Author: Tower Curator

 

Arkk poured one vial of clear liquid into a larger kettle of clear liquid. Stirring with a narrow metal rod, he watched for a long moment until, all at once, the liquid turned a deep and translucent green. Pausing, he quickly glanced over at the book open on the counter and skimmed to find the next step.

Green was the correct color. As long as it was a clear green and not a murky green.

So far so good. This alchemy stuff wasn’t that hard.

Well, the book he was reading didn’t have anything too difficult in it. It was a step more advanced than the beginner treatise that he had gotten from Morford in Darkwood Burg but far from the theoretical concepts and more research-focused invention of new methods and recipes. Fortress Al-Mir, despite having more than doubled its population of employees since the Duke’s party, still had exactly zero alchemists within its walls. Arkk had thought it would be a good use of his time, familiarizing himself with everything he could from the books he had on hand. Not to mention, it was a good way to keep his mind busy on productive tasks rather than remembering once more how useless he had felt at Elmshadow.

Alchemy was a powerful discipline. It could create a wide variety of potions, powders, materials, and, if Morford was to be believed, even life. From something simple like the soakless solution that kept rain from drenching cloaks to those ghasts that had been the product of life alchemy. Some magical spells could be solidified or liquified for use in different ways.

But it was a rare discipline. Unlike magic, for which there would generally be obvious signs of propensity that would result in someone being sent off to an academy, there was no propensity for alchemy. It was pure hard work, having to learn the uses of hundreds of different materials, the uses of dozens of different pieces of equipment, and the dangers of combining them improperly. Not all too dissimilar to having to learn components of rituals or words for magic—which could be dangerous if spoken incorrectly—however that was only the first problem.

Magic could be performed with a stick dragged through some dirt. Cheap. Everyone had access to sticks and dirt. Alchemy required precision measuring tools, glassware formed into all manner of odd shapes, and the materials themselves which were often rare or simply located only in specific parts of the Duchy. It took gold to make and gather the equipment. That alone made it impossible to use for nearly everyone and unpalatable for the few wealthy enough to afford the materials. It was cheaper to hire a spellcaster on retainer than it was to hire an alchemist or learn alchemy.

But magic couldn’t solve everything. Or maybe it could if someone knew enough but there were some things that alchemy was geared more toward solving than magic was.

Ladling a small amount of the clear green liquid into a small glass, Arkk took a hesitant sip. Just a taste. Not even enough to properly swallow.

“Oh. That’s…” He grimaced, shuddering.

“Too hot?”

Arkk shook his head, sending pins and needles down his spine with the movement. It lasted but a second before being replaced with a soothing cool. He drew in a content breath, sighing in relief. “That’s rather good,” he said, shaking out his shoulders. Rather than pins and needles, that just sent the soothing feeling down to his fingertips and back. “Bit of a surprising kick at the start but I think this should work well. Not as smooth as what Morford sold us. Hope that’s alright.”

Katt’am shrugged. He patted his thighs right above where his legs ended in stumps. “It’s just the itch,” he said. “Drives me crazy. If it makes that go away for a little bit, I’ll be happy.”

“If I’m reading this right,” Arkk said turning back to the book. The pins and needles came back as he moved. The tiny droplet he had tasted was already starting to wear off. He ignored it with a shrug. “About as much as in this glass right now should last about a day. So the whole pot is roughly two weeks of the stuff? I’ll bottle—”

“Master.” Vezta stepped into the room, hands clasped together at her waist. She offered a bow to him and a smile at Katt’am. “They are ready for you.”

“Right. Thank you, Vezta.” Arkk handed the glass off to Katt’am. The legless orc didn’t hesitate to down the whole dose. He shuddered but, when it didn’t look like he would keel over, Arkk gave him a nod and pulled a large glass bottle from the shelf on the wall. Carefully, he poured the remainder from the kettle without spilling a drop. “Don’t drink more than I said,” Arkk said as he stoppered the bottle and handed it over. “Can you get back alright?”

Katt’am, looking far less tense than he had a moment ago, nodded a loopy nod. Setting the bottle in his lap, he reached down and patted the large wheels attached to the sides of his chair. A third, smaller wheel sat front and center where his feet would have been. “Made it here just fine, didn’t I?” Even his tone sounded far more mellow. “A chair with wheels. Who would have thought?”

“An obvious solution to an obvious problem,” Vezta said. “Though, if you would like, I could assist you back to your quarters.”

“Naah. You two go do your important things. ’sides,” he said, looking completely content. “Promised the kith I’d let them pile on my chair while one of the older boys pushes them around.”

Kith. A word from the orcish native tongue that essentially meant ‘battle children’. Orphans of war or other similar tragedies. Culturally, they would be raised by the group for the good of the group, whether that group was farmers, fishermen, or raiders. Arkk wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the orc effectively saying that he was indoctrinating children for use later on as raiders—or mercenaries—but at least it was just fun and games and not throwing them into the arena with real swords.

Katt’am, after losing his legs, had found a new purpose acting as the primary point of contact between the refugees and the rest of Fortress Al-Mir. For a warrior who couldn’t fight, Arkk had been worried that he would be offended or miserable or otherwise disagreeable toward the arrangement but he had taken to it with gusto.

According to Dakka, he had always wanted children but not to raise them in an environment like what their former chieftain had cultivated. Fortress Al-Mir was at least marginally a better environment and a whole litter of children, many of whom had no parents or other caretakers, had landed right on his lap.

How someone who loved children, apparently of any species, wound up in a group of raiders made Arkk wonder if he had some story like Larry’s accusations of murder that had driven him out of more wholesome societies. Arkk hadn’t wanted to pry, however, so he hadn’t asked.

With a thanks thrown over his shoulder, Katt’am wheeled himself out of the makeshift alchemy laboratory. The doors opened automatically for him and closed behind him. Arkk looked over to Vezta. “Everyone’s ready?”

“All relevant personnel have been gathered in the meeting room.”

“Good,” Arkk said.

In a blink of his eyes, Arkk and Vezta found themselves outside the meeting room door. He took a long breath of fresh air before realizing something.

“Do I smell like alchemy lab?”

“Fairly strongly. I wasn’t going to say anything—”

“Just a moment.”

Arkk teleported away again, reappearing in his private quarters. He quickly tossed the dark green tunic aside and started washing his face and hair in a small water basin he kept on the table. Hoping that at least helped, he grabbed hold of a black suit and quickly threw it on. It was a little more militaristic than the tunic he had on before, more akin to something Hawkwood would have worn. Not in battle, but around Cliff. It had a high collar and trim lines down the sides.

Looking less like he had just rolled out of bed and into a vat of potions, he teleported back to Vezta’s side. The servant waited patiently as he straightened his suit, only to brush his hands aside to smooth it down for him.

“Is the smell better?”

“Marginally, though you look more regal.”

“It will have to do.” He didn’t want to keep everyone waiting for too long.

Not everything could go according to plan all the time, unfortunately. There were hiccups, factors outside Arkk’s control, or just plain inaccuracies in what he expected versus the reality of the situation. There weren’t too many things that could be done to prevent such situations. Nevertheless, Arkk tried to account for as many issues as possible.

Hands clasped behind his back, he stalked into the meeting room. The table had been pushed aside, leaving an array of chairs. Everyone relevant to the ritual sat before him. Agnete, Savren, Zullie, and Hale—the latter with John at her side, along with Lexa and the other bandits capable of spellcasting. Behind him, seated at a long rectangular table, were all the primary advisors and ‘section heads’ as he had taken to calling them.

Rekk’ar and Olatt’an represented the orcs. The former wasn’t too happy with delving into the unknown of this ritual. Arkk fully expected that of him given that he wasn’t happy with too many things that fell outside ‘orcs doing orc things’. Although Arkk appreciated his caution on occasion, he often ignored the man’s grumblings. Olatt’an, on the other hand, maintained a calm demeanor on the outside but there was something in there… an anticipation in his eyes like he had been waiting for this for a long while.

Khan represented the gorgon in the matter. Although, Arkk had mostly included Khan as a courtesy. The gorgon didn’t have much input one way or another here. Which did feel a little strange. If Vezta was correct, the gorgon—or their ancestors—came from an alternate plane of existence. They weren’t native.

Katja, with Horrik crossing his arms as he towered behind her chair, was here as a courtesy as well. She wasn’t an official employee but he was using spellcasters loyal to her for this ritual. Arkk had… concerns about her presence. None of the bandits had been allowed to see the ritual chamber so far. Arkk didn’t want them getting any ideas on how they might utilize it toward their ends or otherwise sabotage it.

Arkk had spoken to Zullie about the potential issue. The bandits would be occupying the less vital segments of the ritual. All they needed to do was contribute a bit of magical power. Without having seen the ritual beforehand, the most she suspected they would have to worry about was people deliberately not pouring magic into the ritual or people trying to overload it. The latter notion had elicited a small laugh along with a quip about how weak their tests had proved them to be.

“Capable of parlor tricks and little more,” Zullie had said with a scoff. “Lexa is far and large the most talented of the bunch and her power is likely being augmented by her employee contract. I wish I could have tested her before but…”

If they simply did not contribute in an attempt to sabotage the ritual, it should fail gracefully, leaving him frustrated but perfectly able to try again. A second attempt would have to wait until after casting Katja and every single bandit out of Fortress Al-Mir. He wasn’t quite sure if he would toss them to a burg or not. They had a lot to worry about with the war and didn’t need a hundred and fifty bandits dropped in their laps.

Vezta, sporting an anticipatory grin far more obvious than Olatt’an’s, made up the final member of the table as she entered behind him, taking a seat up at the front. That left just one seat empty.

Ilya should have been there.

As he did every time he thought of her, Arkk quickly checked in on Ilya. At the moment, she looked to be in a session with some healers. It was hard to tell with no real communication and no way to listen in, but as far as Arkk could tell the gouging that the assassins had done was almost completely healed. The emergency work that Arkk had done to keep her alive until the proper healers could arrive, on the other hand, still looked exactly how Arkk had left it, raw and half complete. He wanted to go to her. He wanted her here. Unfortunately, Inquisitor Vrox had told him in no uncertain terms that entering Cliff would do no good favors toward their ‘ignore each other’ truce.

There wasn’t much he could do aside from make sure that the Duke wasn’t harming Ilya.

If that changed… well, screw that truce. He would be there as fast as Vezta could scribe teleportation rituals.

Shaking the distraction from his mind, Arkk focused on the task at hand. “Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming. We will be conducting the ritual today. Individually, on your parts, it will be quite simple. You are to stand at your assigned spot and, on cue, pour magic into the ritual array. Zullie will be the primary monitor for the ritual. Savren will be the secondary. They are positioned on opposite ends of the room so everyone should be able to hear at least one of them,” Arkk said, indicating the positions on the diagram on the wall. “You will adhere to their commands. It shouldn’t be anything more complicated than adding power or holding back.”

“Also, should we call out ‘Stop’ please cease any magical expenditure entirely,” Zullie added, finger in the air. “Though that will only be called out if we detect something going catastrophically wrong.”

Arkk nodded his head and then looked back to the rest of the room. “Any questions?”

One of Katja’s bandits raised his hand. A young man with a chin as wide as his face. “I’ve never actually done any ritual that requires multiple people,” he said. “What does catastrophic mean in this case?”

“Tumultuous tremors tearing terra to tiny tidbits or malefic monstrosities managing migration to materiality—”

“What my esteemed colleague is trying to say,” Zullie started, shooting a glare across the table, “is that you shouldn’t worry because any of our projected possibilities are extremely improbable. However, there is one thing you all should be aware of. No matter what seems to be going wrong—or right—please do not move from your assigned positions. There is a not-insignificant chance that you might experience a sudden discorporealization event if you do.”

“Discorpo-what?” the same bandit asked.

“You will find yourself feebly flailing as your fingers fail to firmly find footing, falling from our foundations into fantasy.”

Arkk shot Savren a flat look, rolling his eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered just what kind of curse he suffered from and whether or not it re-translated his thoughts with alliteration in mind or if his vocabulary was simply good enough to push through it, even if his meaning came out somewhat less clear than it otherwise should have been.

The ritual they were doing was designed to weaken the boundaries of reality, allowing the portal to reconnect to the [UNDERWORLD]. If things went wrong, there was a possibility that some people might fall out of reality. Or so Zullie had put it.

“Uh…”

Seeing the confusion on most of the bandits’ faces, Arkk decided not to elaborate on what Savren had been trying to say. He didn’t need to frighten them all off now of all times.

“Just don’t move,” Zullie said, removing her glasses to rub at the bridge of her nose. “We have safeguards in place within the ritual circle and once the ritual is depowered, everything will go back to normal.”

“Any other questions?” Arkk asked, forcing a little cheer into his tone. Better to get off this track sooner rather than later.

“We being paid?” another bandit asked.

“Katja has already received a sizable compensation for your services,” Arkk said before the bandit lord could answer. Smiling, he continued, “I presume she will distribute your portions according to your working contracts.”

It was brief but Arkk spotted Katja shooting him a glare as she carefully crossed her arms. He watched her a moment longer through his Keeper vision, fully expecting some kind of complaint. Maybe even an argument that he would be paying them more than he had already agreed. However, she simply looked at her caster and nodded her head. Arkk wasn’t sure if he should feel alarmed or relieved.

“As for those of you working for Company Al-Mir,” Arkk said. He was mostly speaking to Lexa and the one orc that Zullie had cleared, Vezz’ok. Agnete, Zullie, Hale, and Savren might want to know as well though they were already likely aware. “This counts as an active task—but not a hostile task unless the ritual turns dangerous—and will be compensated accordingly.”

Vezz’ok nodded his head. Lexa just grinned, winking at Arkk. Not sure what that wink was for, Arkk ignored the gremlin and looked around the room. When nobody else brought up a question, he clapped his hands together. “Okay,” he said, feeling a fluttering in his stomach at how close they were. “Zullie and Savren will escort everyone related into the chamber. No one else will be permitted entry due to the aforementioned hazards for those wandering around outside the ritual circle.”

Arkk took in a deep breath, rubbing his fingers against his thumbs as he watched the room shift and move. His two spellcasters quickly maneuvered people out of the room and down the hall. He leaned back against the wall, resting for just a moment.

“Second thoughts?” Olatt’an asked, his voice calm as usual.

“Nervous,” Arkk said. “Honestly, I almost want to delay a bit. Savren and Zullie deciding to redo the original ritual design did make me a little worried that this might not be correct either. Another competent caster’s opinion wouldn’t have hurt…”

“But the war…”

Arkk nodded his head. “Dire. Too dire.”

He had already been through a long debriefing regarding the events in Elmshadow with all his advisors. That golden light, likely an avatar of one of the traitor [PANTHEON] members, was far too potent. More potent than Agnete’s flames or Tybalt’s void fields.

At least they had their answer as to how Evestani was crossing the winter terrain with such ease. Before Elmshadow, Hawkwood had a whole team trying to figure out what Evestani was doing that was allowing their troops to move so quickly even through areas of heavy snow and icy winds without succumbing to frostbite. Now they knew. It was divine intervention.

“Additional allies, boons from gods, lost magics, and who knows what else we might find.” Vezta had given him a long list of possibilities. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been there in well over a thousand years, since before the Calamity was a thing. Knowing anything for certain was simply impossible. “I imagine a hundred beings like Vezta would be able to stop that army’s march where they stand.”

“Master,” Vezta said, stepping into the conversation. “I did warn you not to expect more of myself. I am quite unique.”

“Like you, not you exactly,” Arkk said, shaking his head. “Even a hundred beings on par with orcs or elves who are willing to join us would bolster our forces. I don’t know about stopping the army with just that but it would be a start.”

He had posted notices around all the nearby burgs stating Company Al-Mir’s intent to recruit. They were hardly the only ones, however. White Company, the Order of Claymores, First Legion, and practically every other mercenary company had similar notices out there. Having spoken with Hawkwood, Arkk was well aware that almost every recruit who might have thought about joining up with him had gone over to White Company instead. That wasn’t a bad thing. Hawkwood could use recruits more effectively than he could at the moment.

Still, Arkk felt Company Al-Mir desperately needed additional forces. Especially if his suspicion about the assassin’s reaction to his glowing eyes was correct. They were coming for him. Not the Duke or the Duchy as a whole.

Rekk’ar leaned back in his chair, scowling at Arkk. “Not sure you’re going to have a lot of success. What idiots would go to a whole other world to die in a war unrelated to them?”

Vezta was the one to answer him, looking over with several of her eyes. “Those who wish to see the world restored and the Calamity reverted. Just by reaching the [UNDERWORLD], we will show our sincerity and capability in getting tasks done. While there may still be persuasion required, it is likely not as hopeless as you believe.”

“Bah,” Rekk’ar said, standing. “Don’t know why I bother. Let’s get to the archway,” he said, clapping a hand on Olatt’an’s shoulder.

Arkk quickly checked through his fortress. Dakka stood at the head of a contingent of orcs and gorgon, equipped in full armor with shiny new weapons hot out of the blacksmith’s quencher. Not literally… but they all had mostly new equipment.

While Vezta promised allies, Arkk was taking a slightly more pragmatic approach. No one, including Vezta, could say they knew what would be on the other side of the portal. Arkk felt it only prudent to set up defenses and guards to make sure nothing unpleasant slipped into the fortress.

In the worst-case scenario, Arkk had lesser servants standing by, ready to collapse the entire passage. He could teleport all of his minions out of the way and then pull the ceiling down on anything that looked too much for his guards to handle.

“Remind them not to attack first if anything comes through,” Arkk said. “We’re trying to get allies, not more enemies.”

Rekk’ar rolled his eyes but Olatt’an gave a firm nod of his head. “When we go through ourselves, I will be at your side,” the latter said.

Arkk blinked. That was quite possibly the first time he had ever heard the older orc make anything resembling a demand. Still, it wasn’t anything unreasonable. Arkk nodded back. “According to Vezta, we might have to go through just to get the portal open in the first place. I’m fine with you joining. Speak with Dakka while you’re waiting. We should go through with a few people. Get some volunteers.”

“My pleasure,” the old orc said as he departed with Rekk’ar.

Agnete stepped up to Arkk as the others left the room. He could tell even without looking simply because of the warmth that followed her around. He looked over to her, one eyebrow raised. “Agnete. You sure you’re alright?”

After her collapse and exhaustion in Elmshadow, Arkk had kept a close eye on the purifier. It had been a few days since she had diverted that golden ray of light, saving his and Hawkwood’s lives. Almost all of which had been spent in her room. She had spent a great deal of time sleeping, an activity broken only to eat.

Agnete merely nodded her head, so Arkk asked, “Input from a former inquisitor?”

“Not exactly,” Agnete said, voice soft. “This Underworld is… the locale of a being titled Cloak of Shadows, correct?”

