up bits of lore and tidbits of arcane schooling.

The Tross discharged a number of people, several prostitutes that had taken pregnant, a smith that had promised the world but couldn’t shoe a horse worth a damn, and a man that had had a surprisingly long-lived career as a petty thief amongst the ranks of the Tross for literally years. A few coppers here, a silver or two there was all he’d taken, but across the years since the Tiba peninsula, it amounted to a hefty sum.

They strung the man up in the center of camp and whipped his back until it was tattered, bloody ribbons, his purloined treasure arrayed in front of him as the last thing he would see.

In the beginning he screamed that it hadn’t been him, it was someone else, someone else that had set him up. After that, he switched his tune to contrition; he had learned his lesson, he wouldn’t take anything, anymore.

Aldric and Daveth elected to hold all Seventh Seal meetings in the open space where the man had finally broken down into sobbing and weeping. As Aldric, Daveth, and Malacath drily read off file distributions, formation changes, and went over the routes they’d be taking, the man could be seen hanging from his hands and feet, his pile of stolen coin inches from his face.

One of Malacath’s men finally spoke up.

“Commander, Captain, meaning no disrespect, but isn’t this barbarity?” He asked, stepping forward with crisp, clean movements.

“All punishments within the Seal must be physical, painful, and public.” Aldric replied. “Everyone must see the consequences of breaking the rules, and then one that has broken the rules must feel the shame of his crime carved into his bones. Everyone needs to see the price of failure. He needs to feel the weight of his failure. There is no room for opportunistic scum that think of themselves as apart from the Seventh Seal. We are all of us brothers and sisters in battle.” He paused, and Daveth picked up where Aldric left off.

“You shouldn’t feel pity for him, you should feel disgust that he would betray all of you for a handful of coin.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Breaking the rules violates the trust we put in each other. If you knew him; feel ashamed that you associated with him. If you participated in his thievery; we’ll find you too.” He took another breath and then added, “For the crime of thievery, usually a flogging and two weeks in the stocks is sufficient to discourage other would-be thieves. It’s usually enough to encourage even the most ambitious thief to see the error of his ways. This incident is unusual in that he’s been stealing from us for years. Thus, instead of getting one degree of punishment, he receives all three.”

He turned back to Aldric. “First punishment is a choice of being flogged or two weeks in the stocks. The second punishment is both. Third and final punishment is either expulsion or execution. Normally, I would call for expulsion, but he’s been doing this for years. I call for execution.”

Morden stepped forward from the ranks, leaning heavily on his cane. “I’d had my suspicions of him from time to time, but I couldn’t pin him down to anything. As the one that finally caught him the act, I say he should be executed, his belongings and his ... ill-gotten gains returned to the Seventh seal coffers.”

Daveth shook his head. “You really think someone would want the tent of a thief? His clothes? His horse?”

Morden shrugged. “Clothes can be turned into bandages. Tents can be reused or sold, and we always have a need for horseflesh.”

Malacath stepped forward. “His sins are heavy enough that even I can see them, Commander, Captain.” he gestured at the ranks of the Seventh Seal arrayed out in front of them. “No one wants to associate with him. No one wants to claim him as friend, no one wants to beg for clemency on his behalf. I see disgust, revulsion, and the kind of hurt that comes with betrayal, something those from Therannia should understand very well.” He turned back towards Daveth and Aldric. “If his final sentence is to be death or expulsion, then I hold to the hope that he can find some semblance of redemption away from the Seal. I say he should be expelled from the Seal, with only the clothes on his back.”

Aldric pulled out his pipe and turned it over and over in his hands.

“Morden, you said you had a helping hand in digging out this traitor, did you not?” He asked, never bothering to look up from his pipe. “You think they’ll be willing to offer their opinions?”

Morden shrugged, and waved, and Alysia and Lynnabel came forward. Daveth jerked in surprise, Aldric rubbed his chin, and Malacath raised his eyebrow.

Daveth leaned over to Aldric and muttered, “Five silver say they call for his head.”

Aldric didn’t look up from his pipe. “Sucker’s bet. They wouldn’t call for anything less.”

Alysia and Lynnabel gave their testimonies, which amounted to spotting a clever palming technique and bringing it to the attention of Morden.

“As for sentence...” The twins looked at each other, nodded, and turned towards the command staff.

