Hawkwood grimaced as the bandages came off. The end of his left arm looked like he had held it under a windmill’s grindstone. The healers had done what they could, turning the pulped meat into something resembling a hand. That alone was a miracle, even if he doubted he would be able to use his hand ever again.
And yet, he had to consider himself lucky.
White Company was a shadow of its former self. Even now, a full accounting of the dead was incomplete. Two thousand were dead in the mud and snow. Some had been blown apart by those rays of gold. Some had turned to gold, slaughtering their former comrades as statues. The rest had died in the rout, fleeing from the Evestani’s yannissar horsemen.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” said Abbess Beryl as she tended to his wounds. Even she couldn’t keep the grimace off her face. “I don’t know that I can do anything more. Maybe an adept or a bishop could—”
Hawkwood waved her off with his good hand, forcing a reassuring smile. “You did what you could. Go. Tend to others. I’m hardly the most injured.”
“Sorry,” she said again, bowing her head as she ducked out of his current quarters at a smaller burg.
Delightful was a smaller burg well out of the expected warpath of the Evestani army. White Company needed a chance to recover and recuperate. Delightful provided a relatively safe location to do so.
Of the two thousand still alive, the healthiest thirteen hundred had been folded into the Duke’s Grand Guard, leaving seven hundred wounded with Hawkwood. The war continued, after all, and bodies were needed. Their tactics were changing somewhat.
The Duke’s guard was pressing most anyone they could into their service. The vast majority didn’t have weapons, armor, or training. For the new tactics, that wasn’t needed. The Evestani army did slow when faced with a large force, thus the Duchy merely needed to appear large enough to pose a threat. Most of the actual soldiers were branching off, targeting the smaller detachments of the Evestani army that were spreading out in the wake of the arrowhead that was their main force.
It was a strategy that would let them help the rest of the Duchy, even if they did cede ground to the main force. They just couldn’t deal with an army ten thousand strong and the various golden magics that Evestani’s Golden Order employed. One or the other and they would have a chance. Not both.
Of course, it was a delaying tactic. Delaying the problem of having to deal with that army. It would reach Cliff eventually and unless someone worked out a way to stop them, that eventually would be sooner rather than later.
A knock at his door had Hawkwood shifting in his seat. The movement made him grimace as a thrum of pain worked its way up his left arm. At this point, amputation might be preferable to the pain that came anytime he moved. He would have to see if it dulled over time. But that was neither here nor there.
“Enter,” he called out, pulling a random report in front of him to make it appear as if he had been doing something other than brooding.
His adjutant, Neil, stepped into the room with a fresh stack of papers held out in his hands. “Good evening, Sir. How’s the arm?”
Hawkwood looked down and forced his fingers to flex, bracing to keep the pain off his face. “Getting better,” he lied. Knowing their commander had been permanently maimed would plunge the remainder of White Company’s already low morale.
He honestly wasn’t sure that White Company would exist in the next few weeks. Besides the uncertainty of the war causing complications in the future, his healthy men were with the guard now. Only those too wounded to hold a spear were in the burg. Hawkwood didn’t want to let it fall apart.
He wasn’t sure he would have a choice.
“I don’t suppose any of that is good news,” Hawkwood said, noting the distressed look on Neil’s face. Perhaps his show of strength hadn’t been as convincing as he hoped.
Neil hid his distress as he stepped forward. Using his fingers to keep the stack of parchment separated, he divided the stack into three smaller piles and placed them on the desk one at a time. “Reports on enemy movement, reports on allied movement, reports on White Company’s current state, and… a letter from Arkk,” he said as he placed a single letter to the side of the three stacks.
Hawkwood felt a flash of unfair irritation at the mention of his fellow company leader. He knew that Arkk lacked the numbers to make a difference. The magic he used, however, could have come in handy. The teleportation circles, fear totems, the scrying, the gorgon and the flame witch, and his pre-Calamity monster… Would Company Al-Mir have made a difference in defending Gleeful Burg?
Probably not. Elmshadow had fallen even with Arkk’s presence. The Golden Order’s magic was rumored to be that of a god of old. Some ancient dug-up slates of knowledge or a library of old scrolls. Theories were wild and varied but the true source mattered little. In the end, Arkk’s anathema couldn’t stand up to the magic of the gods.