Arkk slowly nodded, looking at Vezta.

“Accurate,” Vezta said.

“The Cloak of Shadows is a being similar to the Burning Forge. This implies that the Burning Forge has a locale as well.”

“Correct. It is referred to as [ANVIL OF ALL WORLDS].”

“Will it be possible to visit this… Anvil?”

“The [UNDERWORLD] is, metaphysically speaking, the closest plane,” Vezta said. “It is why we are attempting to breach it. The Anvil is fairly distant and will likely require the power of at least one additional [HEART] along with additional territory and minions, though I do concede that we may find alternate routes, methods, or assistance inside the [UNDERWORLD].”

“Why are you interested?” Arkk asked, feeling like he knew what the answer was going to be.

“I am supposedly an avatar of this Burning Forge. I don’t know anything about it. I don’t know anything about myself or why or how I came into this power. All I know is that I have been used all my life. I would like to know why.”

Arkk nodded along with her words. It wasn’t exactly what he had been thinking but close enough that he wasn’t even mildly surprised. “I don’t know if it will give you answers but, if we find a way, I will bring you along. Here and now, however, I would prefer if you remain inside Fortress Al-Mir.”

“Remain behind? But—”

“Rest assured that even if we find a convenient door to this Anvil place over there, we’ll stay out of it until you’re with us. It’s just that you are probably the most powerful person here. I would like you to stay behind and make sure nothing goes wrong while we’re on a completely different plane of existence.”

The faint glow of embers in Agnete’s eyes dimmed as she shifted her gaze across the room. Katja was leaning against the door with her arms crossed, Horrik at her side. From the way she was standing and the fact that Arkk met her gaze when he looked over, she had positioned herself there so that Arkk couldn’t slip past without running into her.

Well, he could just teleport away. It wasn’t like anyone could stop him while he was within the fortress’ walls.

“I understand,” Agnete said, voice even quieter now. “I will maintain order in your absence.”

“Thank you, Agnete,” Arkk said, resting a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t maintain contact for long, quickly pulling his hand back. He flicked his wrist a few times through the air, trying to cool it back down. He hadn’t burned himself. At least not bad enough to rush to a pool of water. He made a mental note not to pat Agnete on the shoulder again. “Although it might not be soon,” he continued. “I promise we’ll look into the Burning Forge more thoroughly after things calm down.”

Dark lips pressed together, Agnete nodded her head. She walked away after, heading through the door without a single glance toward Katja.

Arkk let out a small sigh. All things considered, Katja wasn’t that terrible of a person to deal with. He had to keep in mind that it could be worse. Edvin could have been the leader of the Moonshine Burg thieves.

“Sorry if I ruined any plans to further plunder my coffers,” Arkk said as he approached the door where Katja was waiting. “I’m not too keen on double-dippers. That said, if you are interested in more gold, you could join up officially.”

“And die when you put me on the front lines?” Katja shook her head, sending her black hair swinging around her shoulders. “Not interested in your war. I intend to cruise through it and come out the other side as rich as possible. Maybe take over the ruins of a larger burg. Hell, might even pretend to be benevolent, and get myself a fancy title from the Duke. Wouldn’t say no to Queen Katja being made official.”

“I… don’t think the Duke has the authority to give away the title of Queen.”

“No, but Duchess Katja declaring herself Queen of Mystakeen after the tragic death of her husband sounds about right. Maybe after, you would like to become my King? You’re certainly rich enough for it.”

“And wake up the morning after our marriage to find a dagger deep in my heart? I’ll pass, thank you.”

“I’d make sure you died happy,” she said with a lascivious grin that would put Lexa’s more lecherous smiles to shame. “Your loss,” she added when he just shook his head.

Arkk just shook his head, slipping past her. “If that’s all…”

“For now,” Katja said, licking her lips. “Do keep what I said in mind though. Word is you aren’t keen on the current rulers of our fair nation. Should a most unfortunate incident befall our beloved Duke, do remember those who helped you out.”

Arkk looked at her with a frown, wondering if Lexa had been talking to her former employer about things that she really shouldn’t have been talking about. “Right,” he said slowly before turning away.

It was time.

The ritual awaited.

 

 

Clarkson pulled his cloak tight, shivering in the winter wind. Snow clung to his face and stung his eyebrows. It was all he could do to keep moving forward. One foot went in front of the other, slowly yet steadily. The light sack hanging over his shoulder thumped against his back in a lethargic rhythm.

He wasn’t the only one out, moving across the plains. Vanny and Kev stalked along to his left, eyes dead as they stared at the snow-covered ground. Kumm’av snapped at the reins of an ox, trying to keep it moving the cart filled with children. Branson, hardly seen without a smile on his face, now looked like the only thing keeping him moving was a necromancer pulling his strings.

Having seen more than one of his fellows fall to the snow in the past nine days, Clarkson wouldn’t find it surprising in the slightest if a necromancer actually was trailing after them. They were leaving enough bodies behind to fill a small crypt. Mostly the elderly. Gemmy had been the first to fall. His enthusiastic façade withered away by the second night as his nose and fingers started turning black. Although they had kept the fire going hot all night, no one had been able to wake him in the morning.

Clarkson tried not to think about the lack of feeling in his toes.

He just had to keep moving forward.

They were almost there. Almost to Joydale Village. A little community north of Elmshadow, nestled in a far narrower valley. It wasn’t the closest village. Clarkson, along with most of the others, had decided to head toward it anyway. Most nearby villages and burgs would be overwhelmed by the sudden influx of refugees. To avoid the risk of traveling for days only to be turned away, Clarkson and the others had elected to head further out.

They hadn’t counted on the sudden plummeting temperature. It turned a cold winter into a positively frozen winter.

Miserable. Deadly.

But they were almost there.

“Holding up?”

Clarkson looked over to find Erwin looking… well, not happy. The man, older than Clarkson but younger than most, had been one of the more enthusiastic ones for traveling out to Joydale. Said he had family out there who would take in their group, assuming they couldn’t stay somewhere like the village church. While he had lost a lot of his good cheer along with everyone else, Clarkson could still see the forced smile in his eyes.

“I’m moving,” Clarkson said. Peeling open his lips for the first time today felt like driving pins and needles into the skin around his mouth. But that was good. Pins and needles meant that he was feeling something. “You think everyone who stayed behind is still alive?”

“Still alive.” Unlike a number of their group. “I don’t know. No one I talked to knows why they’re attacking. Maybe they just hate us. Maybe the Duke said something offensive.”

“Would they take it out on us? We’re just farmers…”

“Let me tell you something. I spent some time with the Knights of Longview. Two hundred people caravanning around the deserts of Chernlock. We were a free company, fully registered with the garrisons and yet, I distinctly remember coming across a village that had been beset by bandits. Not our commission but we were fresh on our journey and itching for a good fight…”

Erwin trailed off. His eyes, glassy as they poked out from between the hood of his cloak and a thick scarf around his mouth, stared off into the distance.

“Commander died early on. Caught a stray arrow. His second couldn’t keep control—we were hardly the disciplined sorts and nobody particularly liked Yorya. Killed the bandits easily enough but, by the end of the night, I doubted that the villagers would have been able to tell the difference between us and those who had been raiding them.

“Now, an army should be more disciplined but an army is far larger. Trying to keep a few thousand in line, keep them from raiding and pillaging the people they just conquered… sounds impossible. If I were their commanders, I would say let them have at it. Blow off steam on the poor souls who stayed behind. Loot whatever they wanted and so on and so forth.”

Clarkson pressed his lips together. There hadn’t been a good option if that was true. Still, leaving six of their group behind, dead in the snow… Traveling didn’t feel like a good option. Maybe a closer village wouldn’t have turned them away.

“Why ask? Regret leaving?” Erwin asked, cocking his head. “It is a bit late for that. We’re almost there!”

Clarkson blinked and looked to Erwin. The man had his eyes up on the horizon. Following, taking his eyes off the snowy path ahead of him for the first time, Clarkson spotted the gleaming white walls of the village church. It practically glowed against the dark overcast clouds in the background.

A change in the caravan’s mood rippled through the travelers with Erwin’s words. Energy returned to the group. It was a subtle thing but their pace picked up. Even the ox seemed to sense the nearing destination.

Safety. Warmth. Healing, hopefully.

Those white walls of the bell tower, adorned with golden sigils of the Light, called out to Clarkson, drawing him ever closer. Just seeing it brought feeling back to his toes. By the time they reached the building, Clarkson was walking upright. He had even tugged off his own scarf.

Erwin made arrangements. The local priest brought out a heavy pot of stew. It was thin gruel, mostly water with a few dry plants and tubers from the storehouse thrown in. Yet seated within the chapel, feeling the warmth waft from his bowl onto his face, it was the most delicious stew he had ever eaten.

“Light be praised,” Clarkson whispered.

Erwin looked over, hefting his bowl in agreement. “Damn those Golden Order heretics.”

Clarkson winced at the memory of those golden beams that had torn through his home. Elmshadow was in ruins. It might never reach its former glory. The city guard and those mercenaries hadn’t stood a chance in the face of their enemy’s might.

Looking up at the glass windows of the chapel and the ornate golden symbols covering the panes, he had to wonder…

Why hadn’t the Light protected them? Was the Golden Order’s god simply stronger?

It was… a sobering thought.

Hands clasped together, Vezta walked the halls of Fortress Al-Mir, enjoying the atmosphere. With Zullie passed out from exhaustion and Savren finally satisfied with the alterations they had made to the ritual, she had no pressing tasks around the fortress. That gave her plenty of opportunity to take time for herself.

It had been so very long since Vezta last felt the beating of the [HEART]. It wasn’t something every resident could perceive. She could feel every thrum. Each and every pounding thud, echoing against the walls. The way the beating grew faster when stressful situations found her master, the soothing calm when he fell asleep. She could guess what he was doing at any moment just from the intensity of the beats.

It was so lively. Merely thinking about it brought a spring to Vezta’s steps. She had spent so long in isolation. Upon returning to the fortress to find her master missing and all residents slaughtered, she had fallen into a state of torpor, only to be awoken centuries later by a powerful magical presence crossing through the land.

It had taken effort to wake from her lethargy. The lack of energy within the fortress—and the world itself as a result of the Calamity—had kept Vezta slow and sluggish. Nevertheless, she had managed to open a gaping hole in the fortress ceiling just in time to draw that magical presence in. It had been a gamble to allow him to leave but a reluctant master was no master at all.

Everything had turned out so well.

People wandered the halls that had stood empty for a thousand years, carrying out tasks, training, and donating their magic to the collective of the fortress. Furnaces burned, hatcheries spawned poultry, and lesser servants scurried about, maintaining everything. For a long few hundred years, Vezta had feared that no magical peoples still existed in the world and the [HEART] of Fortress Al-Mir would never beat again. Now they had a dozen within the fortified walls. Not all were employees, it was true.

Vezta wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. Two groups within Fortress Al-Mir had not made a contract with the [HEART]. The first were rescued slaves and refugees of the war.

Inviting random people to live in a fortress wasn’t something Vezta could recall having been done under her former master. Not at such a scale, in any case. Perhaps a particular individual of note or small group that would be advantageous to bring inside for protection. Arkk was rather unorthodox. Understandable given that Keepers of the [HEART] had been effectively exterminated from the world. He had no context for precedent.

Aside from a few words of advice or offerings of how her former master ran things, Vezta was quite content to allow him to act as he would.

That didn’t mean that she wouldn’t, as the humans put it, raise her eyebrows at some oddities. Walking through the refugee wing of the fortress, there was certainly a different air to it.

People sat around for the most part. They acted more like captives than guests. It probably didn’t help that several guards patrolled the halls. Mostly the original orcs Arkk had hired. They were around solely to ensure that no fights broke out—a fairly common occurrence, understandable given the stress of losing everything—but the impression they gave off wasn’t necessarily the best.

Three hundred people had found themselves invited into Fortress Al-Mir since the start of the war, plus a hundred rescued slaves from just before the war’s start. Only a handful had joined properly, wanting revenge or just to have something occupying their hands if not their minds. The rest were… leeches. As Vezta walked past one room, she peeked her head inside to find a few dozen men and women of varying ages sitting around, talking in hushed tones. No one was really sure what they were supposed to be doing.

The only real ‘job’ they had around the fortress was to harvest and consume the food produced by one of the large refugee hatcheries and fields that Arkk had constructed specifically for them. Beyond that, their job was to sit around and hope they could return to normal life once spring came. Though, with the war, the prospects of that happening were not all that likely.

They should be booted out or hired—and thus donate whatever scraps of magic they had to the greater fortress.

But Arkk wouldn’t go for that.

Still, at least they were peaceful.

The other group of unaffiliated persons currently housed within Fortress Al-Mir were not quite so content to sit around.

Vezta’s leisurely walk took her past the main treasure vaults. That was one issue that needed to be addressed. It wasn’t a problem yet but the fortress turned gold and magic into food for consumption. With so many people, especially so many non-employees, their gold reserves were starting to diminish. They would need to find additional sources of income if Arkk did not send everyone away.

Before that, however, was the problem of the dark elf kneeling at the treasury door. Only three rooms had reinforced doors. The [HEART] chamber, the treasury, and the flame witch’s private quarters. That meant it was fairly obvious that something valuable was hidden within.

No normal person should be able to open any of those three doors. And yet, this dark elf had a pair of metal bars wedged in the frame. He was trying to force it open.

The moment he spotted Vezta, his eyes widened and he started sprinting down the corridor.

He was fast but couldn’t compete with her once she unraveled her tendrils. A gaping, tooth-filled maw clamped down on his leg with enough force to take a small chunk out. More tendrils thrust forward, wrapping around his arms and shoulders. He fell to the ground, kicking and screaming. Vezta drew him back, deliberately drawing it out, giving the man time to contemplate his actions.

“You…” Vezta started, pulling the dark elf around to face him. “You are one of Katja’s men.”

“Get off m—”

A thick tendril squirmed over his face, sealing his mouth shut.

“Answer me one question. You will nod your head for yes or shake your head for no. Were you sent here by Katja or one of Katja’s underlings? Answer honestly. I will be displeased if I detect a lie.”

The dark elf froze in Vezta’s grip. He still kicked his legs and tried to twist his arms out of her tendrils but his head stilled to the point where it was clear that he wasn’t answering. Vezta waited half a moment more before closing her eyes.

“I see.”

Vezta let him drop, still wrapped up in her tendrils. Opening one of her mouths, she let out an unnatural whistle, sharp to the point where most mortals wouldn’t be able to hear it as it crashed through not the air but the aether. It took a minute but one of the lesser servants slowly slithered up the hall. Vezta simply waved at the door. Her meaning clear to the servant, it moved forward to eat the metal bars and repair the minor damage the dark elf had managed.

“Come along,” Vezta said to the elf, not giving him a choice as she dragged him over the ground.

Katja’s entire crew from Porcupine Hill had accepted Arkk’s generous offer of housing on the condition that her spellcasters participate in the ritual. While Vezta understood that spellcasters were a precious commodity, both because of the way the Abbey of the Light had their hands in tutoring spellcasters and because the war had seen most spellcasters joining up with various mercenary forces or the main army of the Duchy, she still felt like inviting a bunch of thieves to the fortress had been a mistake.

It wasn’t that they were thieves. It was that they weren’t employed.

Katja had her own guards posted throughout her wing of the fortress. Arkk had his orcs and gorgon patrol outside it but they weren’t to enter without him. Nobody wanted fights breaking out inside the fortress. Someone must have slacked off to have allowed this dark elf access to the rest of the fortress. That was a disciplinary issue that she would see to later. For now…

A few of Katja’s guards tried, halfheartedly, to stop Vezta. Seeing her dragging one of their own, tied and bound—and a little bloodied from where her mouths had taken small bites from him—had most of them moving aside the moment her eyes crossed over them. The only one who did stand in her way without budging was the giant of a human who served as Katja’s main bodyguard.

He crossed his arms, stepping in front of the door to Katja’s private chambers. “Halt,” he said.

“I will speak with your leader,” Vezta said, keeping her tone as polite as possible. “Whether you have all your limbs when I do is up to—”

“Horrik!”

The door opened, prompting the large man to step aside.

The leader of the bandits stepped out in a translucent gown, striped tattoos visible on her bare arms. Her eyes traveled first to Vezta, then to the dark elf on the floor behind Vezta, before settling on her bodyguard.

“Horrik, I have asked you to not antagonize our benefactors.”

The man did not verbally respond but he did let out a lengthy noise from the back of his throat as his eyes focused on the dark elf.

“I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for this,” Katja said, patting him on the arm. “Well, benefactor? What is the reasonable explanation for Len’s poor treatment.”

“I found him outside your wing of the fortress, attempting—”

“I don’t recall other trespassers being treated quite so roughly.”

“Attempting to access restricted areas.” Vezta pulled one of her tendrils taut. The snap of the elf’s arm made a few of the gathered onlookers wince. The muffled moans escaping from behind the tendril clamped over his mouth quickly degraded into whimpering. “I take such violations quite seriously.”

The dark elf’s eyes widened and he started twisting back and forth, very obviously trying to shake his head in the negative. Another bone snapped as Vezta bent his leg in the wrong direction.

“You are here because my master would like to use your spellcasters. He has generously offered shelter and financial compensation.” The dark elf let out another cry as his arm twisted far enough to pop out of its socket. “Relations between our groups need not sour. I believe Arkk wishes to work with you in the long term on other projects. But I cannot abide any threat to Fortress Al-Mir.”

Slowly, Vezta started to twist her tendrils. She watched the expressions on everyone’s faces. Katja had her lips pressed together, trying to look neutral. Horrik had a heavy scowl that deepened with every passing moment. Most of the other bandits ranged somewhere between disgust and apathy. One, standing nearest to Vezta, even had a smile on his face. Perhaps someone who didn’t particularly like this dark elf.

The elf’s head twisted fully. His struggles went limp. Vezta pulled her tendrils back to herself, reforming her dress and legs in full. The body dropped to the floor, twitching.

“There will be no warning. No mercy. Anyone caught violating the sanctity of Fortress Al-Mir will meet a similar fate.” Vezta smiled, deliberately stretching her lips just a little too wide. “Good day, Katja, Lord of the Bandits.” She turned but didn’t quite make it a full step before feeling the familiar tug of teleportation.

She found herself in the false fortress, directly in front of the array of teleportation circles.

Feeling the presence of her master, she turned and smiled. “Welcome home… Master?”

Arkk stood covered in sweat and grime, clearly tired. Something in his eyes had changed. The hope of the young boy who had initially made a contract with Fortress Al-Mir was missing.

“Are you alright?”

He drew in a deep, heavy breath. “Do I want to know what you were doing just now?”

“Meting out disciplinary measures,” Vezta said without hesitation. “Your absence has resulted in several… trespasses among Katja’s men. Most were simply returned to that wing of the fortress.”

