New Hostility

 

 

Arkk stared at the distant Elmshadow Burg with his lips pressed into a thin line. Everything had been going so well.

Elmshadow’s keep had been ruined in the initial defense of the burg and it had not been repaired. With the white mist obstructing his scrying, Arkk wasn’t able to determine exactly where the majority of the Evestani occupiers would be stationed. A few refugees in Fortress Al-Mir, originally from Elmshadow, had given him a few ideas of possible locations within the burg, so he had targeted them.

The first two boulders fell unimpeded, crashing straight to the earth with all the destructive power their weight carried. He then ran into the problem of a hazy defense springing up around the burg, much like the one at the initial assault of Gleeful. He figured it would take less effort to break. The moment it sprung up, it was weak and flickering. Six boulders would probably have been enough, rather than over a dozen at Gleeful.

Now, well into six or seven dozen boulders, Arkk stared at the golden dome that surrounded the burg.

It had sprung up just as the normal defense had failed. And it was not taking any apparent damage.

In some ways, it was a relief. Arkk hadn’t been sleeping well ever since Gleeful. He still didn’t think it had been the wrong thing to do. It had stopped Evestani’s advance and the destruction they left in their wake. Having seen reports on the aftermath, the thousands dead at his hands, that was a small consolation.

It had taken nearly twenty days to recharge the glowstones. Almost a week longer than the initial charging time with Zullie working on her own. Zullie had spent a majority of the early days training volunteers to work the ritual circles in the Underworld without damaging the stones. Hopefully, now that her apprentices were trained up, the next charging time would be faster.

“Pack it up,” Arkk said, looking around the group with him.

The apprentices Zullie had taken on had probably been expecting to learn some proper magic, rather than rote memorization of a repetitive task, and Arkk planned to ensure they received some instruction. For now, Vezz’ok—the orc who had assisted with the ritual—worked alongside an elf named Hyan and two former bandits who had ditched Katja in favor of working under Arkk, Morvin, and Gretchen. Vezz’ok hauled the large crate of glowstones back to the teleportation circle while the other three dismantled the bombardment ritual.

Arkk moved alongside Agnete, the latter standing guard between the circle and Elmshadow. Much like at Gleeful, they were at the bombardment ritual’s maximum range so he wasn’t expecting any return fire from the burg. Still, best to be prepared with the one person who could deflect that golden beam. If it could even reach all the way out here.

Though, as long as that golden dome stood, Arkk doubted they had anything to fear.

He had discussed his encounters with the golden avatar with his circle of advisors. The consensus was that their opponent couldn’t work his powerful magic back-to-back. It was why only one ray of gold had been fired at the keep, one ray at the wall the next day, and one large ray at Gleeful with only smaller rays after that. It was somewhat surprising that this golden dome had lasted as long as it had. Arkk figured it was just more efficient to defend than to attack.

He would question Zullie and Vezta on the matter later. Agnete was the only other expert on the powers of avatars and expert was stretching the term.

Her ember-like eyes stared at the golden dome without blinking.

“Thoughts?” Arkk asked, deciding to get her read on the situation in advance.

“The power of the Heart of Gold seems versatile,” she said after a long moment of continued staring. “I burn things. Purifier Tybalt… detained things.”

“We only knew him for a day or two,” Arkk said. “He might have had more tricks up his sleeve.”

“I would prefer if he didn’t. I burn things,” she said again, more despondent this time.

“You deflected one of those rays of gold at the keep over there,” Arkk said, gesturing in the direction of Elmshadow.

“Luck. And fire. And I nearly died for it.”

Arkk pressed his lips together. That was true. She was here now because she was the only one who had managed to put up a defense, even as incomplete as it had been. It was a danger. She could easily die if she tried again and was even a fraction less successful.

“Those dreams you’ve been having since opening the portal, they haven’t given you any… I don’t know, guidance?”

Agnete turned, raising an eyebrow above the smokey skin around her eye. “Putting stock in dreams, are we?”

“I spoke to a god.”