Shaking his head, Hawkwood left the letter from Arkk on the desk as he picked up the report on White Company. The company was his responsibility, after all. His duty.
The report wasn’t anything out of the expected. It mostly consisted of a list of names. Some were of those who had an improvement in their condition. Too many of the names belonged to those who succumbed to their wounds.
Hawkwood placed the report back on the desk with a sigh. He honestly didn’t know what to say at this point. The whole war had been a disaster beyond even his most pessimistic expectations. Nobody had been prepared for a winter attack, nor for that golden magic.
The report on allied movements was roughly what he expected it to be. There were a few successes in the new tactics. Evestani seemed caught by surprise at their smaller detachments having to face down proper soldiers rather than whatever local guard the various villages and burgs could put together. Reading on, Hawkwood blinked.
There were… a few too many successes. Some without even the posturing for a fight that was more common than actual battles. In a few cases, it seemed like Evestani had abandoned the burgs on their own. Not to advance, but to pull back.
Switching over to the report on Evestani’s movements, he confirmed that. Evestani pulled back almost all of its smaller detachments. It was a little early to tell for certain but following the path of the smaller armies, it looked like they were retreating toward Elmshadow, holding up inside the large burg. Something had happened but the report…
His eyes snapped toward the end of the report.
Gleeful had been destroyed. The cause was unknown but the vast majority of the Evestani army had been caught within.
Hawkwood’s eyes flicked over to Arkk’s letter, suspicion welling.
The man had said that he was working on something that would change the course of the war. Could he…
Hawkwood broke the wax seal with the maze pattern and skimmed through the letter, looking for keywords. His eyes locked onto multiple mentions of Gleeful Burg. He started reading a little more around each. Finishing the letter, he leaned back in his chair.
“He did it,” Hawkwood said, closing his eyes. It took a long moment to remember what day it was.
It had been just shy of three weeks since White Company had been routed from Gleeful Burg, abandoning it to the Evestani army. Based on the date in Arkk’s letter, it had been just shy of two weeks since the entire burg had been leveled to the ground.
How long had the war gone on so far? It felt like years but… It had only been two months since the disaster at the Duke’s party. Hawkwood felt a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him. One tempered only by the contents of the letter.
“Sir?”
“He didn’t say how, but Arkk buried Gleeful Burg along with the Evestani army stationed there.” Hawkwood let out a small laugh. “He seems to be feeling some guilt about it. I empathize with his guilt over the civilians but I can’t help the feeling of elation. Those bastards near destroyed White Company. Every burg they occupy is facing starvation issues from too many people. It’s…”
Hawkwood laughed again, only to suck in a pained breath as he moved his wounded arm just a little too much.
“They’re pulling back to Elmshadow Burg. Evestani, that is. If Arkk can repeat whatever he did at Gleeful, this war might be over. It might be over now. These reports aren’t exactly fresh.”
Ever since taking up residence at Delightful Burg, the Duchy treated Hawkwood more as an afterthought than an active military commander in need of information. Which was fair enough, he supposed, even if it was irritating.
Hawkwood opened his mouth, about to ask his adjutant if there was any wine left in Delightful. At the very least, Arkk had given Evestani a black eye. Hawkwood was more than willing to celebrate that.
A tapping on his door had him pausing. It was a harsh, rigid knock. Familiar. The knock of a harpy’s talon.
“Come in,” Hawkwood said while gesturing for Neil to open the door. Harpies didn’t often remain around human settlements for the sole reason that most door latches weren’t designed with them in mind. Whatever harpy was out there likely had an escort. Neil was just in case it didn’t.
A Swiftwing with a letter already in talon held it out for Neil to accept.
“The Duke’s seal,” Neil said once the Swiftwing departed, holding out the letter for Hawkwood.
Staring at the diagonal bars on the wax, Hawkwood frowned and snapped open the wax. “Let’s see what our illustrious Duke has to say about our good fortune.”
Unfolding the parchment, he started reading with the expectations of a change in direction for the war in light of the main Evestani force’s demise. Halfway through, he stood abruptly, throwing the paper to the table with clenched teeth. There certainly was a change in direction.