“We call for expulsion.” Alysia called

“We call for execution.” Lynnabel called, their voices overlapping. They each looked at their opposite and gave mirroring looks of confusion.

“Why would you call for expulsion, sister? He clearly broke the bonds of trust.” Lynnabel accused, her voice sharp.

“Why would you call for execution, sister? Humans have a sense of justice that is different from our own.” Alysia rebutted.

They stared at each other for a few moments, and then nodded again.

“I was wrong. The man should be executed.” Alysia decided, as Lynnabel added

“I was wrong. The man should be expelled from the Order.”

They stared at each other again.

Aldric coughed a few times into his fist while Daveth stroked his beard.

“You piece of shit bastard, I should have taken your bet.” Aldric wheezed in a whispered voice straining to hold back unexpected laughter.

He glanced over at the man who hung limply by his cords.

Honestly, Aldric didn’t have a strong memory of the man. He moved around a bit, taking a hand at fletching, horseshoeing, pounding out dents in armor bits, tallying stocks of food and usable cloths, inventorying the tools and inspecting the tents, handling the carts. A number of know-nothing jobs that anyone could do.

“As captain of the Seal, it falls to me to dispense justice. In this case, execution and burial in an unmarked grave. No one will know him, no one will welcome him home. May his Patron turn their face away from him, and may he be consigned to the Void of Oblivion for all of eternity.”

As the Tross took care of breaking down the camp and packing everything away in preparation for the lengthy trip down south, Daveth pulled Alysia towards his tent.

She stood uncertainly in the center of his room as he moved around his room, tucking some things into his saddlebags, which seemed to be magical.

“You called me here for something, Lord Commander?” She asked, and he nodded and took a seat on the table that doubled as his desk when he needed to do any writing.

“How are thieves treated in the Order of the Wolf?” He asked curiously.

Her eyes widened. “There are no thieves among our ranks.”

His brows raised. “None? At all?” She shook her head, and then tilted it to the side.

“I am ... willing to explain... a few things to you.” She finally decided. “With the understanding that this is not something I do lightly. This treads ... heavily... on the Order, and I would have you respect the trust I put in you by revealing these things.”

Daveth nodded. “I’ll take your secrets to the grave with me.”

She nodded seriously. “See that you do, Lord Commander.”

Daveth gestured, and she sat herself on the floor of his tent.

“We are raised... communally until the age of ten. There is no room for thievery during that time.” She paused. “We are trained quite rigorously during this time, until our aptitudes awaken within us.”

Daveth blinked at that. “Aptitudes?”

She compressed her lips. “Perhaps I spoke too much.” She sighed. “There are four Orders within the Order of the Wolf: The Golds, the Silvers, the Whites, and the Blood.”

Daveth scratched his beard; it was a habit he did when he was thinking.

“So by aptitudes you mean for each of those.” he decided, and she nodded.

“Tell me a little bit about each, if you don’t mind.” He asked, and she immediately shook her head. “Everything you need to know about our factions has been on display for you to see since the first time we met, Lord Commander. The Golds excel in all things. The Silvers excel at analysis, strategy. One day my sister and I will have mastered your methods of fighting and we will turn them against you.”

Daveth grinned at that. “I like that; a challenge.” He pulled out a knife and cleaned his nails. “And the Whites?”

She frowned. “I do not wish to speak of them, because you will then use that as leverage to ask about the Blood.” her expression settled. “It is enough that you know that the Golds and the Silvers exist.”

“Back to training, then.” Daveth urged. She frowned a little at that. “From ten until we are fourteen we are trained by our elders. At sixteen, we are permitted to take to the field, unsupervised.”

He was certain that there was something she was hiding about the gap of time between fourteen and sixteen, but that wasn’t his goal for the day.

“So no thievery.” He repeated. She nodded. “Our armor and weapons are made for us; there is no point to thievery.”

He nodded at that. “I guess I am trying to figure out how you judge crime in the Order.”

She rubbed her face with her hand.

“You humans describe crime in too many ways. Theft of things is different from theft of a life. There are ... degrees of infractions and punishments.” She explained, frustration in her voice. “In the Order, we are taught that there is only the Order, and the rest of the world. For a sister to violate our rules and precepts, it is betrayal, and there is only one punishment: death.”

Daveth scratched his chin again. Alysia rose to her feet.

“I would like to end this interview, Lord Commander. There are things I need to attend to, alongside my sister.”