“Outside a dream. This… It’s more like… inspiration?” She paused, frowning to herself. “I’ve always liked creating things. Heating sand and molding it into glass sculptures was one of the few ways I could use my heat without destroying everything around me. One of the few ways the inquisitors allowed, when they were feeling generous. Maybe that makes sense now knowing who my patron is.

“These dreams are more like ideas for other things I could make.”

“I’ve stopped by the foundry on occasion.” Perr’ok and the other smiths loved Agnete. They had viewed her as a nuisance at first, sitting inside the forge or hovering over their shoulders, but as time went on, they started to notice improvements in their work when she was around.

Perr’ok had come to him, asking him about the phenomenon. Agnete didn’t seem to be working any magic yet, while she was present, they created products faster, made stronger metal, and even found supplies, such as a box of nails, filled even when they knew they were almost out.

“You can’t tell me everything is normal there,” Arkk said, offering a small smile. “Not everything is so… flashy,” he added with a wave of his hand toward the distant golden dome. “I’ve almost thought about having you permanently stationed at the smithy just because of how efficiently everyone works in your presence.”

“Coincidence.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But it isn’t just that. You’re making something. Components for something larger, not simple glass sculptures. Metal cogs like what that ritual circle uses to guide the targeting matrix,” Arkk said with a nod toward the partially dismantled ritual circle. “And you made the wheelchair for Katt’am.” The orc she had burned during the invasion of the false fortress.

Agnete nodded her head. “Among the inspiration I’ve been having, I thought I could make him metal legs that would allow him to walk, run, even fight again. But perhaps he would prefer Hale’s solution instead.”

Arkk grimaced. Hale, with Astra’s permission, was trying to fix the inquisitrix’s body. It… well… Arkk wasn’t sure he would consider the inquisitrix wholly human anymore.

Mentally peering into the prison section of Fortress Al-Mir, he couldn’t help but wince at the hand Astra now sported. While her arm looked muscular and rugged but otherwise mostly normal, her hand looked more like… like the Protector’s hand. It was covered in a violet chitin, hard and rugged. Her fingers flexed like the articulating plates of metal armor and were tipped in long, black nails that grew to a sharp point no matter how much she tried to file them down.

Hale was temporarily off the task of healing Astra until she could figure out why she hadn’t been able to make a more normal hand. And why she hadn’t stopped once she realized the extent of the changes she was making.

“I don’t know if many would prefer that solution,” Arkk said slowly. “Do you think you can make working legs that… well, work better than wooden pegs stuck to someone’s limbs?”

“I haven’t tested them myself, obviously. I’m almost finished. I’m just… not sure how to approach a man I injured with something that may not work well.”

“What’s worse? An awkward conversation or Katt’am remaining bound to the wheelchair while your creation collects dust? The worst he can do is say that he prefers the chair to—”

“Sir,” Vezz’ok said, coming up from behind Arkk. “We’re finished. The others are already back.”

Arkk glanced around and found the small clearing on the side of the southern Elm mountain to be empty. He nodded, summoning a lesser servant with a muttered incantation. “Then we shouldn’t dally here.”

Once back in Fortress Al-Mir, Arkk separated from Agnete and Zullie’s apprentices. The latter had some assigned studying to return to while Agnete would likely head back to the foundry. If she really needed someone to push her into speaking with Katt’am, he would step up. For now, he would let them work it out between them.

After a quick meeting with Ilya and Vezta to ensure that nothing vital was going on at the fortress, Arkk started his rounds.

He was trying to get out and among his employees more often now. He wanted to know them. To learn everyone’s name and at least some of who they were. If…

If he ever had to add names to the memorial wall, he wanted to be able to say at least a few small words about them.

He found John and Yavin in the small carpenter’s workshop, working away on crafting arrows. Alma and Kelsey were eating in the cafeteria, talking casually with Lyssa and Kia, of all people. Lexa was giving Nyala pointers on throwing daggers in one of the training rooms. The fairies in his employ, Leda and Camilla, were actually spending their downtime in the Underworld. They weren’t on guard or construction duty—there wasn’t any ongoing construction as they had finished a full wall around the archway and, while there were a handful of Protectors watching from a distance, none had tried to get too close.

