"I don't believe it. I don't fucking believe it!"

It was the seventh time in as many minutes he had said it, but Shinsou's fury was still no closer to abating. His face was a stone cold snapshot of silent rage, his lips were almost white from the pursing and his fingernails left purple crescents in his palms as he clawed his fingers tight around the reins of his horse Slepnir. Beside him, in tandem, was an equally furious electromancer, spurring Attila on with a quiet but almost venomous demeanour.

"We need to check everything," Storm finally uttered through gritted teeth, "and I mean everything. Ledgers, profit and loss accounts, shipping manifests and the cash on site...lock, stock, the fucking lot."

Last night, Shinsou had been listening intently with a mixture of grave concern and, eventually, boiling anger, to his partner's retelling of "Crater Face's" boasts. At first, the Telgradian wasn't sure how much of it was true. A lot of people tried to big themselves up at the card table to impress both the clientele and the women, but a cursory check of the latest Brotherhood treasury ledger (something neither he nor Storm ever really audited) confirmed a sizeable deficit that seemed to fit the facts. There should have been a very healthy income; Storm in particular had gone to great lengths to ensure that the trading tariffs at ports and markets were always profitable ventures, and that any supply lines were negotiated very thoroughly to ensure a favourable outcome for the Brotherhood. It was what he was good at, and he had bust his not inconsiderable balls to achieve it.

Yet, despite these efforts, the number in red on the statement of account told an uncomfortable truth; there was an alarming shortage of money. Money was the very lifeblood of the Brotherhood; it was used to feed the families of the soldiers, buy food and weapons, and pay "maintenance" costs (as Storm called them) to any relevant authorities. Without it, quite simply, they were fucked. As the steeds trotted side by side, the miserable weather of the rainy season hit. Through the driving rain, the pair of allies rode down a muddy hill towards a junction. A left turn here would put them on the road to Tylmerande, and as the pair cantered over the potholed clay, Shinsou shot a sideways glance at Veritas.

"Arius delegates responsibility for the finances between three people in Tylmerande, as far as he told me," The Telgradian held three fingers up for a visual reference, "There's a treasurer, a freight forwarder and the exchange. The treasurer deals with accounting, the freight forwarder deals with goods in and out of port and the exchange deals with buying and selling currencies. As your boy Crater Face confirmed, we need to get a grip of the freight and goods trading- accounting is all well and good, but it is subjective on the information provided. There is nothing fucking subjective about that cash balance...someone is taking the piss out of us."

The area they were in, about five kilometres now from the port of Tylmerande, was a fairly rugged track next to woodland. Even with the enormous steed beneath him, the tall Telgradian felt every step beneath jolting him as the hooves churned up mud and clay. It just served to irritate him further.

"Could it be a mole?" Storm asked, producing his pipe from within his finery, "I wouldn't put it past the assembly to get creative, especially when it comes to us. They know we're a tough nut to crack out there, but maybe they think if the boys aren't getting paid, they'll down tools and leave us exposed."

"If there is a mole, I'd like to play that game where it pops up and we smash it with a fucking hammer." Shinsou emphasised the point with a downward stroke of his fist.

He watched as Storm took a moment to fill his cherry-wood pipe with a bit of tobacco, lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

"So, who is doing the vetting for recruitment, then?" The electromancer asked, screening out the rain using the back of his hand as he inhaled.

"Arius deals with all of that, as far as I know. I've not known him to be wrong, yet."

As they continued to ride, Tylmerande appeared on the horizon. The coastal town was such an unassuming place, yet enjoyed key status amongst its previous incumbents, the Assembly, and current occupiers, the Brotherhood. It had once served as a shipyard for the Imperial navy and a port that was economy-critical for the government, and now found use as a fully functioning harbour and trading post for Shinsou and Storm's organisation. Taking it had been easy enough, and the rebuilding and operation of it seemed to be going smoothly up to now, but they both knew that in order to maintain a healthy Brotherhood, Tylmerande had to be self-sufficient and not pissing money up the wall.

A few minutes later, the allies had gotten close enough to travel by foot. Smoothly dismounting their great black mounts, leaving them at a Brotherhood checkpoint with reserves of water and hay, Shinsou and Storm strolled to within a kilometre of the town gate.

"The shit we went through to get this place was worth it," Shinsou reminisced to Storm as they approached, and passed, the final perimeter picket, "...so long as we leave here safe in the knowledge that the leaks are plugged. My first thought is a town wide blockade - no freight taken off or put on the ships here, no goods changing hands and no coins being bought or sold until every manifest, every currency option and every contract is checked. What do you think?"