I stand T posing at the entrance of the camp as one of the guards chucks a bucket full of water right into my face. The clean water soaks through my clothes and I barely have the time to draw a fresh breath before any I am hit by another load of water. Somewhere deeper in the camp, I can hear Christina scrubbing away at my soiled battle jacket over a tub of warm soapy water. 

"Got you a brush." Mills says as he walks up to me, carrying the aforesaid long handled brush, its hard bristles standing to attention. 

I rub my fingers together, feeling the greasy slickness of goblin blood mixing with the water that I'm being doused with. I make a mental note to tell Christina to clean and oil my sword once she's done with the battle jacket. Wouldn't want old faithful to start rusting once all this is over. 

"I can bathe myself you know." I remark to Mills, accepting the brush while the guard splashing me with water gives a thumbs up, "There's no need to get both myself and my clothes all wet."

"You made a complete mess of the place the last time you were here." Mills sniffs, "By the time you made it to the bathing area, there was monster blood and gristle spread all over the camp. The smell was horrid."

"Yeah, I bet." I sigh, admitting defeat. My work isn't the neatest, that's why a clean set of clothes is always part of my luggage wherever I go. 

"You know how difficult it is to get clean water here?" Mills folds his arms critically, "It takes a work crew a full day to return from the nearest oasis. A good bath is a luxury here, Mac."

"Is that why I always smell incense on you?" I raise an eyebrow, recalling how Mills' tent was usually choked with that sickly sweet perfumed scent. 

"Would it kill you just to be a little grateful?" Mills huffs, but without any rancor. 

"Many thanks, Young Master Rahm." I perform an elaborate bow as I stifle a grin, sweeping the long handled brush like a ceremonial cane. 

"Smart ass." Mills laughs, "No wonder no one likes you back at the keep."

"Plenty of people like me." I object, "I would have you know that I am a Magic Knight of good standing and fully qualified to train an apprentice." 

"Sure." Mills replies, his amused smile fading into a more neutral expression, "So, the goblins and our uninvited guests."

I frown inwardly, realizing Mills just wasn't here to lark around with me. The presence of those four humans among the goblin pack had raised questions in his mind. And I'm sure one of those questions is why I had chosen to let those guys go without a fight. 

"What about them?" I ask cautiously, probing how far Mills wanted to take this line of inquiry. 

"There were four humans back there." Mills begins his interrogation, "Wearing the insignia of the eight sided star on their chain mail."

"Well yeah. They did take off those silly rags once I challenged them." I shrug, "If their uniforms can be trusted, those guys are from the Order of Impartial Justice."

"Strange name. Too wordy. Doesn't mention their founder either." Mills grunts, scratching his hair, "What do you think of them, Mac?"

"Like you said, they're strange." I hum, looking up into the sky while focusing my thoughts, "As their name implies, they're devoted to the idea of 'impartial justice', whatever that means. But in practice, those guys are mainly masterless renegades."

"Oh?" Mills leans forward, interested, "Isn't the Order a recognized knightly house as well? How can they be renegades then?"

"How do I put this?" I muse, struggling with the words, "Look, the Order's big principle is 'Without Fear Or Favor.' You with me so far?"

Mills nods silently, gesturing at me to continue. 

I take a deep breath and press on, "The Order isn't loyal to anything other than their creed. Its members are supposed to pursue impartial justice without fear or favor. That's why one day you see their knights being hired by criminal gangs or sometimes attacking the royal gendarme. Then immediately after that the very same Order knight is beating down an alleged rapist who is too well connected for the gendarme to go after. Its all very confusing."

"Positively schizophrenic you might say?" Mills' educated lilt follows up. 

"That's one way of putting it." I agree. 

"But what does any of that have to do with Impartial Justice?" Mills questions, a strangely intent look in his eyes. 

"Something, something equality of arms, something, something fairness of the contest." I answer with a slightly bewildered tone, "I don't claim to understand it, but the Order's creed doesn't revolve around morality per se. Its more like for them, a cause is just not because it is morally correct, but because everyone involved had a fair shot at success?"

"Interesting." Mills mutters, his expression flat, "The rules of an honor duel writ large."

"You could put it that way." I affirm, "The Order has a temple back in the city. You could go there and directly ask them your questions if you want."

"And I wouldn't have anything to fear from them?" Mills quips, his face sinking back into calm impassiveness, "Their Knights were involved in an attack on me after all."

"Those weren't Knights. I hardly sensed any magic in them." I scoff, "Those were just Order Conscripts. Poor scrubs who indentured themselves into service for the sake of some lessons in the Art. They may know some minor spells, but that's about it."

"And yet you let them go." Mills says pointedly, his words heavy with unspoken accusation., "I believe your apprentice was objecting very loudly as well."

Damn it. Christina really should learn to shut up when her opinion is not wanted. And that's the reason I sent her away to wash my coat. I didn't want her to keep making a fuss over a matter I had considered closed and done with. 

"Rules of Courtesy." I explain, pushing my annoyance at Christina to the back of my mind, "A Knight can only meet his fellows on an openly declared field of battle. My hands are tied chief."

"The Order's Conscripts were standing right there," Mills objects with a raised eyebrow, "in the middle of a field of corpses."

"They never attacked me." I elaborate, "And the House of Robeur has not declared hostilities on them. I had no other choice but to let the conscripts go."

"Huh." Mills grunts, but again without any real heat in it. 