“I trust that man did something to deserve more?”

“Your trust is well placed,” Vezta said with a bow. “He attempted to break into the treasury. I felt a need to make clear that we won’t have them walking over us.”

“If this causes problems with…” Arkk drew in a breath, straightening his back. His eyes regained a little light. “The ritual. Is the ritual ready?”

“Zullie and Savren are both happy with the alterations and I, in my limited knowledge of ritual magic, see no reason why it shouldn’t work. Once you adjust the temple room, we can begin.”

“Good. Good,” he said, reaching out and grabbing Vezta by the shoulder. He gave her a firm squeeze. “We need to do it as soon as possible. Now, even.”

“Is something wrong?”

Vezta’s master looked empty once more as his face went blank. He stared at her but not the kind of stare that would really see her. His sight was set on his thoughts. Vezta remained still, offering her support with a smile while letting him process everything he needed to.

Eventually, he spoke.

“Elmshadow… was a disaster.”

 

 

If there was one good thing about the purifier going rogue, it was that his actions gave Arkk an idea.

Inquisitrix Astra came forward and confirmed the death of Purifier Tybalt. It felt a little too easy to Arkk. An Avatar of the Jailor of the Void, felled by a lightning bolt. Then again, he was just a human, albeit with strange magic. Agnete was no different. Perhaps she could use some aspect of her flames to avoid a bolt of lightning, but Arkk couldn’t see how. If she got hit, especially with him giving it his all, he doubted she would be any better off.

Unfortunately, his death did not pop the wall back into existence. It was a large gap in Elmshadow’s defenses. Fifty armed and armored men standing shoulder-to-shoulder could walk into the city at once. It wouldn’t be easy. The ground curved downwards into a trough that was slowly filling with water from somewhere. Melted snow, perhaps. Even with that, it was still a worrisome opening that hindered White Company’s ability to defend the burg.

So far, despite it having been several hours, Evestani had only now started marching over to take advantage. Arkk was hoping that he had taken out their leadership. That way, at least he would have done something, even if that something only meant a delay.

The magical bombardment had started up again, covering the army’s advancement. Not boulders dropping from the skies this time. Thankfully, they weren’t using golden rays or golden arrows either. Instead, flaming balls of fire came down on the city far more frequently and were dangerous, especially if they made it through the barrier and started raining down on the wooden structures within, but they were also far less substantial than a solid mound of stone. Much easier for those manning the defensive rituals to weather. Arkk doubted they intended to shatter the defenses. They were just tying up spellcasters to minimize the few magical counterattacks that Hawkwood could mount against the approaching army.

He was trying. There was no large ritual in place to bombard them in turn—and not enough casters to reliably work the ritual array he had stolen from Evestani—but the army in motion was vulnerable to lesser spells and the mounted ballista. The spellcasters with the vanguard of the army didn’t quite manage to defend from everything.

Arkk, arms crossed as he stood on an intact segment of the wall, watched as winches and a claw ratcheted back two stone spheres connected by a heavy rope. The ballista could be a precision weapon at times but at the moment, hurling a ball and chain through as much of the army as possible would do the most damage, both in terms of physical damage as well as morale.

No one wanted to rush closer to their deaths.

With a heavy thwung, the strained arms of the ballista released their tension, rocketing the oversized bolas off into the distance. Arkk lost sight of the projectile against the gray skies, only to spot it once again as a barrier quite similar to that which Zullie had developed popped into place. Where Zullie’s projectile blocker spell grabbed hold of incoming projectiles, this one deflected the bolas up and over the top of the forward soldiers. It did come back down again but at a greatly reduced velocity and a far sharper angle. The dozen soldiers in the way had plenty of time to move, clearing the landing zone before it crashed down.

Not every group was as lucky. Spells or bolas occasionally struck true. It just wasn’t enough.

Arkk was not flinging his spells. Nor was he putting his meager archery skills to good use. He stood atop the wall, focusing not on the army itself but on the ground under their feet. He had to focus lest his mental map of the terrain shift askew.

Purifier Tybalt had given him the idea. Or perhaps reminded him that he had more at his disposal than just orcs and a former purifier.

He glanced over at Hawkwood and gave the man a firm nod of his head.

Hawkwood, held up a stalling hand, scowling as he looked out at the approaching army. “Where?”

“The forward group. I think I can time it so that we get the majority of the spellcasters.”

Watching the army move, both with scrying and a spyglass, it quickly became clear that they tried to keep their spellcasters as protected as possible within each battalion. The active spellcasters, the ones maintaining the defenses, would move to the front. When exhausted, they would retreat toward the middle of the group and recover.

“Hold,” Hawkwood said. “Let them pass.”

“What? But—”

“They are the vanguard. The forward soldiers the enemy is throwing away to fall upon our swords and clear the way for the rest of the army behind. The unit following is larger and better equipped.”

Arkk peered into his crystal ball, comparing a few soldiers from each of the advancing units. What Hawkwood was saying wasn’t wrong. Evestani’s army wasn’t wholly uniform across all units. They favored a black and gold theme, painting their armor and wearing regalia primarily colored along those lines. The golden sun against the black background did stand out and look striking.

The forward group, however, looked more like how Arkk pictured a well-funded militia to look. Or perhaps a mercenary company along the lines of First Legion or the Society of the Burning Shadow. A group of people who all worked together but were left to their own devices on how to equip themselves. They followed the theme of black and gold but depictions of Evestani’s golden sun were few and far between.

“Conscripts,” Hawkwood said, answering the question on Arkk’s mind. “Perhaps taken from mercenary companies. Perhaps taken from the streets.”

“Fake soldiers or not, they’re still carrying real weapons.”

“They will be poorly trained and thus easier for us to deal with. Easier to rout as well. Even easier still should their backup fail to arrive.”

Arkk glanced around. White Company numbered roughly four thousand strong. Not all of them were present at the wall. Elsewhere around Elmshadow, other parts of the Evestani army were approaching, likely to put strain here, allowing their men to break through. White Company had to spread themselves out along the entirety of the west-facing wall or risk being overrun from behind.

The gap in the wall was still the weakest point and thus warranted Hawkwood’s personal attention. And Arkk’s as well.

Arkk licked his lips, stomach aching from the sight of ten thousand marching forward across the vacant fields. It wasn’t even mildly comparable to facing down a few hundred goblins. Especially not when he had a horror from the Stars at his back and new magic making him feel invulnerable.

He was no stronger than Purifier Tybalt or Agnete. A stray arrow or an oblique spell and he would be gone.

“I hope your men are ready,” Arkk said, resisting the urge to step back. “They’re almost here.”

“Just hold steady until that second unit advances a little more.”

“Right. Steady.” Arkk took a deep breath, regretting sticking around. Fresh idea thanks to Tybalt or not, this felt like suicide. “Not going to give a big rallying speech? Get everyone’s spirits up?”

“The general riding up and down the lines, belting out a morale-boosting speech, is entirely the fiction of bards and poets. I could turn and shout as loud as I could and only a dozen would be able to hear me,” Hawkwood said, offering Arkk a grim smile. “Every squad has battle-hardened hype men. Those who have been with White Company for a time, seen and fought in plenty of fights. They will rally those around them. Not often through the use of flowery words and purple speech. Listen,” he said, cupping a hand to his ear. “Even now, you can hear them psyching themselves up.”

Arkk turned slightly, not quite sure what Hawkwood was referring to. A thunderous sound had risen along the wall in the last few minutes. Clanging of metal against metal and shouts of discordant hype. Arkk had thought it was from the sound of the approaching army but, now that Hawkwood had pointed it out, he realized that at least some of it was coming from the soldiers stationed on the wall and behind the large divots.

They stomped their boots. They struck their own shields with the pommels of their swords. The pikemen raised their spears into the air, cheering.

They readied themselves for war.

Arkk often felt out of his depth. Never more so than now. Despite all the cacophony and the vibration of war in the air, a rather silly thought flittered through his mind. It was a good thing he had relieved himself just an hour ago.

“Ignore it. Their job is to fight with sword and shield. The archers are to rain down death upon the enemy. The casters are to protect from the same happening to us. I am to be seen leading the fray. You focus on your job. The second unit. Wait until the perfect moment. No one will know when that is except you.”

Arkk swallowed a dry lump, nodding his head absently.

Focus.

On the rolling waves of armored figures marching across the plains, set to crash into Elmshadow Burg and sweep it away like a flooded river through a small hamlet.

“The hardest part of leading men to war is getting the men to cross the final few paces that will bring them within reach of the enemy’s weapons. Hours of ‘battles’ have been ‘fought’ without a single blade crossing that threshold as soldiers shout and jeer, wearing each other out until some poor fool crosses that threshold.

“They are usually the first to die.”

Thousands of soldiers marched forward, their hype building as the distance between the two forces narrowed. Orders went out. Arrows flew through the air. Shouts merged with taunts, stomping with marching, and the hammering of metal drowned out everything but Hawkwood’s voice.

“That is not a situation we will face today. The enemy vanguard will march straight and true, without falter. For to falter means to flee. These conscripts have nowhere to flee but into the swords of their own countrymen. The rear groups are the lynchpins of this operation. Take them out and not only will the vanguard be without reinforcements, they will also be without that sword pressed to their spine.”

Arkk’s eyes darted back and forth over the army. The landmarks he had been using, odd slopes or tall stones, fence posts, and even the divots created when Tybalt had erased the golden soldiers, all had vanished beneath the tides of the opposing armies. He tried to keep track of where everything was just through feel but that didn’t work quite as well. He wasn’t at Fortress Al-Mir with its perfect map of its interior constantly nestled in the back of his mind. Out here, he had to rely on guesswork.

“Are you trying to say that we can win this, but it all relies on me?”

“No. I don’t believe we can. Not now that they’ve smelled weakness. There are too many of them.”

“What?” Arkk took his eyes off the soldier-covered plains outside Elmshadow. “Then what—”

“We are buying time.”

“For the Duke’s men?”

“Evestani is aware of their imminent arrival tomorrow. They won’t let up because of that. If they take the burg, they will have the advantage in facing the approaching armies. Failing to take it will mean either a retreat or more of that esoteric magic. I can’t speak on the possibility of the latter but the former doesn’t sound like an option if they wish to continue their advance.

“No. We are evacuating. Buying time for the citizens of the city to escape. You will buy us a reprieve to evacuate ourselves.”

“Evacuate?”

“Wasn’t that your plan before that inquisitor blew up the wall?” Hawkwood asked, raising an eyebrow. “I gave the order to my adjutants early in the morning after reports came in of the damage to the food stores. We’ll carry what we can and torch the remainder. Burn the whole burg to the ground. Give them their victory but hollow it out as much as possible.

“Elmshadow lies in a strategic position, it is true,” Hawkwood continued, perhaps seeing the questioning on Arkk’s face. “But it isn’t worth dying over. It isn’t the only chokepoint in the Duchy. We need to retreat, analyze this esoteric magic, find a defense, and then put up a fight when we are more prepared. And have the Duke’s men joined with ours from the beginning.”

“That… I don’t know if that adds pressure or takes some away.”

Hawkwood laughed. It was his usual boisterous laugh but it had a shallower feeling to it. “Just know that it is our lives on the line. Not everyone who lives in the burg. And, if you feel the need to destroy the entire burg, go for it.”

Arkk turned his eyes back to the armies. “I think you overestimate my abilities. All I’m doing is digging a little hole.”

A dozen lesser servants darted around underneath the ground, hollowing out large pitfalls directly in the path of the army. Tybalt’s destruction of the wall and the ground it had been built upon reminded Arkk of his very first tactic employed against the orcs while they were still working for their former chieftain. The same tactic that Vezta had wanted to use on the inquisitors during their invasion of the false Fortress Al-Mir.

He had conjured them up and sent them out to take out the vanguard. Now, the vanguard…

“They’re here,” Arkk said, the tension in his stomach threatening to double over. He took his eyes off the horizon for one second and spotted the vanguard. They were at the wall. At the divot. Though shallow, it would be an uphill climb—White Company stood on the other side, ready to stab down with their spears as Evestani tried to scale it into the city.

Evestani clearly knew it too. Their advance had stalled. It wouldn’t last long, however. The rows of men were pushing forward from behind, crowding those in the front toward the waiting defenders. Behind them, as Hawkwood so eloquently put it, the blade of their own countrymen advanced. There was a gap, a wide swath of still empty farmland, but it wouldn’t last.

Not unless Arkk had something to say about it.

“Focus,” Hawkwood said, clamping a hand on Arkk’s shoulder. “And good luck. I need to be seen.”

Arkk hesitated, considered objecting to being left alone, then clamped his jaw shut. As Hawkwood had said earlier, he had his role just as Arkk had one of his own. Hawkwood had already spent plenty of time getting some country bumpkin who had stumbled into a bit of power and prestige up to speed. Keeping him from his actual duties as commander of White Company wasn’t something Arkk could do.

Though, he did wish that he had pulled Vezta back.

Arrows were flying through the air from both sides now. The casters kept up their barriers the whole time, catching even the occasional golden arrow. From his point of observation, he could see that Evestani’s barriers didn’t quite catch every arrow. Some made it through, either from good luck at striking the exact right spot or from the short swap between one exhausted caster to the next. If arrows were getting through Evestani’s barriers, they were surely getting through those of White Company, just not where he had noticed.

Shouts, cries, and the clashing of metal against metal erupted down below the wall. Hawkwood’s voice belted out indistinct shouts, voice discernable only because of how familiar Arkk was with the man.

Arkk took a breath and shut it out, focused on directing the lesser servants. The rear unit had strayed somewhat off the path that the vanguard had followed. It was hard to tell where the lesser servants were in relation to the rest of the army, but if he cast a wide enough net—or rather, dug a wide enough pit—he should catch enough to make a difference.

He just had to wait for the opportune—

A blinding light filled the periphery of Arkk’s vision. He turned, fully expecting the beautiful golden ray to be the last thing he ever saw. No warning from Fortress Al-Mir could get him out of the way this time. There was nowhere to dodge and no flame witch to divert the beam.

But it wasn’t aimed at him. The golden ray tore through the city at an angle, coming from further south. It faded behind several of the buildings, snuffing out entirely without striking Arkk nor any of the defending White Company in the area.

Shuddering, Arkk swallowed a hard lump of air. There was something about that light… Unpleasant yet so very enticing all the same. He wasn’t the only one to feel it either. The soldiers on both sides had stopped for a few seconds, just staring with bated breath as the remnants of the light faded.

A cry from someone down below and a sick squelch of torn flesh started the battle anew.

Arkk shook himself, focusing once again. The lesser servants hadn’t been idle, able to operate independently. He left them to their continued expansion of the pits as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Adjusting the crystal ball’s point of view quickly filled him in on the answer.

Another section of the western wall was simply gone. Along with it, a fair portion of White Company who had been defending the southern segment.

Arkk looked up, quickly finding Hawkwood at one of the turrets. He was about to call out and warn him but it didn’t seem necessary. Hawkwood shouted an order to one of the men. A moment later and the repeated hammering of a brass gong echoed out, louder than the sounds of battle down below. All up and down the wall, as much of it as was still standing, more gongs started echoing out, joining the first.

The men on the wall started moving, retreating. They fired their last arrows, threw their last stones, upended a pot of boiling pitch, and then made way for the ladders and staircases.

They had to retreat now. Lest they wind up surrounded by the other detachments of Evestani’s army.

Arkk, glaring out, over the battlefield, pursed his lips.

It was too soon. The rear unit was still advancing over the pitfalls his lesser servants had dug.

Yet, he couldn’t stay here either. Not unless he wanted to surrender to that golden-eyed boy.

With a snap of his fingers, the lesser servants heard his command. They ceased expanding and began digging upwards, eating through the earth directly underneath the army’s feet.

Watching the enemy army, it was easy to tell the moment the soldiers noticed something wrong. The entire unit slowed to a stop.

Then, the first of them fell. A gap opened up in the lines of soldiers, first only a pair of soldiers wide. As the ground beneath their feet weakened from his servant’s efforts, a ripple effect spread out. The ground collapsed in on itself, naturally falling into the pit and taking along with them large, circular chunks of the wave of soldiers. Panic sprung up as the troops fought each other to escape, trampling atop their fellows and knocking others into the pits with their actions.

A full quarter of the rear unit fell into the sinkholes. A good half short of his goal.

There were still so many soldiers. He had barely made a dent in the army.

He couldn’t stay longer. Turning, Arkk sprinted to the nearest ladder and practically jumped from the top straight to the bottom. He set the remainder of the lesser servants to opening up all the pitfalls. Afterward, they were to dig and dig and dig until they died. He hadn’t gotten as much of the army as he wanted but the terrain—and the fear of more pitfalls opening—would at least slow them, keeping this section of the retreat from being instantly overrun.

Arkk didn’t know where Hawkwood had gone. He could hear the man’s voice somewhere. The sound of battle, screams of dying men, metal clanging against metal, and the continued ringing of the gongs on the wall made Hawkwood’s exact position into a mystery.

But there was nothing more that he could do. He flung a few lightning bolts and helped White Company make their retreat even as he fell back in a slightly different direction…

It all felt so… blank. A numb sensation filled his mind as he stalked across the channels of blood flowing through the streets.

He could only hope that Hawkwood would make it out. And as much of White Company as possible. That golden beam would have decimated them. A few hundred dead in an instant.

Hawkwood would surely retreat to the eastern side of the city, likely setting it aflame as he went as per his plan. Arkk retreated toward the keep. It wasn’t long before he found himself walking alone on empty roads.

He descended the stairs beneath the keep to the teleportation circle in the cellar and, with a taste of regret in the back of his mouth, left Elmshadow to fall.

 

 

 

There were no more rays of gold for the remainder of the night.

The burn of smoke lingered in Arkk’s nose. They had managed to extinguish the fires but not before half the garrison burned to the ground. Any building in a narrow cone behind the main keep had been on fire at one point or another. Some multiple times, if Arkk or the others fighting the fires failed to fully extinguish the last embers. Residences, workshops, and storehouses beyond the garrison’s walls went up in flames as well. As soon as Arkk realized that one of the main granaries was on fire, he rushed straight to it, skipping past buildings in between.

The threshed corn stored within survived in part. The fire started at the top of the granary, burning down like it was a giant candlestick. Everything at the top was little more than ash at this point. The slate of ice capping the top was slowly melting from residual heat, dripping water into the parts that really should stay dry. At the moment, the citizens of Elmshadow were digging through the wreckage, salvaging and relocating what they could.

While he had made it to the threshed corn storage in time, the same couldn’t be said for all of Elmshadow’s food stores.

Two granaries filled with oats had not survived. A storehouse of smoked meats got a bit too smokey.