“That bastard,” Hawkwood said, slamming his fist into the table.
He felt the sudden jerk of his body tenfold in his arm. Enough to make him grind out a pained groan. The pain stole some of the strength from his legs, making him topple backward. Were it not for Neil swiftly making his way around the desk and guiding his fall, Hawkwood might have ended up on the floor rather than back in the seat that had gone sliding back with his sudden stand.
“The Duke is claiming that he was in armistice talks with Evestani when tragedy struck Gleeful Burg,” Hawkwood ground out through clenched teeth. “Now he’s allying with the enemy to direct their forces at the one responsible for striking at both nations. Company Al-Mir. I’ve been summoned to Cliff to report on everything I know of them and their operations.”
“You’re…” Neil paused, frowning to himself. “You aren’t going to go. Are you?”
Hawkwood drew in a deep breath, thinking. “I don’t know if I can refuse.”
“White Company is loyal to you, Sir. Not the Duke.”
“Be that as it may, a good portion of White Company is with the Duke’s Grand Guard. I wouldn’t put it past them to make their lives miserable if I don’t show. Damn it,” he hissed. If only Arkk had managed his feat a few weeks earlier, White Company would still be mostly intact.
“I don’t believe Evestani would be content to stop here,” Hawkwood said, wishing he had a little more information. “Whatever they said to the Duke to get him to agree to an armistice or this alliance has to be temporary at best. They just want Arkk out of the way. Maybe buy themselves a reprieve while the Duchy wears itself out attacking a new target.”
“Perhaps,” Neil said slowly, “send someone in your stead. Claim injuries for your inability to travel. I can offer whatever platitudes the Duke wishes to hear while you organize and decide on the correct course of action?”
Hawkwood nodded his head. “I need time to think. Time to contact Arkk and understand the full situation. If you’re willing to buy that time for me, I will accept.”
“I’ll prepare for travel immediately,” Neil said, bowing himself out of the room.
Hawkwood looked down at the letter again, rereading the small bit where the Duke claims he successfully fended off an attack perpetuated by Arkk within Cliff City. That… couldn’t be right. Could it? The armistice talks were obviously hogwash. Why add that detail in?
“What have you gotten yourself into,” he murmured to himself.
Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox planted his cane on the last of far too many steps that led down from the Grand Old Church. Built on top of a small island jutting up from Cliff’s oceanic bay, it stood as an impressive testament to the people’s devotion to the Light. That or the undoubted slave labor that had hauled several tons of bricks over to the island when it had been built a few centuries ago.
As impressive a sight as it was, Darius didn’t particularly like it. It had always been too much. Too opulent, too large, and too many stairs to climb to reach the actual building. He liked it even less so now that he needed a cane just to be sure that he didn’t tumble down the excessively long staircase. The injuries he had sustained because of the assassins weren’t healing as well as they should.
Part of that was likely that he had left the event early in an attempt to chase down Arkk. He shouldn’t have even been on his feet at the time. Now, he was paying the price. Perhaps now and for the rest of his life. There had been no improvement in the past two months.
There was still work to be done. He couldn’t sit about.
Or, that was what he told himself. As of late, he had been finding it more and more difficult to engage with his peers. Now that the Duke had announced a formal alliance with the Evestani Sultanate to hunt down the one Darius had been advocating and defending, he doubted he would be anything more than a pariah at best.
It was through his efforts that the Abbey of the Light hadn’t sent out every inquisitorial team after Arkk immediately following the reveal of the horror from beyond the stars at the Duke’s party. The lack of action was considered a poor move in retrospect by the higher-ups of the Abbey. There were a few who still consulted with him. Douglas, his chronicler, primarily.
Passing a pair of priests, one of whom looked freshly returned from the war with his arm in a sling and the side of his face scarred like he had been dragged behind a horse, Darius gave them a polite nod of his head. The conversation between them died once they saw him. They passed without word or acknowledgment. Which was roughly what Darius expected.
Word had spread beyond the inquisitorial circle. Nobody wanted to be associated with the one who had advised against assailing Arkk.