I know Mills probably thinks I'm feeding him a line of bullshit, but there is a fair amount of truth in the tale I'm spinning. Back in the early days of the Magic Knights, there would be bloodshed at the drop of a hat between practitioners. A natural consequence of magic, egos and lots of men trained to fight. If not for all the fratricidal killing that occurred, the kingdom and the various noble houses would not have been able to assert their dominance over us. 

The noble houses picked up the pieces after that short but bloody conflict, reforming the surviving Magic Knights into the recognized Knightly Houses, with independent practitioners outlawed. A handy mechanism to keep all Magic Knights part of the system and under the thumbs of our supposed betters. The best part of the scheme was that it encouraged the most powerful knights to clamp down on everyone under them, since independent practitioners endangered the privileged position of the Knightly Houses. 

The Order of Impartial Justice was one of the unexpected beneficiaries of the new system. Once an extremely small organization, thanks to their bizarre code, independent practitioners fleeing the crackdowns found a home under their banner. With their swelling ranks, the Order petitioned the kingdom to be recognized as a Knightly Order in their own right. Since co-option was always better than confrontation, the kingdom chose to acknowledge this new rising force, along with their crazy ideology in the bargain. 

The Order's reputation still stank of course, no reputable Knight would touch them with a gondola pole, but they had standing equal to an established group like the House of Robeur, as much as everyone would like to deny it. 

The Rule of Courtesy was a development in this new era, created to regulate conflicts between Knights. There would no longer be any out of control battles, preventing the Knightly Houses from eviscerating themselves and rampaging across the kingdom. Every fight was now regulated through this code of conduct, turning a once unruly force into a somewhat controllable asset for the kingdom. Our martial spirits were now directed outward toward approved forms of endeavor, like exploiting the Beyond, rather going at each other like lumberjacks. 

"You could make a direct request to the House of Robeur." I suggest to Mills, "Ask them to launch a combat operation against the Order."

"For a high price I suppose?" Mills snorts, looking off into the distance. 

"I'm not authorized to discuss fees." I answer, glad to offload this responsibility to someone else. Not that I have the power to determine missions anyway. That's further up the very, very long chain back at the keep. 

"But seriously," Mills turns back to the topic at hand, "what do you really think those conscripts were doing here?"

"Someone hired the Order to fuck with you." I shoot back while stretching my body a little, "Goblins don't have the brains to forge magic weapons and armor. The Order probably supplied the warlord with his gear and sent some conscripts to help with leading the pack. That's probably why the gobbos managed to home in on the camp so quickly."

"Its just a club and crude metal plate." Mills objects, examining the pile of captured enemy equipment piled up nearby by his men. 

"Don't be fooled." I snort, "Magical equipment with persistent effects are really hard to forge. Most front liners like myself don't even have this level of gear. The warlord's weapons were deliberately crafted to look like shit, not because they are shit."

"I see. Seems I might be in some trouble then?" Mills asks lightly, his back still turned to me. 

"Maybe? I could bring the warlord's stuff back to the keep for a closer examination?" I suggest, "Might give a few hints on who manufactured the gear."

"No need." Mills turns back to me, "I'll claim the lot as the House of Robeur's employer. They make impressive trophies anyway."

"You sure?" I ask with some surprise, "Being attacked by someone this determined is a pretty big deal, you know?"

"Eh, I've got the House of Robeur on my side." Mills dismisses my suggestion, "I've prepared a bath for you by the way."

Saluting Mills carelessly, I allow myself to be led away by his guard. Being covered in gobbo guts is really gross. A bath is just what I need right now. 

....

Mills strides into his personal tent, an uncomfortable sensation building up in his gut. 

"Young Master Rahm." an old servant whispers from behind Mills causing him to jump up in surprise. 

"Stop doing that." Mills curses, "Sneaking up behind me. I'm already as tense as can be."

The elderly man raises his bushy eyebrows, his faded servant's uniform bearing fresh stitching around the House Rahm coat of arms. But the man's lanky build is hard with muscle and sinew, far more that what would be needed for mere domestic labor. 

"You had a third party confirm what the Order stands for." the old man asks conversationally, "Is your mind finally at ease about us?"

"Yes. Yes." Mills sighs as he slumps into his chair, "Not that I've much of a choice anyway. The patriarch is going to disinherit me soon and I can't afford a proper Knightly House to represent me."

"The Order is a proper Knightly House." the old man chuckles, "I believe your friend made that point already."

"Fine. But today was a disaster." Mills grouses, his eyebrows knitting together, "The patriarch is going to tighten security after this and we haven't captured the supplies needed."

"The warlord's gear will be destroyed." the old man says, "No one will suspect anything."

"We still have the same problem though." Mills complains, "The raid was a failure."

"But we now have something far more interesting." the old man opines, "That warlord and his pack was enough to deal with a regular sword master."

"Mac was dead to rights." Mills comments, "He would have been splattered across the ground if he wasn't lucky. That apprentice was very impressive though."

"Who cares about a battle mage?" the old man sneers, "The Order has always fought blade to blade. And that sword master, 'Mac' as you call him, he's far from good, but just might be good enough."

"You think so?" Mills blurts out in surprise, "I thought you guys shunned people like Mac, just like he looks down on the Order."

"You'll be surprised." the old man grins, "Life can take one to strange places."

"And that means ...?" Mills trails off meaningfully. 

"That means we are still on track young master." the old man reassures, "The Order can muster more than a mere goblin pack."

"And soon, we will take care of two birds with one stone."