Elmshadow wasn’t going to starve this morning. There was enough food spread throughout the burg in personal larders or dry pits to survive for a few weeks. Losing the main storehouses and granaries was still going to be a death sentence for the burg.

Arkk was well aware that people were already leaving. Some already had—as soon as Evestani appeared on the horizon, a number of the more affluent merchants had departed eastward. Now, practically anyone with the means was evacuating. Farmers loaded up their carts. Some left on foot, packing a haversack and leaving everything else behind. Faith in White Company’s ability to stave off the siege crumbled as quickly as the keep.

No one had tried to stop anyone from leaving. It was pushing the problem onto other burgs but here and now, it meant fewer mouths to feed, fewer people to worry about getting hit by those golden arrows and becoming enemies, and fewer casualties if Evestani did make it through the walls.

Arkk sat on a bench inside the infirmary, left hand pressed to his forehead while his right hand rested on Agnete’s arm. Overusing the ice marble to extinguish the flames hadn’t come without cost. His fingers were numb. Not discolored or otherwise displaying signs of frostbite. Thankfully. But he could barely flex his fingers and couldn’t feel a thing besides a pulsing ache. The heat from Agnete soothed the ache.

He hadn’t slept. He was so exhausted. Even before this night, his sleep had been restless and intermittent. There was so much to do, so many preparations to make. So much going on.

Arkk didn’t know how to help anymore. Everything he did barely gave Evestani pause. Hawkwood had been completely routed by those golden arrows, forcing White Company to abandon a number of their supplies to Evestani. The mausoleums had stopped them for a time but Evestani worked out a countermeasure. He had stolen the boulder-dropping ritual and, potentially, destroyed Evestani’s leadership in the area. In turn, Evestani had taken out several Hawkwood’s men who had been in the upper keep. Agnete wasn’t awake yet. He didn’t know when she would wake or even if she would have the energy to fight once she did. All he knew through the employee link was that she was stable.

Even if he brought over all of Company Al-Mir, he didn’t know how they could possibly help. Vezta wasn’t omnipotent. Zullie and Savren were but two casters up against an entire army. Some orcs, a few gorgon, and the fresh recruits would just die on Evestani’s swords.

The Duke’s men would arrive shortly. Another day. They would bring with them men and spellcasters in far greater numbers than Arkk could field. At that point, proper counter-siege magics could commence, not just exhausted casters pouring every scrap of magic into a defensive array.

They could do something.

He couldn’t.

His ability to render assistance had hit its limit. There was nothing more he could do.

The thought was simultaneously freeing—a relief at realizing that nobody could possibly expect him to pull a miracle out of his ass—and disheartening all the same. It was clear that he couldn’t fight off a proper army. Why had he ever thought he could depose the Duke? Ultimate defensive and offensive object? More like a broken piece of crap that tethered him to one spot in the world.

The sound of sure-footed boots crossing the stone floor of the infirmary made Arkk open his eyes.

Agnete was hardly the only one present. Between bits of the keep flying through the city, the fires, and injuries accrued through recovery efforts, the infirmary was packed. Yet most footsteps were rushed or unsteady. Either healers moving through from one person to the next or discharged patients making their way to the exit. As such, it came as little surprise that the confident footsteps belonged to someone who was neither a healer nor one of the injured.

“Inquisitrix,” Arkk said, dropping his hands to his lap. The numb feeling swiftly returned to his fingers but he wasn’t willing to tie himself to Agnete if he suddenly needed to fling a lightning bolt. “I see you made it out unscathed. Not even a hair under your peaked cap looks out of place.”

The woman glowered, red eyes darting from him to Agnete and back. “Arkk. I’ve been looking for you. They told me you were helping around the burg.”

“I was. All the fires are extinguished so I decided to check in on my employees. Not much else I can do,” Arkk said with a smile he didn’t feel. “Give me a dozen of your types to fight and I’ll do it all day long. But this army? What the fuck am I supposed to do against ten thousand warriors, spellcasters, and whatever that golden-eyed abomination is?”

Astra folded her arms over her chest, tapped her boot against the floor, and raised one eyebrow. “You done?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Arkk sighed. “I was just about to head home and hope you people and the Duke’s men would handle everything. But let me guess, you’ve got some risky plan you need my help with for some reason? So what is it? We sneak in again, kill ten thousand soldiers in their sleep? Maybe you’ve got your own golden beams of light that will blast through their defenses to wipe out the army all at once? Or—”

“Tybalt is missing.”

Arkk blinked, stared at her face for any sign that she was joking, and then decided to laugh.

What else could he do?

Astra dropped one arm to her side while her other hand rested at her hip. She had a sword, he noted. A long rapier. Had she always worn that? “You find that amusing?”

“Not in the slightest,” Arkk said, still chuckling. He shook his head, slapping at his cheeks in an attempt to wake himself up and knock the smile off his face. “Let me guess, you think I had something to do with it because I poached Agnete from Vrox? Hate to break it to you, Inquisitrix, but I wouldn’t go near him under any circumstances. I remember when Hurtt and Jorgen tried their hands at carpentry. I’m pretty sure that table was more stable than your purifier after one of its legs fell off.”

Astra didn’t react to his story. She just stared a moment, fingers drumming on her hip. “Qwol and I lent our assistance following the incident. It wasn’t until a few hours ago that we realized Tybalt had disappeared at some point. Qwol is seeking revelation to locate him while I—”

“On his own?” Arkk asked.

“Revelation is best sought in private.”

“Do you want a dead chronicler? It sure sounds like you want a dead chronicler. I don’t know if you noticed but your purifier isn’t exactly fond of you.”

“The Binder is still on Tybalt’s wrists. He cannot remove them nor use his powers.”

“How well do they stop him from picking up a sword and jamming it through your stomach?”

“I have the utmost faith in Qwol’s combat abilities.”

Arkk wondered if she had functional eyes. Qwol was gaunt and thin to the point where a harsh breeze could fight him off. Then again, he was a chronicler. If he was anything like Greesom, he could probably pose a threat.

Letting the line of thought drop with a shrug, Arkk looked up to Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra and asked, “What do you want from me then? I don’t have your purifier. My own isn’t well at the moment and I would rather not leave her to wake up alone given what her last memories likely are. Burning down the infirmary in a panic is hardly going to help the war effort.”

One of the healers moving behind Astra jerked to a halt and shot an alarmed look in Arkk’s direction.

Arkk just gave him an apologetic shrug.

“Why even come to me?” Arkk continued. “Unless I have severely misread the room, your organization doesn’t particularly like me.”

“The Inquisition of the Light is not currently seeking conflict with you. I thought it best to inform you of the situation lest you believe we had something to do with sending him after you.”

“Me? Why would—” Arkk pinched his eyes shut and shook his head. “Never mind. Of course, he is coming for me. Why would I expect anything else?”

“I don’t mean he is targeting you directly, just that you may be an incidental target. I imagine I am his primary target. Yet I wished to ensure you are aware of the situation,” Astra said. Minutely adjusting her cap, she turned on her heel and started moving, only to pause as Arkk called after her.

“How likely is it that he finds someone else to remove his bracelets? Can other people remove them or is there some magic built in that only lets you take them off?”

Astra looked back over her shoulder, frowning for a moment. Arkk wasn’t sure if she was thinking about the question or trying to decide whether answering it betrayed some secret of the inquisitors. Whatever the cause for her hesitation, she eventually shook her head. “Only those capable of enacting miracles can remove them. Any member of the Abbey would note the inquisitorial eye and refuse to assist.”

“And what if he holds a knife to the throat of some abbess?”

“Then she should accept her death with dignity.” Astra turned away, speaking as she resumed walking. “Informing you was a courtesy. Rest assured, we will handle this.”

“Should,” Arkk grumbled, watching the woman’s back as she departed the infirmary. “Not would.”

Not that he thought someone should throw their life away over the mistakes of the inquisitors anyway. Still…

Arkk looked down at Agnete. While he would have liked to let her rest and recuperate after saving his and Hawkwood’s lives, a mad purifier on the loose was not the best time to be so vulnerable. That said, he also didn’t want to go up in flames the moment she opened her eyes. Keeping one hand in his pocket, hovering next to the icy marble there, he nudged her shoulder. His gentle motions turned a bit more rough as she failed to wake.

Standing, Arkk moved across the room and used a small cup to scoop up a bit of water from a basin. Water used to cleanse wounds. He didn’t take much, not wanting to deprive those who needed it. Moving to stand over Agnete, he frowned down at the faint glow deep within the recesses of her scars.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, upending the cup over her face. There wasn’t time to let her wake naturally with that other purifier on the loose.

The water did the trick. She flinched as it splashed against her face. Her eyes snapped open, glowing bright. The water droplets on her face and in her hair exploded into a cloud of steam. Arkk stumbled back but did not go for the ice marble despite the alarmed cries from those nearby.

There was no fire.

Agnete, hands pressed to her forehead, slowly sat upright. She didn’t notice or care about the loose blanket falling aside. Groaning, she leaned over the bed, planting her elbows on her knees as she heaved. For a moment, Arkk thought she was about to throw up. It never came. The heaving died down to steadier breathing, though she did not remove her hands from her eyes.

“I’m alive?” she whispered.

Arkk leaned down, hand on her shoulder. “Yes. Though you might not feel like it.”

“My eyes feel like I’ve been staring at the sun for too long again.”

“Again?” Arkk asked before shaking his head. “I wanted to let you rest as thanks for saving me and Hawkwood. It would be the least I could have done. Unfortunately, the Inquisitrix showed up.”

The muscles in Agnete’s shoulders tightened under her skin, tensioned.

“Not for you,” he quickly added. “Rather, it seems they lost their purifier somewhere. I didn’t want to leave you asleep with him running around.”

The strain in her scarred back slowly lessened. Agnete peeled her hands away from her eyes, blinking rapidly several times before staring up at him. The embers in her eyes were a bit hazier than normal. A bit dimmer, further recessed.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Well…” Arkk trailed off, glancing around. He sat down on the cot next to Agnete and dropped his voice. “I think it is time we get back to the fortress. I’ve already sent the orcs over. Half the burg has already evacuated. The other half probably won’t be far behind. The Duke’s men will be here before long. I don’t know what else we’re supposed to do to help. Better we prepare.”

“I understand. My flames feel distant and weak. I am not sure how much assistance I would provide.”

Arkk nodded his head. That sealed it. If even Agnete was calling it quits, he really couldn’t do anything more here. At most, he would be just a magical anchor for a ritual. Hawkwood’s plans for a counterattack ritual were buried under the rubble of the keep. Arkk could assemble the boulder drop ritual and help cast that until Hawkwood’s other spellcasters had exhausted themselves. However, a defensive barrier had gone up around most of the Evestani army—they knew they were missing their ritual circle and had taken precautions against it being used on them.

At this point, Hawkwood planned to hold out for the Duke’s men, keeping round-the-clock spellcasters at his own defensive ritual. Hopefully, the reinforcements would be able to break the siege or at least provide some way of counter-attacking.

But that golden ray had gone straight through the defenses to hit the keep. They hadn’t used it a second time. Yet. Arkk had a feeling that next time, it would be aimed lower, intending to wipe out as many of the forces stationed in the burg as possible.

Arkk didn’t want to think that he was running away. He had tried. He had run out in the middle of their army to sabotage them. It wasn’t cowardice. It was pragmatism.

“Help me up.”

Arkk’s eyebrows crept up his forehead at the request. Rather than comment, he just leaned over, letting Agnete swing an arm over his shoulders. Dragging the blanket up and around herself, Agnete used Arkk as a crutch as they made their way out of the infirmary.

The area around the keep was cordoned off. Bits of it kept falling off, often knocking into other parts of the keep—or even other buildings. Even though only the top of it had been struck by that ray, enough of the top had collapsed in on itself to make the entire place unstable. It had been designed to hold its weight on its walls, not on the floors or ceilings.

The guards still let Arkk pass without complaint. Enough of White Company knew him. Or maybe they just didn’t want to mess with a pair of people with glowing eyes. Either way, he helped Agnete down into the cellar—which had thankfully not yet collapsed—and onto the ritual circle hidden within.

“I’ll be following shortly,” Arkk said, stepping outside the circle. “Just going to inform Hawkwood.”

Agnete closed her eyes, hunched somewhat as she stood on her own, and nodded her head. She didn’t say anything else. It didn’t look like she had the energy to say anything.

With a flash of magic, he sent her on her way.

With that, it was just Arkk and the lesser servant hanging in the corner of the cellar. Everyone else from Fortress Al-Mir was either back at the fortress or on their way.

Arkk headed back up the cellar stairs. Hawkwood wasn’t an employee, so he couldn’t instantly locate the man. At this point, Arkk guessed that he would be back at the outer wall, keeping an eye on the enemy.

Just as Arkk reached the inner keep wall, he heard it. A strange rising whine, long and drawn out. The same sound that he had heard when the purifier used his inverted spheres.

Arkk’s heart skipped a beat, fearing the noise was aimed at him. Yet he saw no sign of Tybalt’s magic anywhere near him. As the drawn-out whine grew in intensity, he saw the top of a black bubble crest the roof of a nearby building, far in the distance.

The crescendo ceased as the bubble collapsed, sending out a low, vibrating thrum that struck Arkk inside his chest. The deep tone did not stop him from rushing forward, dashing through the burg toward where he had seen the bubble form.

Coming out from between two homes, Arkk skidded to a stop in the dirt streets. He could see the Evestani army in the far distance, well across the empty fields around Elmshadow. Closer, a deep divot in the land cut into the outer wall of the burg, leaving an empty gap half the size of the keep. Guards, both on the wall and gathered around the edge of the divot, started shouting alarms.

A second higher-pitched whine started. A sphere that turned the gray clouds black and the dark stone of the wall white started forming at the next segment of the wall. Guards atop it ran in either direction, trying to escape it as it slowly formed. Some jumped off, landing hard in their heavy armor. One, in shock, just sat and stared as the bubble enveloped him.

Arkk tore his eyes away from the wall and the bubble forming around it. His eyes scanned along the street until he spotted a man with his hand outstretched, wearing a heavy cloak. If the outstretched hand wasn’t enough, the wide grin peaking out from the cloak’s hood sealed the man’s identity.

“Electro Deus,” Arkk shouted. Lightning gathered at his fingers, magic given form in electrical plasma. Stretching out his hand, arced the lightning, sending a powerful bolt straight at the mad purifier.

Unaware of the incoming attack, Tybalt offered no resistance or defense. The man flew backward with smoke trailing out from under his cloak, his cry drowned out by the sudden thunderclap that followed. The inverted bubble collapsed in on itself, taking with it a smaller segment of the wall.

A second bolt of lightning followed the first, sending the downed man’s body into a heavy seizure. He shook and trembled, cloak igniting from the power. When Arkk finally released the magic, Tybalt went still. Arkk couldn’t say if he was dead or not. That had been possibly the second most powerful lightning spell he had ever unleashed. The golden-eyed boy had survived the night before, however, so he wasn’t willing to make assumptions when someone with glowing eyes was around.

Keeping his focus on the downed body, Arkk glanced at the wall.

Two whole segments were just gone. Guards panicked. The city, already without morale from the golden ray, wouldn’t be able to repair the damage in short order.

Evestani had already noticed.

 

 

“Possession,” Arkk said, looking around the table. “It fits. The assassins at the Duke’s party also gained glowing eyes once things started going wrong.”

Hawkwood’s tired face twisted into a frown. “Possession is something only ghosts or gods can accomplish. Ghosts tend to shamble about, trying to resolve whatever anchors are keeping them tethered to the world. This doesn’t sound like that…” His fingers tightened into fists on top of the table as he looked to the inquisitors, perhaps hoping that they would reject the notion entirely.

Sylvara Astra sat with her arms crossed and her eyes closed, leaning back in her chair as if asleep. Chronicler Qwol held a wet rag to his forehead, nursing a wound. Despite them having been nowhere near the impact site, he had been struck by a bit of falling debris from the boulder Arkk had dropped on the Evestani bivouac. Purifier Tybalt sat in a squat with his feet on the seat, grinning as he listened intensely to what Arkk had to say of the excursion.

Agnete sat on Arkk’s side of the table. As was typical of excursions where she made use of her abilities, she had returned without clothes. Apart from that, she had made it back safe and sound. Evestani hadn’t managed to touch her and the inquisitors had honored their agreement to essentially ignore her presence. Her presence made the entire room uncomfortably hot to the point where they had to open the window despite it being the dead of winter.

When Astra didn’t react, Hawkwood looked back to Arkk with an even deeper frown. “I hope you are not implying that we are up against a deity. Light protect,” he hissed, drawing one hand down his arm in a protective gesture.

“It is the position of the Abbey of the Light that the gods have departed the world,” Astra said without opening her eyes. “Only the Radiant Light still casts His gaze upon the world, evidenced by our miracles, revelation, and the very sun rising every morning. The Pious of the Golden Order are heretics playing with forbidden magics. Nothing more.”

Arkk shared a look with Agnete. What Astra said was roughly the same as what Abbess Keena preached during her Suun sermons. He had never been all that invested in her lectures but he had paid attention. None of it was ever stuff that mattered to daily farming, hunting, or anything else he did.

It was not what Vezta believed. Arkk was more inclined toward Vezta. Besides her being a pre-Calamity monster who spoke of the [PANTHEON] as if she had personally interacted with at least a handful of its members, he had seen the [STARS]. Things just made more sense with her story, with how the Calamity came about, the statues in Fortress Al-Mir’s temple, and where Agnete’s powers came from. And those of Purifier Tybalt.

Arkk didn’t say so, however. He didn’t need heresy added to the Abbey’s ever-growing list of grievances they had with him.

Besides, there was another possibility.

“Mortal humans can possess others,” Arkk said, leaning forward. “I’ve experienced it.”

He doubted… He hoped that literal gods weren’t directly acting upon the world. If they were… Well, Arkk didn’t hold much hope that even Vezta could fight against the power of the [PANTHEON]. They brought her to this world, after all. They could probably send her back. Because of that, he had to believe that this golden-eyed being was something tangible and fightable. Maybe something like Vezta given its use of the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE], maybe something like Agnete and Tybalt given its spell usage with no incantation. Maybe even something like him, a practitioner of older magic who knew more than he did about how to cast it.

Otherwise, he didn’t know how they could possibly win.

“You’ve experienced it?” Astra snapped her eyes open, leaning forward with a heavy scowl. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Arkk clamped his jaw shut, not about to admit that he had possessed anyone at any point. Not in front of an inquisitor.

“Darkwood,” Agnete said.

Snapping his fingers, Arkk quickly nodded. “Right. Darkwood. There was a horde of monsters being directed by a spellcaster who could possess those monsters, leading them. He jumped from body to body, always with glowing bright eyes. I spoke with the man once. That’s how I know it was the same person every time.”