Arkk was starting to get comfortable with their presence. It seemed that as long as he didn’t venture further into their domain, they were content to leave him alone. He was free to head in and drain the abundant magic for his glowstones to his heart’s content. Useful for now, even if this latest bombardment had been nullified, but he did still want to look for other old magic and relics. Or even convince the protectors to join him.

As for the fairies, it was difficult keeping them out of the Underworld. Three other fairies from the refugees had signed up with him just to be able to spend time out in the Underworld. They were drinking in the magic-rich atmosphere like a man who crawled across Chernlock’s desert and stumbled into an oasis. So far, none had been able to cast more spells than usual because of their time in the Underworld, much to Arkk and Zullie’s disappointment. There didn’t seem to be a downside and it made them happy, so he was content to leave them to their wants.

Rekk’ar and Dakka were in the underworld as well, mostly taking the assignment to guard the walls as a chance to kick back and relax. The former continually warned the others not to let their guards down and yet Arkk often found him leaning back in a chair with his feet on a table.

Olatt’an, strangely enough, was in the library with his nose in a book. Not just any book but one of the ancient books from the original fortress, transcribed to modern parchment because the old books had been falling apart. He couldn’t read it. Arkk confirmed that much when he saw what book it was.

Zullie sat a few seats away, completely ignoring the orc. She had ideas about old magic but wasn’t quite at a point to test those ideas. Unable to create new verbal spells without more samples of the language used, she was trying—and succeeding—in turning the verbal spells into rituals. Specifically, the lesser servant summoning ritual. She hoped to use the ritual circle to then reverse engineer how the verbal version of the spell functioned which might open doors to the creation of more short spells.

Which Arkk was all for. With all this golden magic being thrown around, he felt his current repertoire was lacking.

Rounds coming to an end, for the time being, Arkk stopped in the scrying room before ending the day. Luthor was on duty. The chameleon with a stutter was hard to parse on occasion. Not worse than Savren. He was getting better. As one of the beastmen who came with Alma’s forced recruitment, Arkk needed good places to position the man. Scrying was low-stress and didn’t require talking with a whole bunch of people, just the others on duty.

“S-sir!” Luthor said, still stuttering.

“Anything to report?” Arkk figured the answer would be no. He had stopped in upon getting back to the fortress and nobody had come to him or called for him via the link in the time between. So he was a little surprised when Luthor slowly nodded his head.

“I… wasn’t sure if it was u-urgent or not. I-I decided not because nothing worrying is happening bu-but… the dragonoid found the false fortress.”

Arkk blinked, quickly checking the false fortress with his sight as Keeper of the Heart rather than a scrying ball. Sure enough, the dragonoid had her wings folded back as she walked through the deliberately dilapidated section of the fortress. She walked strangely, slow and stumbling while keeping one hand always on the wall. Then again, it was dark. The false fortress was designed to look like old ruins and the few glowstones in the area were dim and barely put out any light.

Arkk had preternatural senses within Fortress Al-Mir. He figured that a dragonoid would have decent night vision as well but it wasn’t looking that way now.

“Huh,” he said with a small frown.

The dragonoid had been flying circles around the Cursed Forest for a few weeks now. She had flown directly over the entrance to the false fortress a number of times—as well as the hatches near the local burgs—but had never once tried to gain entry. He had almost started to believe that the dragonoid wasn’t here for him. Given that nobody present was quite sure how to deal with a dragonoid, he had been content to ignore the situation so long as it wasn’t actively acting against him.

Now… Well, he probably shouldn’t have been ignoring the situation. But there always seemed to be something more pressing going on.

“In the future, if you’re unsure whether something is urgent or not, contact me. I don’t think this is urgent—” Not unless it could squeeze its rather large wings through one of the tiny tunnels that connected the false fortress to the rest of Fortress Al-Mir. “—but I would rather know than not.”

“Y-Yes. S-sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Arkk let out a small sigh, taking in the chameleon beastman’s downcast expression. “It’s fine. My fault for not being clear enough. Go, take a few minutes break. I’m going to be borrowing the crystal ball anyway.”