Daveth nodded. “You and your sister have proved yourselves many times since we took you on. I think it’s okay to tell you this now, but you’ll be placed in File Leader commands before we reach Therannia.”

Alysia froze at this. “If that is what you decide.” She managed to wrangle out, and stepped out of his tent and took several deep lungfuls of clean morning air. The smell of him, the proximity of him, the feeling of being in his tent, so close to where he made his bed for the night, it was exhilarating and at the same time, clouded her judgement.

*****

“You and I, we need to have ourselves a talk.” Aldric decided as they rode out of the shadow of Selville.

“Hmm?” Daveth replied. He was eating out of one of the lacquered boxes of food the strange girl had left for him. The smells wafting out of the box made Aldric drool with envy. It was clearly prepared by a master chef at the peak of their craft.

“That girl seemed to know you. Who was she? What... was she?” He began.

Daveth shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno. That alcohol... it kicked harder than a terrified horse.”

Aldric rolled his eyes. “She seemed to know you.”

Daveth shrugged his shoulders again and took another bite of food. He was using a pair of sticks to tweeze the food into his mouth.

Aldric had seen the Yamato use them in his infrequent deals with them, but the girl, while she spoke with a heavy Yamato accent, did not bear the physical traits typically associated with the Yamato. Also, those sticks he was using so casually looked to be carved and polished gemstone, not wood. He wasn’t certain what sort of gemstone, but those were definitely polished stone.

“Daveth, I normally don’t give a fuck about what my men do as long as they’re in line, but things are happening now that I’d like some answers to.” He exploded, exasperated. “Why did she call you ‘Marauder’?”

Daveth swallowed carefully. “I don’t know that part, yet.”

Aldric shook his head. “You’re making less and less sense. I’d like some fucking answers.” He paused. “I need to know I can still trust you.” he added in a lower voice.

Daveth nodded. “It wasn’t the first time I've been called that.” He admitted. “The first time was in the land of the Shapers. One of them called me the Marauder. I thought at the time that he was referring to me as an outsider, but then it occurred to me that he didn’t call the Seventh Seal ‘Marauders’, or even Audra, who was with me at the time. Just me.”

Aldric frowned at that. “And?”

“And what?” Daveth asked, tucking another treat into his mouth.

“What does it mean?” Aldric asked.

Daveth took a breath and looked down at the food arrayed in front of him. “I think that because I look different, people think that I am something I’m not.”

Aldric simmered in his frustration for a bit. “I’ll tell you what I know for some of that food.”

Daveth barked a laugh and passed him the tray. Aldric touched the carved gem chopsticks and frowned. This was jade, a yamato stone they considered precious. He forked some of the meat into his mouth and savored the sweet and spicy flavors, the textures as they exploded on his tongue, the smoky aftertaste that urged him to take another bite.

“A marauder can be thought of an outsider, it’s true. Someone that invades a community from outside. Another way to think of it, a marauder is a raider. Someone that moves from place to place, attacking and pillaging as he wills.” Aldric couldn’t resist the siren call of the meat, he took another bite and relished the savor. “Another way to think of the word is someone that invades and destroys the peace.”

Daveth nodded, and Aldric helped himself to another bite.

“And the tattoos?” Aldric asked, and Daveth rubbed one of his hands along his other arm.

“I have no idea.” He stated flatly.

“Daveth, tattoos don’t simply appear for no reason-” Aldric began, and Daveth glared at Aldric, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

“You don’t think I don’t know that? Dumb Daveth, has no idea how the world works, can’t possibly understand what a tattoo is or how they’re gained, right?” Daveth snapped, and Aldric froze. Daveth shouldered his horse closer and snatched the tray from Aldric’s hands.

“Don’t fucking patronize me like that, man.” Daveth muttered in a hurt voice. “I might not be a fucking nobleman, may have grown up in a fucking logging village, but I do pay attention. I can learn.”

“I’m sorry Daveth. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t want you thinking that I think you’re an idiot, either. I chose you to be my fucking commander because I know you’re not dumb.” Aldric explained. “It’s just I’m trying to make sense of some inexplicable fucking shit.”

Daveth nodded. “You think you’ve got it bad, try being in my shoes, where the shit is actually fucking happening.” he accused.

He looked over at Aldric. “Do you know what an ‘Original Key’ is?” He asked, and Aldric gave him a baffled look.