“Master Inquisitor Vrox sent me through some old tunnels infested with monsters,” Agnete added. “I can attest to glowing-eyed creatures impeding my progress. After killing the creatures, a being appearing as black smoke emerged before finding a new target to possess. In the final attempt, I managed to burn the being, proving its tangibility. All of this should have been in the report Chronicler Greesom submitted regarding the incident.”

Astra’s red eyes shifted back and forth, searching for something on Arkk and Agnete’s faces. Digging her knuckles into the top of the table, she looked to her chronicler. Qwol gave her a slight dip of his head.

“I see. Well. That is news,” she said, retaking her seat. “However, the information changes little. It just means we know without a doubt that the Golden Order is investigating anathema. Just as I said.”

“As much as a relief as that is,” Hawkwood said as he motioned with his hand once again. “Is there anything we can do about it? What capabilities might this anathema offer them? How do we attack it and defend against it? Are they likely to assault us with new and strange magic now that we’ve destroyed their ritual circle?”

Astra and Qwol shared another look. Arkk and Agnete glanced at each other as well. He wasn’t sure what their little silent conversation was about—though he guessed that they knew something about Evestani’s capabilities that they hadn’t yet said—but for his part, Arkk had a feeling that their excursion had not done nearly enough. Before knowing about the glowing-eyed person, he figured that Evestani’s casters weren’t educated enough to plot out their own ritual circles, thus necessitating the use of the prepared ritual. Anyone could copy a design from a book but certain parts of the circles needed to be adjusted for their environment.

Most of his early attempts with magic blew up either because he put too much power into them or because he failed to configure them properly.

In the case of the boulder-dropping ritual, it the targeting component was the most complicated bit of the array and something that couldn’t be copied from a book.

But if this was possession, it wasn’t the same as his possession. Arkk had reappeared on his feet next to Vezta rather than in mid-air where he had cast the spell. The assassins at the Duke’s party, on the other hand, had been possessed from afar and, when they died, they had not ejected their possessor out at their sides.

Come to think of it, when Arkk had killed the Darkwood Keeper of the Heart, the Keeper had appeared beside the possessed body in a misty, smoky form. That form then rushed off back toward the Darkwood fortress. Had that been the same possession spell that he knew? Or some variant?

It was hard to say. While Arkk considered himself proficient at flinging around lightning bolts and quite adept at summoning lesser servants, he had only used the possession spell three times. He hadn’t taken the time to experiment with it or its limitations. It just wasn’t a spell he liked using.

Give him a slaver to kill and he would pull the gallows lever without hesitation. Controlling the minds of his friends and allies? That, he balked at.

But perhaps it was time to investigate the spell more thoroughly. If his enemies were going to use it, he needed to know what it was capable of, its limitations, and everything.

That would have to wait until he was away from the inquisitors, however.

“I’m hoping that I managed to crush most of their leadership,” Arkk said, finally turning away from Agnete. He wasn’t sure that the former purifier had gotten what he was thinking—any of it—but she gave him a reassuring nod that sent a lock of her chaotic black hair in front of her face.

“Yes. Using their spell against them was quite inspiring.”

“I wish I could have gotten their spellcasters as well but any further and we would have been caught, so I saw the opportunity and took it.”

“Our casters are standing by at the defensive ritual but so far, no sign of any counterattack. Hard to tell in the night using spyglasses alone. What we can see is that it looks like they’re still trying to put out the fires.”

Agnete’s black lips drew taut into a grim smile. She straightened her back and looked directly at Purifier Tybalt. Even with Agnete’s naturally subdued emotions when away from open flames, Arkk could still feel the smug satisfaction at being praised radiating from her.

Or maybe that was just her natural heat.

“What a show, oh what a show!” Tybalt giggled, clapping his hands together. The joy vanished in an instant as he leaned forward over the table, a dangerous look crossing his face. “But while you were traipsing about with your yelling about the beauty of flames, I spotted no less than seven spellcasters who were trying to put you down. One moment, they slung incantations, the next!” He laughed again and pointed a finger toward a pitcher of water on the meeting table. A small inverted sphere formed around it before it vanished with a low reverberation shaking the room. “Detained!” he laughed.

Astra swung an arm, standing as she did so. Her fingers gripped Tybalt’s throat. She didn’t stop there. His chair tipped over with him still squatting in it. He bounced off the ground as his back hit but Astra slammed him back down.

“Do not use your abilities without authorization, Purifier Tybalt.”

The man had a smile in his eyes even as he gripped her wrist with both hands, trying to push her off his throat. Because of the way he had been sitting on the chair, his legs were pinned under him but it was clear he was trying to struggle away.

“Am I understood?”

He grinned and tried to nod his head. He couldn’t speak or move much with Astra’s hand clamped down. She just narrowed her red eyes, keeping him pinned. For a long few moments, Arkk wondered if she was going to kill him there and then. His lips were even starting to turn blue. Around the time his eyes started to roll back, she reached into the pocket of her black coat and withdrew a hard-shelled bracelet. With one hand, she clamped it around his wrist. A faint white glow covered the silver band with letters that Arkk couldn’t understand.

She released him, wiping some of his spittle on his chest, then stood fully.

Tybalt heaved and choked on the ground, sucking in breath after breath. Despite it all, his grin only grew wider. He pointed a finger at her only to freeze as the runes on his bracelet brightened once more. Despite gasping for breath only seconds ago, it looked like he stopped breathing once again. He stared, looking on the verge of tears.

“I apologize,” Astra said, dragging the catatonic purifier to his feet. “I must tend to my team. Perhaps now, in their chaos, it would be a good opportunity to set your casters on the offensive. You do have books on siege magic, do you not, Hawkwood?”

Hawkwood, as stunned by the display as Arkk was, shook his head in a sudden waking from his thoughts. “Yes. Yes of course. I’ve already set some of the scribes to drawing out a few rituals.”

“Good. I will be retiring for the evening. If this golden-eyed being makes an appearance, contact me at once, otherwise, I wish to be undisturbed until morning. Qwol, the door, if you please.”

As the chronicler opened the meeting room door, Astra hooked an arm under the dazed Tybalt’s arm and marched him out of the room. They closed the door with a dissonantly soft click.

Arkk, Hawkwood, and Agnete just stared. A long minute passed before Arkk glanced over to Agnete. “Was Vrox…”

“Not like that,” she said with a small shake of her head. “If I stepped out of line, he would go straight for the Binding Agent. I believe the thought of touching me disgusted him.”

Arkk pressed his lips together in distaste but didn’t say anything more. Hawkwood rose to his feet, gingerly touching the concave divot in the table where the pitcher had been. It was simply gone. Like a carpenter had taken a large hook knife to the wood. Naturally, there was no trace of the pitcher either.

It hadn’t taken Tybalt long to create that sphere. Just a second or so, quicker than Astra could react. Compared to the near minutes he had taken to do the same to the golden statues, Arkk had to wonder what the difference was. Was it exhaustion? He had removed a few statues before Arkk started watching him. Or perhaps it took longer based on the amount of space he intended to detain. That was a particularly sobering thought. If he could remove someone’s head from their body, he could do it rather quickly in that case.

“As much as I appreciate their help earlier,” Hawkwood started, frowning as he removed his fingers from the smoothed surface. “I am not sure I’m comfortable around that purifier.”

“I concur.”

“Same,” Arkk said. “He seems… unstable. Intensely so. If Astra has to keep those bracelets on him to keep his powers suppressed… well, that just seems a whole lot less proactive compared to the ice marble.” Seeing Agnete shiver at the mention made Arkk wince. “Sorry.”

“No. It isn’t incorrect. If he decides to dive into the madness while she is more than a step away from him, I don’t know what could be done.”

“Perhaps they have other countermeasures that we simply haven’t seen,” Hawkwood said, turning away. “In any case, I will see to the spellcasters and their counterattack. By morning, the tables will have turned and we—” He paused, trailing off as he looked down at his hands.

Arkk felt it too. A tingling sensation that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

Before either could comment, light as bright as the morning sun illuminated the window. Except it should have been the dead of night.

Arkk stared, watching the window for a moment. Hawkwood mumbled something under his breath, a curse or a question.

Agnete lurched to her feet, leaving scorch marks on the table as she slammed her hands against it. The embers in her eyes and facial scars lit up as a rush of heat filled the room. She dashed to the window, spreading her arms wide just as a thundering boom threw Arkk from his seat.

The entire keep rocked and shook. Stone crumbled from the walls. The ceiling disintegrated, shedding bits of pieces into the aether over a few seconds. Everything above was simply gone. The window and wall exploded inward, igniting as they passed through a wall of flames that had enveloped Agnete.

With the walls and the roof missing, Arkk could see the golden beam of light strike Agnete’s flames, deflected up into the night sky toward the east.

Agnete let out an anguished cry. At the same time, Arkk felt the pain over the employee link. The flames snuffed out, followed swiftly by the ray of gold. The whole thing lasted no more than five seconds.

Arkk, dazed but unharmed, crawled out from under the table. The floor, slanted at an angle from the lack of an entire wall of the keep, creaked as he put weight on various planks. He started for Agnete only to recoil before he could get more than a few steps. A haze of heat boiled the air around her body. Just reaching out a hand felt scalding. She had fallen backward at the end, unconscious and missing her clothes entirely. Though she had fallen back into the room, she was still half dangling over the edge of the building, the entire window wall and floor gone. Her life, weakened yet present, thrummed over the employee link. She wasn’t in immediate danger…

At least not from the after-effects of that golden beam.

The table’s weight proved too much for the floor. Two planks crumbled away beneath it, sending the table crashing down to the floor below.

A firm hand closed around Arkk’s arm. “We have to get out of here,” Hawkwood shouted, “before the whole keep collapses!”

Missing a whole wall, it was a wonder that it hadn’t already.

Shrugging Hawkwood off, Arkk grit his teeth and stepped forward again. Agnete was very likely the only reason they were alive, forcing that beam up and into the night rather than straight through the entirety of the keep. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave her behind.

The ice marble, kept safe in the cellar alongside the transportation circle back to Fortress Al-Mir, appeared in his hand. He sent a sliver of magic into it, chilling the air and extinguishing the lingering fires around Agnete. Not enough to cause harm.

Her body, scars glowing brightly, was still hot to the touch. Not hot enough to force him back this time. Wincing at the burn against his palms, he hauled her up and over his shoulder. A slight chill, emanating from his pocket, seeped up his side and over his shoulder. It wasn’t much. Arkk didn’t dare pour more magic into the marble of ice while he was carrying her. The cold did help soothe against her heat as he steadied her, making sure he had her in a firm grip.

Only then did he turn toward the stairs.

The stairs were gone along with that entire side of the keep. Hawkwood, leaning over the edge to see the floor below, waved him over before leaping.

Creaking of wood and groaning of stone followed the thud of his landing down below. Arkk had to freeze, off balance with Agnete over his shoulder, as the scorched wood under his feet started crumbling. As the entire section of the meeting room sagged, he stepped forward and jumped.

Arkk landed on the upended table, knees screaming at the weight on his shoulder. He stumbled forward, trying to maintain his balance even as each step made him grit his teeth in pain. Just before he crashed head-first into the wall, a hand clasped against his chest, steadying him.

“Thanks,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“What in the name of the Light was that,” Hawkwood said in response, throwing open the stairwell door. Only attached to the wall by one half-melted hinge, the whole door collapsed to the floor.

At least the remains of the stairs were on the other side. Below, Arkk could see others scrambling down, trying to escape the keep. At the same time, out on the grounds below, he could see others making their way closer, likely intending to help.

“How should I know?” Arkk grunted, testing his weight on the husk of the stairwell. It loudly protested but didn’t give way. It would only need to hold on for a few seconds. Fighting through the ache in his knees, he lumbered down the steps behind Hawkwood.

Judging by the damage, the golden ray had struck only the top portion of the keep. It was a tall keep, standing with seven distinct floors. It towered over the rest of Elmshadow. The one who cast that spell—the one with golden eyes, it had to be—had to have known that they were meeting up there. He had taken off the entire top of the keep and half the floor below it.

Could he cast again?

Arkk hoped not. If he could, they would have little in the way of defense with Agnete out. She had burned herself out deflecting that one beam. Another would surely kill her.

“This is not a siege spell I’ve ever seen or heard of,” Hawkwood shouted, now sounding more angry than fearful. “What in the blazes am I to do—Neil!”

Hawkwood’s chief adjutant stood in the stairwell, directing a contingent of White Company as they made their way down the stairs. He looked dusty and haggard but not injured. At hearing Hawkwood’s voice, he turned and immediately saluted.

“Sir, you’re alright!”

“Get the keep evacuated. Carefully. The upper floors were collapsing. Then get me a head count of everyone who was inside.” Hawkwood grimaced. “I saw Kang and the upper half of Reginald. They didn’t make it.”

Arkk blinked. He hadn’t noticed anyone dead. Then again, when he had jumped down, he had been facing the stairs and hadn’t turned toward the rest of the room.

“Damn it,” Neil swore, slamming a fist into the wall. Despite being stone, it had a little more give than Arkk would have liked to see. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sir.”

“Where are the inquisitors?” Arkk asked, shifting Agnete’s weight on his shoulder. He could feel his clothes turning to ash where she touched him. “Did they make it out?”

“They weren’t with you?”

Hawkwood shook his head. “Left just a minute before.”

“I’ll see if anyone spotted them,” Neil said before turning and shouting down the stairs. He called a few specific names, delegating to others in White Company. “Do you need assistance?”

“Agnete’s hurt. Exhaustion, mostly. She deflected most of that attack.”

“We’ll make room in the infirmary.” Neil stepped closer, reaching for Agnete. “Would you like—”

“No,” Arkk said, wincing at the burn against his neck as he shook his head. The icy feeling in his shoulder crept up his neck in response. “I’ll carry her. She isn’t to be touched.”

“Understood. Make way! Casualties coming through!”

With White Company’s discipline and Neil leading the way, Arkk and Hawkwood made it out of the keep with little trouble. When he turned around, staring up, he could only grimace.

Bright orange flames erupted from the top of the shorn-clean stone, making the entire top of the keep look like an oversized brazier. The keep, while it had been the only thing directly hit by that ray of light, wasn’t the only thing damaged. Debris, likely flaming debris, hand exploded outward behind the keep, setting fire to a great number of buildings. White Company hurried around, throwing buckets of dirt and sand while spellcasters conjured torrents of water.

Hawkwood broke off, moving through the crowd to bark out crisis control orders to his men. Arkk, ice tingling at his side, carefully set Agnete down against the outer walls of the keep. Spotting Orjja, coming to see what had happened along with a small contingent of Company Al-Mir’s orcs, he quickly waved her over.

“Keep her safe,” he shouted over the cacophony of soldiers rushing about. “Make sure nobody touches her. If she wakes, let her know that she is safe and was successful at protecting everyone. Everyone else,” he said, turning to address the rest of the orcs. “Help where you can. Listen to Hawkwood and anyone from White Company. If you see those inquisitors…”

Arkk hesitated. Their departure, once again, had suspicious timing. They weren’t Evestani. Arkk was quite confident in that. That didn’t mean that their chronicler hadn’t somehow received a revelation of impending events and orchestrated events to get themselves away, leaving him and Agnete behind to take the attack. Was it coincidence or deliberate?

“Keep away from them. If they approach, call for me immediately. I won’t be far,” Arkk finished, removing the ice marble from his pocket.

He hurried off to hopefully quell the flames before they engulfed the entire city.

 

 

 

“Lexa, Kia, Claire,” Arkk said, addressing the gremlin and two dark elves. “We’re almost ready.”

“You’re finally back and all we get is an almost?” Lexa, with bright red hair held down by a thick scarf tied around her head, rubbed her small hands up and down her arms, shivering. “Why aren’t we just teleporting in?”

“First, while I’m fairly certain the inquisitors know, I don’t want to advertise more than necessary. Second, according to Hawkwood, the first thing any competent commander does when setting down is get the casters to set up proper wards—including wards on planar magic since no army wants a demon summoned in their midst. Finally, it is a bit too flashy. They have thousands of people. Even if we aim the portal behind some tent somewhere, someone will notice and raise the alarm.”

“Alright, fine,” Lexa snapped. “Why aren’t we teleporting here when it is time and spending the rest of this night back in the warmth of the keep instead of freezing my tits off?”

“Same third reason. There is no moon tonight. Even small flashes from the teleportation would be easy to see for Evestani’s watchers.”

Lexa glowered, grinding her sharp teeth together. “You could have at least brought that walking furnace with you…”

Arkk just shook his head. He didn’t like leaving Agnete alone. For all the intensity of her flames, she was only human. She could be distracted, she could be exhausted, and she could be overwhelmed. Nevertheless, her destructive potential couldn’t be understated, thus warranting using her elsewhere.

Namely, with Inquisitrix Astra. He didn’t like leaving Agnete with them either. Were it not for Astra making a solemn vow on the Light itself that Agnete would come to no harm from them for the duration of the evening, he wouldn’t have agreed at all. But he couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to seeing what two purifiers could accomplish when working together.

“Claire, Kia. You two good to go?”

The two dark elves opened their eyes as one. Claire had muted brown hair, ragged and unkempt all around her face. It didn’t look like she had put any work toward trimming it and preferred to hack it off with a rusty blade whenever it reached her shoulders. A few locks hung down over her face, partially hiding her wide, icy blue eyes that were sharp enough to cut glass. Her skin, an ashen grey, blended well with the dark of the night.

Kia, although her skin roughly matched Claire’s, had a golden blonde color to her hair, currently matted with mud to diminish any reflecting light and tied in a neat ponytail. With her hair tied back, she showed off the entirety of her long ears. She had enough piercings to forge a small sword.

Neither shivered or trembled because of the cold. They weren’t even wearing as thick of cloaks as Lexa was, just a thin gambeson and mail that had to be frosty to the touch.

Kia put on a radiant smile that showed off her midnight-black mouth when Arkk looked in her direction. The smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Although they had black tongues, mouths, noses, fingernails, and even internal organs, that was not where the ‘dark’ distinction of their name came from. Arkk had, perhaps embarrassingly, asked upon meeting one that passed through Langleey Village years ago. The old elf had laughed and said that no, they weren’t elves at all, they just bore superficial similarities. Mostly in possessing pointed ears. Dark elf homelands weren’t somewhere they could reach anymore but its name, ‘Undir Myrkrid’, translated to something like the Deep Dark. Over time, people started calling them dark elves.

Arkk, knowing what he knew now, wondered if that unreachable home wasn’t another plane that had been cut off from the world because of the Calamity.

“We are quite well and eagerly anticipating the fight,” Kia said, her tone just a hint too cheerful. She was the only one of the two to ever speak. They came as a pair and rarely left the other’s side. Kia was the personable one, always happy to chat, happy to meet people, and generally just happy to the point where Arkk was sure that she was faking it.