Teleporting away with the crystal ball, Arkk reappeared inside the main meeting room. His main advisors popped into place around him. Zullie and Savren looked irritated at being interrupted. Olatt’an simply closed the book he had been reading, placing it on the table. Alma, Ilya, and Lexa tensed up, alarmed at the unannounced relocation. Khan let out a long, annoyed hiss but otherwise swiftly curled around the warm rock that acted as his chair. Agnete, hunched over like she had been working on something in the foundry, actually let a small wave of heat flood into the room before she reigned herself in. Finally, Vezta assumed her usual position at his side without any visible distress.

Rekk’ar, Dakka, and a few others of note were over in the Underworld and thus he was unable to directly teleport them. If something happened that they needed to be informed of, he would send a messenger.

“There is no grave emergency and we’re not being attacked,” Arkk said, aiming to calm the alarm of some of his advisors. “I think.”

“You think?” Olatt’an said, leaning forward.

In lieu of an answer, Arkk activated the crystal ball in the center of the table. The image in the glass wasn’t anywhere as clear as the image in his mind, yet the silhouette of the winged, scaled humanoid still stood out against what little background light there was.

“The dragonoid is in the false fortress,” he said for anyone who had worse eyesight. “Now is probably the best time to deal with it. I’m considering collapsing the entrance and, maybe, the entire false fortress, but I’m open to options. Especially as the latter option will cause disturbances on the surface that people will take note of.”

“Dragonoids are said to be physically resistant,” Olatt’an said. “I’m not sure a little dirt and rock will be enough to injure it.”

“Stranded stationary among silt and stone, suffocation will set in shortly.”

“Um…” Alma shifted in her seat, making Arkk glance over to the half-werecat. She had a single finger raised into the air. Upon realizing that she had everyone’s attention, she hunched her shoulders. With a deep breath, she looked up, meeting everyone’s eyes… except for Vezta’s. “I’ve been thinking since the last meeting. Are we sure it is an enemy?”

Arkk blinked and, with a small frown, looked around the room.

“Maybe… we could try talking to it?” Ilya hedged.

“If the supposition is incorrect,” Vezta started, “the prowess you have claimed they possess presents a threat to Arkk that he may not be able to escape from.”

Vezta didn’t know anything about dragonoids. While they existed pre-Calamity, they weren’t something that her previous master had much experience with and thus, she didn’t have experience either.

Zullie, still looking annoyed, raised her brows. “I’ve been wanting to see that possession spell in action again,” she said. “This seems like a perfect opportunity.”

“I’m not going to put someone else in danger just to keep myself safe.”

“What about… Can you possess a reanimated creature?”

“Your undead horse?” Arkk pursed his lips, considering the idea for far longer than the idea actually warranted. “I wouldn’t be able to speak. Would I?”

The skeletal horse had no meat and muscle, so it stood to reason that it wouldn’t be able to make any noise, let alone human speech. Then again, it somehow moved without meat on those bones.

Maybe it could talk?

“Could also try the corpse of that Protector sitting in the dungeons. If you can possess the undead, I could try reanimating that. Oh. Can I try anyway?”

Arkk grimaced. The horse had been useful. It was a one-off thing. Turning that one-off thing into a pattern… Well, necromancy was a high anathema in the eyes of the Abbey of the Light. They already hated him so it probably wasn’t going to get worse and…

If animating a dead Protector saved some of his own, living men—and himself, in this case—then he certainly could make excuses.

Ilya wasn’t looking happy with Zullie’s suggestion. Few were. Khan looked utterly unbothered and Savren looked intrigued. Olatt’an had a heavy scowl on his face, probably because the spells came from the black book owned by the orc’s former chieftain. Agnete…

Didn’t look as bothered as he would have expected from a former inquisitor. Then again, her experiences with the inquisitors hadn’t been the best.

“There is merit in trying to speak with it instead of jumping to conclusions,” he said after a long moment. “I’ll wall off the exit to the false fortress, just to keep it from leaving. But I suppose we can try to figure out a safe method of speaking with it. Does anyone have suggestions other than diving into necromancy?

“Anyone?”