“I’ve never once heard the term.” Aldric replied honestly. Daveth nodded. “Neither do I, but apparently I have two of them? Apparently that’s a big fucking deal, but I can’t make sense of it.”

“Who told you this?” Aldric asked.

Daveth rolled his eyes. “The Phoenix. She came to me in my dreams and told me.”

“Okay, I think we’re going to have to stop right there.” Aldric replied placatingly, and held his hands up on his lap as a gesture of surrender. “I don’t know shit about Patrons, and I don’t particularly care about them either, except to know that when I die, one of them will come for my soul. That’s enough for me, as a soldier. This faith crap... Daveth, the Anglish went to war over different faiths. We worshiped a patron of sorts, one of the False Gods. You tell me to put my faith in something I can't see and I’ll spit it back at you: I can’t. I refuse. I’ll fight for what I believe is right; I’ll fight for coin if I have to. But for a God? No way.”

Daveth gave him a bitter half-smile. “I think this ‘Marauder’ is something I might’ve been before.”

Aldric ran it around in his mind. Patrons took ownership of your soul when you died, and spun you back out in the world, in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. What was the point of the cycle? Who cared? As far as he knew, people that seriously cared about Patrons were those that trucked with the arcane, since they needed a patron’s protection to shield themselves from the toxic effects of magic.

Daveth was no mage, however.

“The kami at Araya-jinja called me ‘Son of Battles’.” Daveth mused, a little louder than just to himself. “Eleven called me something else- I can’t remember. The shaper called me ‘Marauder’, and then the Phoenix did the same. And now- that girl.” He paused. “If she was even a girl.” He added as an afterthought, remembering Eleven’s habit of changing her shape to suit her mercurial whims. “I think it means something. What? I dunno.” He shrugged and ate some more food. “I’m a soldier, Aldric. This shit goes right over my head. You ask me what it means and I tell you I don’t know. You don’t believe me, but I really don’t.”

“I might have a thought.” Malacath offered from behind them.

Daveth frowned a little at the invasion of privacy, but brushed it aside. There was no such thing as privacy when you were marching down the road. You had to take a shit, you did it in full sight of the rest of the Seal. They didn’t care, and eventually, you stopped caring, too.

“There’s a story told in Temple about such things.” Malacath began, and with a sheepish grin held his hand out towards the tray that Daveth held.

Wordlessly, Daveth passed it back. After a couple of bites of food, Malacath smiled. “That is fantastic fare. I doubt anyone has ever prepared such food in all of Therannia.” he dabbled at the edge of his lips with a handkerchief.

“All of us, all of Therannia worship the Phoenix. It is said that if you grow strong enough in your power, then the Patrons themselves will start to turn their eyes towards you. Naturally, all of us desire the Phoenix’s attention, so we tattoo Her marks in our skin, we adorn our armor in Her likeness, we send her our prayers and our praises, and we strive for more, in hopes to catch Her eye and draw her attention.” He passed the tray back to Daveth, who quickly ate the remaining contents before anyone else decided to ask for a bite.

“It’s possible that what we have striven to do with all of our might, you have accomplished on your own, without guidance.” He smiled a little bitterly. “Nevertheless, I have never heard tell of this ‘Marauder’ you speak of. Perhaps it’s a legend beyond the knowing of our nation.” He waved his hand to show that he didn’t particularly care about what a ‘Marauder’ was, and his tone indicated that no matter how it was presented it would be just as summarily ignored. “But the stronger you grow- not just physically, but in your mind, in your insights, the more attention you will draw from higher powers.”

Daveth gave him a confused look as he stowed his food tray in his saddlebag and pulled out his pouch of tobacco and packed his pipe full.

“I’m no hero.” Daveth complained, striking a lucifer and puffing his pipe alight.

“You saved me, didn’t you?” Malacath offered. “You tossed all of us into that... pipe-thing when the Beast was aroused and the walls of the chasm were collapsing in on us. You freed the Beast, and you turned my despair at abandoning my country into the desire to correct its broken path.” He explained. “That would certainly earn you the title of ‘hero’ in my book, Commander.”

Aldric swiveled around in his saddle and faced the long train of soldiers and wagons that trailed after them.

“Attention to the valiant men, women, and elves of the Seventh Seal!” He shouted. “Daveth is our hero!”

A chorus of laughter and scattered applause rolled down the length of the army and then back again.

“I fuckin’ hate you, Aldric.” Daveth muttered.