Claire, on the other hand, could talk, as she had said her name and answered a few other questions during his interview, but only did so if it seemed like an absolute necessity. Despite that, Arkk had watched the dark elf take a bow and arrow to a swallow in flight that he hadn’t even seen until it dropped to the ground with an arrow wound through its chest. Ilya was a good marksman but he doubted she could have managed that feat.

Arkk grimaced as he thought of Ilya. Almost reflexively, he checked in on her through her employee link. He could tell through the link that, while she was getting healthier, she was still not fully healed. At the moment, it looked like she was trying to exercise, lifting a small stack of books repeatedly. Though she had to pause as Alya entered the room and immediately set to a hurried speech—probably berating her for exerting herself while still wounded.

He wasn’t sure why Alya cared now all of a sudden. It left a bitter taste in his mouth just thinking about her strutting around as some high advisor to the Duke while leaving Ilya behind in the village. He hadn’t actually given her a chance to explain herself. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear an explanation. All of his indignant anger would feel… petty if it turned out that she had a good reason.

Then again, what reason could there be for not even sending a single letter?

Shaking his head, Arkk tried hard to suppress a shiver creeping its way up his arms. Loathe as he was to give Lexa validity to her complaints, it was freezing out tonight. Sitting down, watching, and waiting, was the worst. Movement kept the body warm.

He could only imagine the complaints the gorgon might have if he had tried to get them out here. They did not handle cold well.

Claire pushed off from the tree she had been leaning against. The dark elf’s ears twitched as her sharp eyes looked down from the low foothills of the larger of the Elm mountains.

“It is time,” she said in a whisper so quiet that Arkk wasn’t sure if she had spoken or if he had just imagined her words on the wind.

Before he could ask, a bright orange light forced him to squint and turn aside before it ruined his night vision.

A gout of flame surged through the far side of the Evestani encampment. Not quite in the encampment itself but just outside it. Agnete and the inquisitors were likely taking out those on watch, unable to proceed further inside without either surrounding themselves or causing a commotion.

“Alright,” Arkk said. “Let’s move.”

“Finally,” Lexa groused. “Come close and remember, you can step on twigs or whatever because that is the twig making the noise, not you. You speak, you sneeze, you even blink too loud and the effect will break.”

Arkk looked at the two dark elves as they approached the small gremlin. Kia smiled and nodded while Claire just stared.

“Do it,” he said.

Lexa closed her eyes and clapped her hands together. She drew in a deep breath and then, all in that same breath, intoned, “Oh rahasia malam yang mendalam, selubungi tubuh kami dalam kegelapan dan biarkan musuh kami memandang kami dalam ketidaktahuan.”

Arkk looked around, back and forth. The orange light of the fire faded as a dark shadow seemed to envelop the group. The sound of yelling soldiers and the distant clangs of metal scraping against metal faded to a numb sensation in Arkk’s ears. Even the rustling of the trees in the faint breeze died out and vanished.

The sound of heartbeats started up. Three sets of thump-thumps pounding inside their chests. Lexa’s heart, small though it was, just a little faster and a little louder than that of the elves. With a frown, Arkk looked down at his own chest. He couldn’t hear anything coming from him. Was that something to do with the spell… or…

Claire, after looking around at the sudden silence, spread her lips into a feral grin. She looked to Kia, who gave her a jaunty nod, before grinning more. The elf dashed off, a small portion of the dark envelope following after her as she ran. Kia offered Arkk a wave before following after with her sword in hand.

Lexa drew a pair of daggers, one held tight in her main hand while the other looked like she was ready to fling it. The latter spun around her finger three times before she tossed it in the air, caught it by the blade, and offered it to Arkk.

Fingers on the hilt, Arkk accepted the dagger before heading down the hill toward the Evestani encampment.

The crystal ball was still useless.

Inside the Evestani bivouac, Arkk could see clearly. They had not filled the area with that thick white mist that he saw while scrying. The camp was totally clear to the point where he could see from one end all the way to the flames and inverted spheres that kept erupting on the opposite side.

The goal of the operation was not to destroy the enemy army. There were too many. That would be a job for the soldiers and Hawkwood’s men, assuming the events of the evening didn’t rout the Evestani troops. Tonight, the goal was to remove the enemy’s ability to bombard Elmshadow with magic.

With two purifiers and two inquisitors running hit-and-run strikes on the far side of the assembled mass and Lexa’s spell concealing his group, Arkk had little trouble entering the camp. It wasn’t perfect. Kia had slit the throats of two guards who had been using a spell that had detected them. One managed to shout out before she got to him. In all the commotion, it went ignored or unheard. Either way, they were now leaving behind bodies.

Even with their haphazard attempt at hiding the corpses, it wouldn’t be long before Evestani realized that someone had infiltrated their group.

He considered it good fortune that he found what they were looking for after only fifteen minutes. At least, he was fairly certain. He hadn’t been able to get close just yet.

Despite the periodic explosions in the distance, a ring of guards stood around a wooden platform. It looked like a series of planks, each topped with brass segments of a ritual circle, had been assembled into a full circle. The planks could be folded up onto each other for transport, allowing them to set up the ritual circle anywhere they needed. The most ingenious part of it all was the targeting array. A segment of the circle almost identical to the teleportation rituals that he made such frequent use of. Rather than having to be drawn out and calculated when constructing the ritual circle—something Vezta could do almost instantly given the coordinates were relative to the stars above—the brass segments of the targeting array could be moved and adjusted, changed to fit the new locations on the fly rather than having to be reforged.

The rest of the ritual circle wasn’t that complex. Arkk had to draw on everything Zullie had taught him over the last few months just to parse what it did. The flow of magic, coming from four ritualists, first flowed through the targeting array before the command array, a material conjuration targeting stone, took over. Counter-gravity magics kept the conjured mass at the target point until the conjuration finished at which point all magic ceased. The rocks would fall and anyone underneath would die.

Large and powerful, making use of several spellcasters, but simple in end function. Most of the power of the spell went into the conjuration of material—a fairly intensive process according to what he knew from Zullie.

This was the boulder-dropping array. Destroying it beyond repair might stop the assaults. It depended on whether or not any of the spellcasters present knew enough to draw out a new one in the dirt or if they were all uneducated ritual batteries.

The original plan had been to kill as many spellcasters as possible. Thus far, Arkk hadn’t seen anyone who looked like a spellcaster, just a lot of martial soldiers. All the spellcasters might have been on the other side of the camp, trying to deal with the inquisitors. Purifier Tybalt was to focus on them if that happened but they had been hoping that most of the spellcasters would remain behind near the origin of the bombardment attacks.

Arkk looked to Claire and gave her a curt nod of his head. The marksman drew back her bow in a move that looked awkward with one arm up and over her head. It did let her stay crouched low. There wasn’t much cover in the bivouac. Only a handful of tents had been set up, mostly around the center of the encampment. Around the circle, several carts were strewn about. Likely how they had transported the large planks of wood for the ritual circle. That gave some small privacy to this area but nothing that would last long. Arkk was counting on the commotion in the distance keeping their activities quiet. At least for now.

Claire loosed the arrow. It stayed in flight for a split second but she had already nocked and loosed a second arrow. Both slipped between the sides and the protruding nose guards of Evestani’s helmets, driving deep into the skulls of the two soldiers she hit. One collapsed instantly, twitching and thrashing on the ground. The other clasped hands to his face. He started to scream but a third arrow through his other eye made him drop to the ground.

The commotion didn’t go unnoticed. The other guards around the circle didn’t shout out immediately, perhaps in shock or just not sure what had happened. Most had their eyes on the distance.

It didn’t matter. Daggers from the darkness drove into the throats of two of them while Kia, swinging her sword in two hands, lopped the head off the last guard.

Arkk eyed the area, straining his ears for footsteps or cries of alarm while trying to ignore the gurgling of one of the ones with a dagger in his throat. Lexa, jumping on the downed guard, swiftly dragged her dagger across the rest of that one’s neck, silencing him.

There were footsteps but only in the distance. A lot of shouting and orders being given. Nothing to indicate that anyone noticed anything amiss with this little corner of the camp.

Still, time limit.

Arkk hurried forward with Claire hot on his heels. Kia was already dragging one of the still twitching bodies over next to one of the carts, making sure it was out of sight. Lexa was helping, though her shorter stature made the task difficult until Claire moved over and grabbed the guard’s heels.

While they worked, Arkk looked down at the wooden planks and the shaped brass ritual circle. The craftsmanship was clearly on another level. The smooth fastenings keeping the brass to the polished wood, the latches keeping the wooden planks together that fit seamlessly into the overall ritual circle, and the gleam of the brass in the light of the distant fires… It almost seemed a shame to destroy. Arkk knew more than enough ways to make an explosion. It wouldn’t be hard to burn the wood at the very least. A fire might not ruin the brass, however, and that was the really important part.

Moving over to the targeting array, Arkk crouched down. It was… amazing. Toothed gears and easily grasped knobs allowed easy adjustment. It removed all calculations from the process and offered fine-tuning to a point where Arkk could hit the gate, the keep, or even a specific house within Elmshadow.

Or…

Looking overhead, Arkk noted the positions of the relevant stars. Regular stars. He shuddered a moment, recalling that shattered sky that Vezta could see, before looking back down to the ritual circle. He twisted the knobs and adjusted the levers, double-checking with the sky twice more before finishing. Then, he moved over to the side and pulled out a small metal rod. Using it, he quickly inscribed a transportation ritual, aiming the coordinates next to the circle already in the basement of the Elmshadow keep.

Once finished, Arkk stood and motioned the others closer. He couldn’t speak without breaking their stealth spell but he was fairly sure that they got what he wanted through a quick miming session.

Lexa, Claire, and Kia split off, heading to the ritualist positions. Neither dark elf was capable of casting spells naturally but the employee link between him and them should suffice for this spell. The rock conjuration would drain them but as long as they only activated the ritual once, they would come out alright.

Giving each a look and making sure they were ready, Arkk knelt and planted a hand on the center of the circle. He pushed his magic out, slowly at first before ramping it up until the brass began to glow with a faint golden light. The light spread across the ritual circle, joining with light from the other three spots before funneling into the targeting array. From there, the conjuration began.

It took two minutes. Two minutes of profuse sweating, eyes darting around, fully expecting someone to come to check on the golden light that now illuminated the area. Perhaps they were all used to it—it was their ritual, after all. When the light snuffed out and the ritual finished, Arkk had to hold in his sigh lest it break their cloaking spell.

Nothing happened for a long moment. Arkk quickly started unlatching the wooden planks, twisting simple locks and brass ties to free the boards. Lexa helped after watching him for a moment. Claire and Kia, panting heavily, didn’t move to assist for a long moment as they struggled to regain their stamina. With the urgency of the situation, they forced themselves to move well before they looked alright to do so, helping in hauling each piece over to the transportation circle he had drawn.

A ground-shattering quake threw Arkk off his feet before he could unlatch the third plank.

Bits of loose earth, dirt, and mud crashed down around him, falling in small pieces like rain. Painful rain.

He hadn’t seen it drop. Perhaps if he had been looking up rather than down. Even then, in the dark, moonless night, he doubted he would have seen the boulder falling. From the cries and shouts and fresh waves of alarm that rippled through the encampment in the wake of the quake, he figured he had hit his target.

A house-sized boulder should have crushed the central tent of the bivouac. Probably the surrounding area as well. The rain of dirt likely blasted outward around the impact site, hopefully decimating the army. Or at least its commanders and leaders. Given the commotion with the purifiers, none might have been present. Still, at the very least, he hoped that was where they had kept their supplies.

Sieges, those of the drawn-out variety, revolved around food. That went for both the defenders and the attackers. If their stores of food were destroyed, they would have to deliver food through their supply route, likely not nearly as defended as a full army of ten thousand soldiers.

A strike against Evestani’s supply lines was something to talk about with Hawkwood later. For now, Arkk didn’t even bother looking up to see the results of the boulder drop. As soon as the rain of mud settled, he got up and continued stacking plank after plank onto the teleportation circle.

With the final plank stacked, Arkk bent and pushed magic into the ritual circle.

On the other end, in the pitch-black cellar, he ordered the lesser servant who had been ready to destroy the teleportation circle to begin moving the planks away from the destination. At the same time, he spoke, breaking the shadowy envelope that hid his presence.

“Slave Natum.”

A fresh lesser servant pulsed and bulged into existence, squirming and unfolding from wherever it had come from. Kia took a hasty step back, looking at the thing with undisguised revulsion. Claire just stared. Her sharp eyes roamed over the servant like she was trying to decide the best way to kill it.

“We’re getting out of here. Kia, you first,” Arkk said, pointing to the circle.

The dark elf didn’t hesitate to step closer to the servant, though she kept her eyes on it right up until Arkk pulsed his magic and she vanished through the teleportation circle. Claire moved into her place without needing a prompt and vanished as well.

As Lexa vanished to the keep, Arkk felt a chill run down his spine. The hairs along his arms tingled and stood on end. Some sixth sense screamed at him to move aside.

Bright golden light struck the lesser servant. It shriveled to ash before the light faded.

Arkk whirled around. “Electro Deus,” he intoned, flinging a high-powered bolt of lightning straight at the only person around.

A young boy. His head, shaved bald, had bright golden paint—or tattoos—in intricate designs all around the crown of his head. A Pious of the Golden Order? He couldn’t be older than Hale. And yet, with a casual backhand, he batted the bolt of lightning aside. It struck one of the carts around the former ritual site, setting it ablaze. It came with a cost, however, blasting off the boy’s arm at the elbow. Blood dripped and muscle hung loose, twitching and flexing from where it hung from the boy’s dangling skin. The stump of bone protruding was even smoking.

Not that it looked like the boy cared. He looked down at his missing arm with no change to his facial expression. Then he looked up at Arkk, ignoring his arm as if it were nothing more annoying than a small scratch gotten from a summer day of roughhousing.

His eyes glowed a bright gold, a familiar gold. The same color as the assassins from the Duke’s party.

“[You]/[interloper]|[stand before]/[exist within]/[experience]|[self]/[deity]/[GOLD]/|[bow]/[submit]/[cower mortal].”

Something struck Arkk. Nothing physical. Nothing magical either. It was just those words. He had heard the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE] many times in the past from Vezta. That part wasn’t unfamiliar to him. It was the bit where the being identified itself. [GOLD]. Something about that concept slammed into Arkk’s chest with the force of a bull. But instead of pain, there was awe.

This thing before him wasn’t like Vezta.

Vezta was certainly something from outside the regular world.

But this?

“[Understand]/[comprehend]|[you]/[interloper]| are little more than [meat]/[insect]/[irrelevant]. Die,” he said, dipping out of the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE] in his words. Arkk lacked the time to question why. The boy lifted his hand, aiming straight for Arkk’s chest.

Arkk stood there, watching as a golden light gathered at the boy’s fingertips. Tears welled in his eyes. Not of fear or sadness, but of joy. Such a beautiful golden light. And it was coming for him, all for him. It was—

Something jolted Arkk. Some distant tug across the link of Fortress Al-Mir. A pull—a warning, snapping him out of a discordant revelry. The malignant golden glow at the tips of the boy’s fingers was coming for him and it was, in no method of description, beautiful.

“Slave Natum,” he snapped as he jumped aside.

The golden beam skimmed past his shoulder, striking some poor soldier who had been coming up from behind that Arkk hadn’t even noticed.

Arkk stepped on the teleportation circle and threw his magic into it.

He reappeared in the dark of Elmshadow Keep’s cellar.

The poor lesser servant, so swiftly brought into existence back at the Evestani encampment, opened one of its many maws and swallowed the teleportation circle whole. Right before a golden beam struck it and Arkk felt its connection to Fortress Al-Mir vanish.

Arkk stumbled back into the cellar, back hitting hard against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. Lexa rushed over, small hands grabbing his arms as the short gremlin did her best to support him.

“Are you okay? I saw a light,” she said, trying to pull him off the wall. It didn’t work until Kia came over and planted a hand on his other shoulder.

“I’m fine. I just…” He took a deep breath, conjured all his willpower, and forced himself to balance properly. He took a second breath, swallowing a lump in his throat. “We need to signal the inquisitors. Immediately.” He tried for the door only to stumble. Kia caught him. “Then… I need to talk to Hawkwood. There is something out there…”

 

 

Magic was exhausting. At least for normal people. Arkk had yet to come across a situation that had drained him to the point where he had to take a seat. He owed that to Fortress Al-Mir, however. Most people didn’t have a direct connection to an ancient magical artifact that acted like a reservoir, pooling the combined magic of everyone in his employ and the very land that he claimed as his own.

To maintain an active siege—or a defense—for anyone else, they would have to rotate out their spellcasters on a fairly regular basis. Large spells capable of destroying walls or ballistae were often multi-person castings. Rituals not too different from what Zullie, Vezta, and Savren were finalizing back home. Though, with a different aim.

For that reason, active magical bombardment over any length of time required the use of hundreds of spellcasters. Not exactly a feasible option most of the time. Spellcasters weren’t rare but quality spellcasters were. That was why normal armies still used siege engines such as trebuchets, catapults, and siege towers. Assuming they didn’t just have their army encircle wherever they were sieging until the food supplies ran low and the besieged were forced to surrender or starve.

What Evestani lacked in mechanical siege engines—left behind to swiftly move across the Duchy—they more than made up for in terms of spellcasters.

Elmshadow’s walls shook and the soldiers trembled as another stone the size of a small house fell from the sky and shattered against the protective dome. The ritual circle concocted by Hawkwood’s spellcasters flickered with the impact and, shortly after, the ground rumbled as bits of the boulder rolled off the dome and struck the earth outside the wall. One of the three casters around Arkk sagged, letting out a long groan before some of Hawkwood’s men dragged him away. A young woman that Arkk recognized from a few hours ago, already looking haggard, replaced him. Margarete, if Arkk remembered her name right.

Arkk stood at the anchor position. The same spot he would assume during Fortress Al-Mir’s ritual. It was the most magically intensive spot yet, six hours after taking it up, Arkk barely felt a faint sheen of sweat touching his brow. For all he knew, that sweat came from the way Agnete stared at him from the sidelines, still hidden in White Company’s armor. Any exhaustion he felt was purely physical, a product of having to stand around in one spot for several hours.

Even if he was fine, he couldn’t run the ritual on his own. Hawkwood was running out of fresh spellcasters and having to use people who weren’t fully recovered.

“Hawkwood,” Arkk called out. “We’re running out of time here!”

Above, standing on the wall, Hawkwood shouted back. “With that last one, I believe we’ve pinpointed where they’re casting from. Get up here. Kelsey, take his spot!”