Taking a breath, Darius moved across the bridge. Ever since the last full moon a week after his encounter with Arkk underneath the manor moat, he had been stopping at the same spot with no protections against scrying active. He hoped that Arkk would have found something after scrying on all the information Darius had provided related to the false moon in the sky fissure. Even if he hadn’t found the true culprit behind that incident, some evidence pointing anywhere else might help the both of them.
Though, at this point, Darius doubted it would matter. The Abbey of the Light was not infallible. The oracles didn’t see perfect visions. The men in charge were just that, men. Mortal and flawed. When faced with the threat of the Evestani Sultanate continuing their unstoppable march across the nation, it was easy to think they would choose to uphold the alliance, using Arkk as a scapegoat to force both armies to work together.
Darius walked toward a lone pier, the old fishing trawler having sunk half into the harbor, making this pier unusable as a dock. It was the furthest dock. At one point, there had been plans to clear the wreckage. That had fallen by the wayside and, once the non-humans moved in, the entire area fell into disrepair, left abandoned by the city’s leaders. Now, it acted as a shanty town right in the middle of Cliff, further reducing the appeal of clearing the dock.
Out here, people avoided Darius for different reasons. He was a human, which wasn’t automatically a bad thing for those living here, but he also wore relatively fine clothes. The uniform of an inquisitor was well known to the point where anyone who saw him would know that he wasn’t someone they wanted trouble with. As long as he wasn’t investigating them, they would duck their heads and avert their eyes.
Case in point, a lizardman and an orc both shifted away from him upon spotting him, diverting their path down a small alley well before he neared.
Things were changing, however. There were a few stares in the shadows. A sphinx, lounging outside one of the buildings, eyed him as he passed with curiosity rather than fear. His frequent trips through the area must have been noticed.
Reaching the pier, Darius headed to the far end. It had become routine at this point. He even knew which of the worn wooden planks to not step on. Nothing had broken under his weight thus far. A few boards were still a little suspicious.
A week after his latest encounter with Arkk, he had been down this pier with a small glowstone and all his notes on the fissure in the sky. It had been nearly a month since then. In fact…
Tonight might be the second full moon since then.
Perhaps it was time to end this charade. A month, Darius had bought Arkk. A month, Arkk had failed to deliver on his search for information related to the fissure. A month hence and Arkk, assailed by the armies of two nations, would likely fall. He well knew that the Abbey of the Light was researching as much as possible, coming up with countermeasures to the tactics and magics that Arkk employed. From the planar magic that allowed him unparalleled mobility to the clairvoyance scrying offered, the petrification of a gorgon’s gaze to the flames of Purifier Agnete.
If the Abbey was conducting such research—and coming up with results—he knew that the Golden Order would be doing the same.
The latest stunt of burying Gleeful Burg was being considered as well.
Darius planted his cane between his feet, standing on the far end of the pier. A slight breeze, reeking of that oceanic salt, brought a chill wind from north of the city. His long coat fluttered in the wind. Dots of mist over his glasses made him frown in annoyance.
There was nothing out here. He wasn’t sure what he expected. A letter pinned to the wooden piles or an incognito messenger. Maybe one of the non-humans from the shantytown delivering a note. Something to indicate that he could continue to trust in his profile of Arkk.
Pulling open the lapel of his coat, Darius carefully rubbed his glasses against the fabric, clearing away the dots.
After this, he would return to the church and….
Turning, Darius froze.
The sun dipped below the large mountain that gave Cliff its name, shrouding the shantytown and the pier in shadow. The sun had yet to set fully, letting him see, it was just a heavy shadow.
Yet that shadow was heavier still along the wood of the pier. The dots in his vision were back. Except, instead of blurry spots on his glasses, they were bright golden lights that did nothing to disperse the dark shadow around them.
An oily tendril stretched out of the shadow before reaching back in, pulling more and more tendrils out in twisting knots. They formed together, merging like an oily blob into the rough shape of a human.
“Good evening, Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox.”
“The horror from beyond the stars,” Vrox said, keeping his voice as steady as possible.
Was this it then? The betrayal of the trust Vrox had placed in the farmboy? He had sent his monster—Vezta, if he remembered correctly—to carry out his dirty work.