A young man, younger even than Arkk, looked up with heavy eyes. He was a capable spellcaster, one that was easily on par with Zullie or Savren, but he had been inside the ritual circle three times as much as anyone else. Arkk watched his sluggish movements as he stood from where he had been resting. He was about to object—Agnete could take the spot—but didn’t get a chance before Astra’s stern voice called down.

“Hold. Allow us. Chronicler.”

Arkk pursed his lips as the gaunt Chronicler Qwol looked to his superior, frowned, and then slowly headed toward the stairs. Compared to Greesom, who had fought with agility and gusto despite his heavier frame, Chronicler Qwol didn’t look like he could fight a twig, let alone an orc. Even the way he took the stairs down from the wall was akin to an elderly man who had forgotten his cane.

As he approached the protective ritual circle, Arkk looked into his sunken dark eyes and couldn’t help but ask, “Are you okay taking over?”

The man licked his dry lips, eyes meeting with Arkk’s for a short moment before he shuffled into the ritual circle. “As long as you lasted? No. But I shall suffice for now.”

Arkk frowned, watching a moment as he took the spot Arkk had been keeping. Looking up, Arkk found the faint glowing embers within the steel helmet off to the side. He gave a brief nod of his head. The glow intensified ever so slightly as Agnete nodded back. With that, Arkk turned for the stairs leading up to the wall.

He hoped Agnete understood what he meant by that. He felt like it was pretty obvious. If that chronicler did anything to sabotage the ritual, she was to take him out and take his position as fast as possible. Hopefully before any golden arrows or house-sized magical boulders dropped on Elmshadow.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Arkk looked out over the snow-covered fields. He no longer required a spyglass to see the Evestani army. Hawkwood’s archers kept them from approaching too close but it was still daunting to look out over the sea of people so close. He had thought the goblins attacking Langleey had been bad. Or the monsters assailing Darkwood. While this group lacked the ability to climb or jump atop the wall—they were all human—the scale of the army was simply on a different level.

He couldn’t help but feel like he was out of his depth once again. Just as he had been getting used to being a mercenary leader and had been making plans to expand—mostly to protect himself and Fortress Al-Mir—this came along to show him that things could always get worse.

Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra stood with her hands on her hips, stance wide, as she looked out over the wall. To her side, the maniacal-eyed purifier brought up his hands in front of his eyes, one hand upside down. He drew his fingers apart like he was framing the army, except a black void sprung up between his thumbs and index fingers.

Out in the distance, another sphere of inverted colors spread out. With a disjointed giggle and a snap of his fingers, the sphere collapsed. It didn’t quite reach the invading army but it did keep a small group who had been getting brave from approaching any further.

Hawkwood shot the two inquisitors a look before meeting Arkk’s eyes and shaking his head. “Sorry to put you in that position.”

“I’m fine,” Arkk said.

“Indeed?” Astra asked. “Quite the constitution you have.”

“That’s about my only redeeming quality,” Arkk shot back, wondering if he should have played up being exhausted. He had been too concerned with powering the ritual circle, keeping people alive to worry about that. Too late now. “You found their casters?”

“The majority of their force is stationed in a protective ring in roughly the center of the army. That is just a decoy, however. The bombardment rituals are being conducted just off to the side, currently in the shadow of the right mountain,” Hawkwood said, though he didn’t point or even look in the direction. He just handed over the spyglass. “Don’t be too obvious about looking. We would rather not have them move before we’re ready to strike.”

Arkk focused on the main encampment of the army, the area Hawkwood first indicated. It wasn’t his first view of the Evestani army since he had scried on them multiple times. Still, seeing them through the lens of the spyglass rather than through the crystal ball made them somehow feel more real. Rows upon rows of pikemen, soldiers, calvary, and even spellcasters filled the area between the mountains. They were setting up tents and, in a few areas, looked to be cooking some kind of stew. Clearly, they didn’t intend to conclude their siege before the day ended. Longer, starvation-styled sieges could take months yet that didn’t fit with how Evestani had operated thus far. They likely intended to be inside Elmshadow’s walls within a week.

Did they know of the approaching Duke’s men? Did they think they could take them on as well as Hawkwood’s forces?

Arkk didn’t know. All of this—war, sieges, even battles beyond a dozen people tactfully striking surprised targets—it was so far out of his realm of knowledge that he could hardly believe that Hawkwood was bothering to include him in these kinds of events. He wasn’t Hawkwood’s aide nor a military scholar. He just had a few odd spells, a few odd creatures, and a magical fortress that wasn’t much help in defending distant lands.

Swallowing his nerves, he carefully swept the spyglass back and forth, casually observing each side of the army before settling back in the center.

“There are identical encampments on either side. How can you be sure which is which?”

“That would be thanks to our inquisitorial allies,” Hawkwood said.

“Purifier Tybalt possesses the ability to detect magics,” Inquistrix Astra said, turning her red eyes on Arkk. “Especially miracles and anathema.”

Arkk tried not to glower. She knew who he was. She completely knew who he was. If the purifier’s abilities were accurate, they probably even knew of Agnete’s presence.

Well, if she was going to politely ignore who he really was, who was he to complain?

“Plans?”

“That…” Hawkwood started, shifting slightly. “We have a plan. How do you feel about working with the inquisitors?”

Arkk, possessing unimaginable powers of foresight, saw that one coming. He looked back to Inquisitrix Astra, who offered a polite smile that didn’t reach her cheeks, let alone her eyes.

“I have heard you are quite the resourceful man,” she said. “This operation will require resourcefulness in great qualities.”

Arkk smiled back, lips straining. “What exactly are we planning?”

“This calls for a chirugeon’s blade, cutting out the heart of their spellcasting capabilities. Myself, Purifier Tybalt, and Chronicler Qwol are capable but slipping through the ribcage that is our enemy’s encampment to strike at the heart is tantamount to suicide.”

“Ah, yes, because adding one extra person will make this strike team succeed where it was otherwise destined to fail,” Arkk said, trying and failing to keep the snide out of his voice. Turning back to Hawkwood, he asked, “Can’t we bombard them back?”

“They will have defenses of their own.”

“If their spellcasters are busy powering defensive rituals, they won’t have time to launch attacks. I can get eight more spellcasters here within two hours. If we can hold out for that long—”

“Brace yourselves!”

The cry that had become uncomfortably familiar over the past day made Arkk tense up. He spread his legs, steadying himself in preparation. The sky darkened as the protective ritual strengthened in anticipation of the incoming boulder. The boulder itself blocked out the sun, casting the wall in an even greater darkness.

It struck the protective barrier, breaking apart into much smaller fragments. The ground shook and the wall trembled as bits and pieces, still the size of large animals, tumbled down the barrier and slammed into the ground outside the wall. Arkk grit his teeth, gripping the parapet to steady himself.

A loud cry from the direction of the protective ritual circle made Arkk’s blood chill over. The haze keeping the chunks of rock from crushing them blinked twice then failed. Rubble, no longer supported by the barrier, tumbled directly toward the wall.

Arkk grabbed hold of Hawkwood, throwing them both to the ground just in time to avoid a cow-sized chunk of rock. Smaller bits and pieces showered down on them, forcing Arkk to cover the back of his head with his arms. He’d have welts all down his back in short order but figured that was a better outcome than being crushed.

One man, still with the wherewithal to keep watch, shouted out, “Another one!”

Arkk’s eyes widened. Despite the pain in his back and arms, he threw himself to his feet. The chunk of the boulder that had almost crushed him and Hawkwood had collapsed a portion of the wall behind Arkk, separating him and Hawkwood from Astra and the purifier. Judging by the shouts, not everyone on the wall was as lucky as they had been but Arkk didn’t have time to help anyone.

Using the same spell he had used at the Duke’s party, an ethereal road formed in front of him, granting him the swiftness and surety of step to dash down the stairs as fast as possible. The Electro Deus on his tongue stalled before he could fry the chronicler, however.

Chronicler Qwol sat crouched in the center of the ritual circle, gaunt face contorted in a look of concentration. Agnete strode forward, not to incinerate him for his sabotage or treachery but to take over the position of Margarete, collapsed and unconscious in one of the radial spots.

Heavy boots landed at his side. Astra, having vaulted from the wall, stood from her crouched landing. Arkk glanced at her, watching the way she cracked her neck as she straightened her back. He didn’t say anything, instead rushing forward with the last of his enhanced swiftness. When one member of the ritual circle fell, it sapped magic from the others at an increased rate. All four were wobbling. One looked ready to collapse. Arkk reached the caster, grabbed the man’s shoulders, and all but threw him from the ritual circle. No time to be polite about it.

Sylvara Astra, hot on his heels, did the same to the other wobbling caster, hefting the man up with little obvious exertion before stepping into the spot herself. She added her magic to the array just in time for the second boulder to slam into the barrier. Although a bead of sweat rolled off the side of her face, the ritual circle didn’t even flicker.

Emboldened by the initial failure of the barrier, Evestani sent another dozen boulders at Elmshadow in such rapid succession that they had to have exhausted their spellcasters. With Arkk, Agnete, Astra, and Qwol powering the defenses, not a single pebble made it through.

When the attacks finally ceased an hour short of nightfall, even Arkk was feeling a little drained. At least he was on his feet. The chronicler, who had been stuck in the anchor position for the duration, collapsed into the arms of one of Hawkwood’s men. Agnete, still wearing her armor, shuffled away with slumped shoulders and heavy breathing once one of Hawkwood’s men could take over. Their time in the ritual circle had afforded some much-needed rest to White Company’s spellcasters.

“Eight extra spellcasters… would be handy right about now,” Sylvara Astra said, taking deep breaths between her words.

Arkk tried not to look too guilty. While he could probably get them here, there was one small problem. He had eight spellcasters but they weren’t his. Following the invasion, he had offered Katja asylum within Fortress Al-Mir because he needed them for the ritual. They weren’t his employees and Katja wanted to charge an arm and a leg for their services. Fortress Al-Mir wasn’t exactly hurting for gold right now but it very easily could be if he had to ask for more than what he had already negotiated.

He had a discount thanks to offering them asylum but Katja knew he needed her and wouldn’t kick her out. That, unfortunately, gave her a fair amount of bargaining power. With practically every other spellcaster in the nation tied up in the war, he doubted he would be able to find others on short notice.

When Hawkwood and Astra had told him the vagaries of the plan, he had suggested bringing over the spellcasters mostly because following the plan of a potential assassin hadn’t sounded like the brightest idea. Now… it was safe to say that he had changed his mind about their theoretical status as assassins.

If they were working with Evestani, they would have simply allowed the defensive ritual to fail.

“You… have quite the frightening constitution… Mister Arkk.”

“You knew?” Arkk said, his train of thought broken at hearing his name.

“I have read all of Inquisitor Vrox’s reports. His depictions of you were extensive.”

Arkk’s fingers twitched. “So? What now?”

“Now?” Astra planted on hand on her hip, looking up to the wall.

She delayed speaking, probably still trying to catch her breath. If he was being honest, her constitution frightened him far more than his own. Arkk was a cheater, using Fortress Al-Mir to power his magic. Astra, on the other hand, looked less winded than Agnete. While it was true that Arkk couldn’t see Agnete’s face to confirm, the heat around the ritual circle had faded to next to nothing over the last hour. That alone made Arkk think that she had been putting everything into the ritual to the point where she couldn’t even maintain her heat.

“This may come as an insult to your pride but you are no longer our priority. The war greatly concerns the Ecclesiarch. We have orders to hunt the dragonoid. You are a person of interest but not worth pursuing. Especially given Vrox’s assessment.”

“Assessment?” Arkk asked. “What’s he been saying about me?”

“That you and your anathematic magics are contained and do not represent an immediate threat to the greater Abbey of the Light or the good people of the Kingdom of Chernlock. I believe he also mentioned that you are utterly unassailable, though I believe that to be Vrox’s attempt at saving face over his disastrous assault.”

Arkk pressed his lips together. If Vrox were here himself, telling him all this, he would likely have believed it. That was the nature of the trust he had in Vrox. Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra, on the other hand, he knew nothing about. Only that she had helped defend Elmshadow just now.

“Thus, I propose the following. We eliminate the enemy’s ability to cast siege magic. Then you and I go our separate ways. I make a report that you are contributing to the defense of the realm as I hunt this dragonoid and you… carry on until such time as the Abbey of the Light deems your continued existence no longer palatable.”

Arkk folded his arms over his chest. “I can agree to that, I suppose. Though I would prefer if my continued existence wasn’t on the line.”

“That isn’t something I can directly affect,” Astra said, red eyes flicking from him to the purifier at the top of the wall. “Cooperation, I imagine, can open many doors. Making yourself known as a defender of the Duchy isn’t hurting, I assure you.”

“Fair enough. I assume you have more to this plan than marching through… What was it? The enemy’s ribcage?”

“A metaphor,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Are you willing to hear the actual plan?”

Arkk put on a fragile smile, wondering if this was how Agnete had felt anytime the inquisitors made use of the Binding Agent. Hopefully, she didn’t still feel like that with him. “If it stops these attacks, I’m up for just about anything.”

 

 

Arkk did his best to look at ease as the heavy portcullis over Elmshadow Burg’s western gate lifted.

Everything was prepared. Everything was planned for.

He stood alongside Hawkwood, the latter having been informed of Arkk’s suspicions. In the eaves, lurking in the dark and vacant homes near to the burg’s entrance, Hawkwood had positioned his finest marksmen, supposedly capable of striking an apple at a hundred paces with their crossbows. A full contingent of wary guards stood behind, sporting White Company’s chevrons, alongside a smaller company of orcs with Company Al-Mir’s compass maze insignia hidden behind chevrons as well. Two pairs of gorgon, one to petrify and one to free the other if their magic ended up turned on themselves, haunted the guardhouse, ready to strike.

Agnete, though not wishing to make herself known to the possible inquisitors or their purifier equivalent, nonetheless burned hot at Arkk’s back, wearing concealing armor on loan from one of Hawkwood’s men.

If these were inquisitors, Arkk hoped they would appreciate the precautions in the face of possible danger. If they were assassins…

He hoped they would be surprised.

The woman strode forward ahead of the others, her black uniform bearing the inquisitorial eye, golden regalia of the Abbey of the Light, and the blue and white striped shield of the Duke. Vrox didn’t wear the latter two. Was that a clue? An adjustment made for wartime? Or inconsequential difference in uniform? Her long silver-blue hair flowed over her chest from underneath her peaked cap. Red eyes beneath the brim looked over the welcoming party like hardened steel with little obvious concern.

They were, thankfully, not glowing red eyes. The color was common to dark elves and gremlins. Given the average height and lack of pointed ears, Arkk figured that she had ancestry of one of the two, maybe three generations back at most.

A rapid, excited clapping pulled Arkk’s attention away from the leader of the group. “Oh! Are you going to play with us?” The man who had been creating those statue-swallowing spheres let out a childish giggle. “Please say yes. I so rarely get to meet new friends and, when I do, pop! They’re gone.” His laughter cut out, leaving behind a sorry moan of disappointment. The way the grin never left his face and his wide, black eyes kept darting from soldier to soldier didn’t do anything to set Arkk at ease.

A mere glare over her shoulder from the lead inquisitor was enough to get the man to lock up. His back stiffened, the heels of his boots clicked together, and beads of sweat even started rolling down his pale face.

Arkk wondered for a moment if he was also on some kind of leash, much as Agnete had been. The ice marble, referred to as a Binding Agent, caused extreme pain and duress, even evoking a fight or flight instinct that leaned toward the latter since it stripped her ability to generate flames. A fleeting thought of recruiting this man out from under the inquisitors, the same way he had recruited Agnete, crossed Arkk’s mind.

One look into the man’s maniacal eyes, which regained their fervor the moment the woman looked away, made Arkk shut that idea down. Although he had recruited criminals and raiders, Arkk was confident that none were quite so… zealous.

“You are Company Commander Hawkwood?” she asked, striding forward without so much as a glance at the array of defenders in front of the gate.

At least, not until everyone shifted, readying weapons. Her gait stalled as she slowly turned her head, sweeping her gaze over the assembled group. Her arms remained down at her sides, stiff but well away from the narrow sword’s hilt at her hip.

“I apologize for the rude meeting,” Hawkwood said with a smile that failed to reach his eyes. “But there are some mighty suspicious happenings around these parts. An inquisitor showing up out of the blue—”

“Inquisitrix,” she corrected, gaze returning to Hawkwood. “Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra.”

“I’m sure those fancy titles make a number of men bow out of your way but I’m going to need some proof of identity.”

Astra pursed her lips before glancing back over her other shoulder. “Ludwig.”

The gaunt man with a long, narrow face stepped forward, reaching into a leather bag at his side.

“Chronicler Qwol will see to your needs.”

The chronicler pulled out a few fine pieces of paper as he approached. Intricate scrawl, written with golden ink, adorned the pages. Arkk’s eyes focused on the top center where the Luminous Mandala, the primary symbol of the Abbey of the Light, sat. Normally, it was simplified to a series of concentric rings. This piece of paper had the full version, a harmonious blend of geometric precision and ethereal elegance. It appeared as a sunburst filled with a lattice-like pattern, rings following rays of represented light as they spread outward.

To either side were the lesser regalia of the Abbey of the Light. Icons that represented the Heart of Gold and the Almighty Glory, according to Vezta. Arkk ignored them for the moment, eyes roaming up to the intricate pendant hanging from the chronicler’s neck, a simplified representation of the Luminous Mandala. It was identical to the one Greesom wore, further validating their claims. Were it not for Agnete, Arkk might have taken the papers, the outfits, and the pendant would have convinced him.

Hawkwood shot Arkk a glance and nodded his head. The information on the papers looked legitimate.

He handed it back but, before Qwol could place the document back in the leather bag, Hawkwood gripped his wrist. “Authenticate it.”

The chronicler’s eyes jumped up his forehead. He glanced back, wordlessly asking Astra a question. The woman’s hard eyes narrowed but she nodded her head.

Arkk tensed, ready to fling a lightning bolt when the assassins revealed themselves, only to deflate entirely as the chronicler grabbed the pendant from his neck and overlaid it atop the Luminous Mandala on the piece of paper. A warm, white glow coursed through the symbol, flowing over to the letters as well.

They were genuine.

“Satisfied?” Astra asked, one hand on her hip.

Hawkwood, frowning behind his messy beard, released Chronicler Qwol. “I apologize, Inquisitrix. Evestani has a penchant for using disguised assassins. Your timing and direction of approach are suspicious.”

Astra turned again, glaring at the horizon. If looks could kill… She turned back with a more thoughtful expression beneath the brim of her peaked cap.

“So…” The man with black eyes slumped his shoulders. “No games today?”

“Quite. I suppose it is your lucky day, Hawkwood. We were in the area pursuing an… unrelated target.”

Arkk shifted, wondering if that referred to him, Agnete, or something else.

“Purifier Tybalt felt the touch of forbidden magics,” she continued without even looking in his direction. “We followed his instinct to the animated constructs.”