Darius was alone on the end of the pier. There was nowhere to run but into the water. In the frigid winter and with his bad leg, diving in might well be a death sentence for him. And there was nothing to say that the horror couldn’t follow him. There were none of his inquisitorial allies in the vicinity and he doubted he would get any assistance from the shantytown. They were more likely to join with Arkk. He well knew that many already had.
Instead of an attack, the horror adopted the facade of a petulant frown. “Horror from the [STARS]. Or of the [STARS],” she said in a tone clearly annoyed.
Darius flinched at her words, feeling like the sound carried far more than the mere words she spoke yet those words were beyond the simple understandings of a mortal mind.
“Beyond the stars makes no sense,” she continued. “There is nothing beyond the [STARS].”
Darius winced again but forced his normal smile into place. “I’ll be sure to update the Abbey’s lexicon once I return,” he said, projecting all the confidence he didn’t feel given the situation. “I presume you came for more than complaints over word choice. Be on with it, horror, or be gone.”
The horror paused, straightening her spine. If she even had a spine. Tilting her head to one side, she frowned. “My master sent me to convey his most sincere apologies.”
Darius tensed, leather gloves creaking as they gripped his cane. “Arkk didn’t come in person?”
“With the Duke’s recent edict of an alliance, he has been… busy. Preparations to make, people to kill. You know how it is, I’m sure.”
The smile slipped from Darius’ face. “Be on with it, horror. Don’t drag my death out longer—”
“You?” She cocked her head to one side again, clearly a practiced movement. One she likely picked up from being around humans. “No, no. I have no orders to kill you. As I said, I am here to convey an apology. My Master wishes to apologize for unintentionally deceiving you on your previous encounter.”
Darius blinked twice. First, in mild relief. Maybe it would have been for the best given what his life had turned into, but he had no wish to die. Second, in disappointment. “He lied.”
“Unknowingly and unintentionally. Arkk genuinely did not know about this fissure in the sky and was honest in his intentions to assist you. It was not a ruse to escape. That said, we have since discovered that we were likely responsible for the event.”
“You… How could you not know?”
“Fortress Al-Mir exists underground. It has no windows to the surface. In addition, at the time of the event, we were rather preoccupied with holding an audience with a god.”
Darius clamped his jaw shut. That… had to be a lie. “Only the Ecclesiarch—”
“Oh no. No, no. I’m sure your Ecclesiarch professes to hold tea parties with the Holy Light every weekend. We entreated with Xel’atriss, Lock and Key. Master of boundaries and borders. She is likely the one who caused the fissure to appear.”
“This is… heresy. Blasphemy. Both.”
The horror dismissed his accusation with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “My Master wishes for you to know that, while the incident was our doing, after all, neither us nor the Lock and Key wish harm on this world. Our goals involve restoration, not destruction.
“That is the end of the message I was told to deliver. Good evening, Master Inquisitor.” She dipped her head in an insincere bow and started to turn.
Darius stepped forward, cane tapping with his step. “That’s it? You come to admit more crimes and… What does he expect from this? I must inform my superiors and he must know that, so why?”
The horror canted her head once again. She stared. Thinking? It was hard to say. “Please note that the following is my suspicion and not anything that was directly conveyed to me: I believe Arkk has grown fond of you. I believe he is genuinely sorry to have placed you in an unpleasant position by asking you to continue defending him even though he was, in the end, the one at fault.”
Statement over, she bowed once again. Turning, she started walking away only for the shadows around her person to reach out with thick, oily tendrils that appeared to pull the main body down into the pier. In the blink of an eye, there was nothing but shadow and even that dispersed back toward the city.
Darius stared after the horror, unmoving for the longest time.
He…
He didn’t know what to do. Arkk, the great fool, was the cause for all the concern. Darius had suspected even after Arkk claimed ignorance but…
The man told that thing to come here and tell him with no ulterior motive? No trying to get him to report more falsehoods to his superiors? He even brought a name. Xel’atriss, Lock and Key. The name meant nothing to Darius but the Abbey’s archives were vast. If he informed his superiors of that name, it was entirely likely that they would dig up information, maybe clues as to the source of the horror and Arkk’s unlikely rise to sudden power.
And, beyond that, countermeasures to that rise to power.
Arkk had just come out here and told him. Even with the war going on. Even with the war now turning toward him and him alone.
Darius…
He needed time to think.