“Those were my men,” Hawkwood said, rough voice cracking at the end of the sentence. He licked his lips, taking a moment to recenter himself. “Struck by enchanted arrows of the Evestani army. We… I had hoped we could find a way to return them to normal.”

Astra glanced to the chronicler, who shook his narrow head. “It is the opinion of the Light that such magic could not be undone. Your men died. Take solace in knowing they are no longer a threat to their fellows anymore.”

Arkk spoke before he could help himself. “What did you do with them?” he asked, only to grimace as everyone’s attention turned to him. Now knowing that these were true inquisitors and not assassins, he should have just left and let them handle everything. But this was new magic. Even beyond his personal interest, knowing what might face him and Agnete should the inquisitors turn out to be less friendly than Vrox felt vital. The sudden attention still made him balk. “I just… thought purifiers used holy flames.”

“They have been detained,” the purifier exclaimed with an overabundance of ardor in his voice. “They shall await the end, safe and sound until the stars dim with not but the void for company!”

Astra snapped her fingers, making the purifier flinch back. “Ignore him. He is disturbed.”

“All stars will burn out eventually,” Purifier Tybalt said, shrinking in on himself. A small smile spread across his face as he looked at his leader. “Some sooner than others.”

“Rest assured,” Astra said, ignoring his words, “their existence no longer concerns this reality.”

Arkk tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. Two words among everything said since his question stuck out to him. Detained and Void. One of the statues at the Fortress Al-Mir temple room was the Jailor of the Void. The patron of time, eternity, and emptiness. The one statue that Vezta had been unable to explain why it might have manifested.

If this purifier was like Agnete, an avatar of the old Pantheon, Arkk had a feeling he knew to which god he owed his abilities. Did that help anything? Not necessarily right now. Perhaps it would make it easier to find a countermeasure or at least figure out all that he could do.

“As for holy flames… Three purifiers wield them. They are flashy, obvious, and destructive. It is hardly a surprise that rumors have spread that all purifiers utilize fire.”

Arkk resisted the urge to look back at Agnete. He felt he had a better source than mere rumors. Then again, she had said that she didn’t know all that many inquisitors.

“You said this is my lucky day,” Hawkwood said, drawing attention back to him. “Sure doesn’t feel like it.”

“Our hunt has stalled. Given our purview and the Golden Order’s usage of anathematic magics, it is well within our rights to assist in breaking this siege.” She paused, leaning over to the chronicler as the gaunt man started whispering at her side. “Ah yes. We also wish to inquire about those… skulls surrounding the valley. They ran off our horses.”

“You didn’t destroy them, did you?” Hawkwood asked, alarmed. “Those are the only things keeping Evestani at bay.”

“Not yet.” Her eyes hardened. “You constructed them?”

After letting out a brief sigh of relief, Hawkwood shook his head. “A colleague. He said he had a way of protecting the area. I didn’t ask. Learned it is generally better not to when he is involved.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, eying Hawkwood. He most certainly had asked. He hadn’t been too approving of using the dead, even if the skulls were from ancient barrows. That was how people got themselves cursed, he said. Quite a similar sentiment to Edvin’s concerns.

“This colleague being Arkk of Company Al-Mir?”

Arkk stiffened at the mention of his name, only to realize that none of the three were looking in his direction.

“You know him?”

“Of him. He is a person of interest.”

“The target of your hunt?” Hawkwood said, asking the question Arkk had wondered earlier.

“No. We seek one roaming the skies. A dragonoid was spotted in the area. I don’t suppose your scouts have any information for us on the matter?”

Hawkwood started, as did Arkk. “In the Duchy? Did Evestani bring it?”

“Unsure. Thus far, we’ve had no reports of it attacking anyone. Given the information troubles with the war, that is only a matter of time. Our goal was to detain it.”

Detain. There was that word again. Judging by the gleeful look in Purifier Tybalt’s eyes, he doubted they meant to detain it in any regular cell. Which wasn’t all that surprising. Dragonoids were something of an enigma. Not dragons, though related to them to the point where their armored scales made them nearly indestructible to any conventional weaponry and normal magics. They possessed natural magics akin to beastmen but on a far greater scale. A flame dragonoid might give Agnete a run for her money in terms of destructive prowess. If a dragonoid and Agnete were to fight, Arkk doubted he would put his money on his employee. Agnete was still a fleshy human behind her fires.

If Evestani was fielding dragonoids, the war might already be over. They just didn’t know it yet. It was said that dragonoids were hostile to almost every human. However, he wouldn’t put it past the Golden Order, backed by a member of the Pantheon, to have a way of controlling them.

“Well, I’m afraid we can’t help with that. Your assistance with the siege will be appreciated. We planned to hold out for the Duke’s men to arrive, projected to be in about four day’s time, and then use the reinforcements to turn the tides once—”

“Sir!” One of the gate guards leaned over the top wall, waving one of the spyglasses. “Movement on the horizon! A large force is approaching!”

Arkk’s eyes widened. He looked down at the inquisitors, still half expecting them to reveal their treachery and attack. When they didn’t, he had to confirm. “You didn’t destroy the mausoleums, correct?”

Red eyes centered on him once again. This time, she was more discerning, looking over him for a long moment even as Hawkwood started barking out orders to his men. Positions needed to be taken up, defenses raised, spellcasters on alert for falling arrows, and reserves woken. The purifier turned around, eagerly looking out Elmshadow’s gate. At Arkk’s back, he felt the chill of the winter air vanish as the heat escaped Agnete’s concealing armor.

Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra merely regarded Arkk with an uncanny calm. She leaned over and whispered something to the chronicler, who turned his half-lidded eyes onto Arkk as well. He didn’t say anything back, however, merely watching as well until Astra spoke.

“I believe I said that I did not. And you would be..?”

“My adjutant, Tavyn,” Hawkwood said, looking to Arkk. “Have you got your crystal ball?”

Arkk nodded his head, mumbling thanks to Hawkwood as he turned away from the inquisitors. Back to them, he summoned the crystal ball to his waiting hand while acting like Agnete was handing it to him. Turning back around, he held it up while pushing magic into it.

Whatever magic the Evestani had used to cloak themselves from his prior scrying attempts must have only worked while they were stationary. The army was marching forward, just barely reaching the point where the mausoleums should have sent them fleeing in terror. He saw the line in the front flinch, perhaps even losing their grip on their weapons. A golden light, emanating from the bald Pious of the Golden Order that each company counted among their number, suffused throughout the advancing soldiers.

Whatever they were doing wasn’t a perfect solution. More than a handful broke ranks and fled. The rest of the army didn’t try to stop them. They simply continued forward until the first company reached the closest set of mausoleums. As soon as they did, they started hacking and beating, using horseman’s picks to chip away at the stone the lesser servants had constructed. When the first of the mausoleums fell, the vanguard lifted their weapons in cheer, emboldening the other companies as they started hacking at the rest of the defensive line.

“It appears our time is limited,” Inquisitrix Astra said, having stepped closer to peer in alongside Hawkwood and Arkk. “What will it be, White Company? Admit us entry to assist or continue this…” She trailed off, allowing a snide grin to cross her face. “This inquisition.”

Arkk shared a look with Hawkwood. He wasn’t completely convinced. They still hadn’t heard a proper explanation about why the inquisitors had approached from the direction of Evestani. Arkk felt like it was even more suspicious now. What if those golden statues had been a threat to their own side, willing to lash out at anyone and not just Hawkwood’s men? It could be that these inquisitors cleared them away and still had a plot to assassinate everyone here, just in time to open the gates for the approaching army.

Then again, the inquisitor’s papers had checked out just as Agnete had said they would. Not only that, but Agnete hadn’t touched his back. That was supposed to have been the sign that she noticed something fishy with their authentication.

After a brief hesitation, Arkk nodded his head. He wouldn’t be leaving Hawkwood alone with them, that was for sure. The current crisis warranted risks. Elmshadow couldn’t handle those golden arrows raining down upon it. Once the Duke’s Guard arrived, they would present additional targets for those golden arrows, at least until informed of and secured against the danger. With Agnete only able to melt the ground to pacify the golden statues, having a purifier on hand who could detain them sounded almost necessary.

Hawkwood frowned behind his mustache, clearly displeased. He likely had the same thoughts and had been hoping that Arkk would shake his head, giving him an easy out. But he hadn’t. Thus, Hawkwood turned back.

“Get inside. I’d welcome you to Elmshadow but it wouldn’t be much of a welcome,” he said before tilting his head back. “Seal the gate!”

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Arkk said in a low whisper. Astra probably heard but Arkk didn’t much care. She didn’t react one way or another.

“We are specialists, not generals,” Astra said. “I will defer to your expertise. Direct us where you will but know that we will not follow orders that sound like they will lead to unnecessary deaths.”

“Right,” Hawkwood said, voice gruff as the portcullis slammed down. “Let me get my men in order, then I’d best find out more about your capabilities to know where to place you.”

He turned and started marching through the assembled troops, shouting an order to one of his actual adjutants as he moved. Arkk made a quick motion to Agnete, warning her away. The woman was getting too hot—she would be found out in an instant if her armor started glowing red. As it was, he thanked the chaos and the crowd that her heat hadn’t been noticed thus far.

As soon as she turned, heading toward the contingent of orcs that weren’t following along with the rest of White Company’s men, Arkk hurried after Hawkwood. As he moved, he watched his back the same way he had while blindfolded in the Silver City mines, making sure that the inquisitors following behind weren’t about to launch a surprise attack.

Siege or not, he wasn’t about to let Hawkwood go anywhere alone with these people.

 

 

What was one to do while being sieged? Especially when the enemy was only sieging one side of the burg. It was entirely possible to evacuate the citizens out toward the east. But to the east was Evastani’s goal. Anyone fleeing toward Cliff would just have to face them again down the road. Some had gone on their own. Others stayed behind.

Perhaps they could have headed north or south once they cleared the valley. Those weren’t safe either. This army of Evestani’s wasn’t their only force in the Duchy, just the one pushed into the territory the most.

“At least your mausoleums are keeping them well away from the walls,” Hawkwood said, lowering a telescoping spyglass. Since setting up their encampment, Evestani had done something to obstruct scrying. It wasn’t the complete shutdown that the inquisitors had tried. The crystal balls just fogged over, making it difficult to see anything through the glass.

Did they know they were being scried upon? Or were these typical precautions anytime they made camp? Arkk couldn’t be sure as he had only scried on troops on the move in the past.

It was annoying. Crystal balls, along with the teleportation rituals, were his greatest advantage, in his opinion. Even more so than the likes of Vezta or Agnete or gorgon. Having people shut that ability down didn’t help his paranoia. It was perfectly rational to shut down magics like that. Arkk even wanted to do it as well, even though he wasn’t sure that anyone was actively scrying on him. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what all these people who couldn’t be scried upon were doing where he couldn’t spy.

“I shudder to think what might happen if their archers got close enough to fire their golden arrows into the burg,” Hawkwood continued. “One of those monstrosities in confined quarters? Evestani would have a whole burg of golden soldiers by nightfall.”

Arkk lowered his spyglass. They stood on the wall of Elmshadow Burg, watching out over the snow-dusted fields. The Evestani army had set up a camp, looking like they were going to stick it out here rather than try to go around the bulky mountains.

The golden soldiers that Agnete had fused to the ground had all stopped moving. Without venturing closer, he couldn’t tell if they had given up on trying to free themselves or if whatever magic animated them had finally run dry. If it was the latter, they had lasted about twenty-four hours. Plenty of time to cause widespread destruction within the burg’s walls. He couldn’t help but nod his head, feeling numb at the thought.

He glanced over. It had been three weeks since he last saw Hawkwood in person. Through the use of Swiftwing harpies, they had remained in contact and Arkk had scried upon the man’s position several times. Still, it was disconcerting to see his mentor and friend as he was now.

At the Duke’s party, Hawkwood had been a bit large. Not fat—the man kept himself in shape—but still with plenty of girth. His neck had hardly fit inside his collar. He wore his hair styled in a wealthy fashion, slicked back, and had a bushy yet tidy mustache.

Now, if Arkk had to describe his appearance in one word, it would be haggard. Gone was any spare fat on the man. He might have lost some muscle mass as well, forced to survive on rations of hardtack and pottage. His brown hair, longer and unkempt, traded its groomed luster for frayed and wild strands. A beard had joined his mustache, both of which looked like he had forgotten about them entirely, leaving them to fend for themselves out in the wilds of the Duchy.

“The Duke’s Men will be here soon,” Arkk said, trying to console the man. “Combined with White Company, we’ll outnumber them by a few thousand.”

“A few thousand doesn’t mean much in a protracted battle. Getting two armies to fight isn’t easy either. Not to mention… I am no longer convinced that a large force is wise.”

“Those arrows?” Arkk asked.

Hawkwood nodded. “My casters have determined that they are miraculous in nature, though my bishop claims to have never seen anything like them.”

“Your casters and bishop?”

Hawkwood put on a smile, thin and lacking humor though it was. “You aren’t the only one who has recruited those well-versed in magic. Proper utilization of casters is a force multiplier. A squad of ten has even odds against ten men. Add in a caster and they can take on twenty with confidence.”

“Yeah. Learned that myself.”

Zullie wasn’t that much of a force multiplier. She wasn’t much of a combatant. Agnete, on the other hand? Arkk doubted she could take on the entire Evestani army before someone got a lucky hit in but he didn’t fear much for her safety if he sent her alone against ten or even twenty opponents. More if they were fighting from a position of ambush. The gorgon and Vezta acted much the same, though they weren’t spellcasters.

“That said,” Hawkwood continued, “I don’t suppose your people have come up with any countermeasures?”

Arkk winced. “No. They are… working on something else,” he said, feeling a bit guilty.

“Something that will help with the war?”

“I hope so.”

Hawkwood stared for a moment before offering a brief nod of his head. He didn’t ask anything more, simply bringing his spyglass to his eye once again.

Arkk started to follow, only to freeze as he heard a noise. A building drone like a bow drawn over a dozen stringed instruments all at once, reaching a high crescendo without any harmony. At the peak, the sound went silent. A low, vibrating tone echoed out over the vacant fields, slamming into the wall along with a brief flash of light out in the distance.

He tensed, fearing an attack that had gotten through the mausoleum defenses. Taking up his spyglass, he swept it over the distance only to spot a deep gouge in the land. A perfect void, like someone had taken a spoon and carved out a bit of land.

A black sphere formed in the distance, surrounding a trio of the golden soldiers, bringing with it another discordant noise of rising strings. Except, it wasn’t quite a black sphere. The colors inside the expanding sphere were wrong. The snow turned black but the gold of the soldiers turned blue-white. Shadows turned light and light turned dark. The sphere expanded until it encompassed the three golden statues, hitting that crescendo once again. With the low-toned thrum, the sphere collapsed along with everything inside it. The soldiers disappeared along with another scoop of the ground.

“They’re… exploding?”

“Not quite,” Hawkwood said, tone gruff. “To the left.”

Arkk, noting Hawkwood pointing a finger, followed along until he spotted three figures standing out in the fields. The one standing ahead of the others pinched the tips of his fingers together, using both hands. As he spread his hands apart, another of those inverted spheres began growing around the next group of golden soldiers. It was not a quick process. If those golden soldiers could move, Arkk imagined they could have walked out of the sphere even with their sluggish movements.

That said, when the process finished and the man clapped his hands together, Arkk couldn’t help but shudder at just how everything was gone from inside that inverted sphere.

He watched another dozen spheres, each consuming the unmoving statues, before he focused on those working the magic. He didn’t recognize any of them but his heart skipped a beat nonetheless. One woman stood back with another man, watching with keen eyes as the one in front made sphere after sphere. Their uniforms, long black coats with a series of straps holding them closed in the front, were uncomfortably familiar.

The man creating the spheres was thin, gangly so. He kept hunching over and shuddering between working his magic, clutching at his stomach the way someone might if they couldn’t control their laughter.

Neither of the other two looked amused. The man, the shorter of the two, looked like he could have been Chronicler Greesom’s brother. Arkk couldn’t make out too many details at a distance but he was shorter, thinner, and had a gleaming pendant dangling from his neck that bounced lightly as he wrote in his notebook.

The woman stood tall, hands on her hips as she watched. Her long cloak fluttered behind her in a breeze while the brim of a peaked cap hid most of her face. Flowing silver hair—perhaps tinged with a hint of blue—made Arkk wonder if she was an elf. She didn’t look quite tall enough. Perhaps a half-elf. Either way, she, along with the others, had beads of sweat forming on the back of Arkk’s neck.

“Inquisitors,” Arkk said, stomach dropping. He couldn’t make out the eye-shaped pin from this distance, even with the spyglasses, but there was no doubt about their identity. The way one stood back, one wrote in a small notebook, and one performed the dangerous magic only confirmed that suspicion.

Did that mean the man creating the spheres was another purifier? Arkk had imagined all of them as flame-wielders like Agnete. Not… whatever this was. Though, given what he knew of Agnete, he supposed this made sense. Agnete was a chosen of one member of the Pantheon. Vezta had implied that there would only be one avatar for any given member of the Pantheon at once. Both Zullie and Agnete said that there were other purifiers.

Thus, other purifiers had to belong to different deities or else there was some other explanation for their powers.

The man creating the spheres turned away from his task for a moment, looking straight at Arkk with wide, manic, and strange eyes. His solid black eyes, illuminated by a single ring of white, made Arkk shudder. Not just because of the strange appearance but because of the way the supposed purifier looked directly at him despite there being no way even an elf could pick him out at this distance.

Arkk lowered the spyglass, knot tightening in his stomach. “I… should go.”

Were the inquisitors here for the war or him? He honestly couldn’t guess one way or the other. If it were Vrox, he would have said the war. These new inquisitors… he didn’t know anything about them. He couldn’t trust them like he trusted Vrox.

“I need to get Agnete out of here,” he said, tone slightly more urgent. He did not want to see what a fight between two purifiers looked like. Even if, with how long it seemed to take to form those spheres, he figured Agnete might win. And that was only true if the inquisitors didn’t have another countermeasure to Agnete’s abilities along the lines of those ice marbles.

“Arkk.”

Arkk paused, looking back to Hawkwood.

The man reached out, clapping a hand on Arkk’s shoulder. “Thanks for all you’ve done.”

“I hardly did anything. I wish I could do more. Maybe those inquisitors—”

“Nonsense. Were it not for your mausoleums, I fear we would all be golden soldiers by now.”

“Ah. Speaking of that, if the inquisitors give you trouble over it, feel free to blame it on me. They already don’t like me.”

“To be fair, those mausoleums were all you,” Hawkwood said, smiling properly now. “Go. I can handle a few inquisitors.”

Arkk dipped his head. “I might be back if I think of something else I can do to help. Otherwise… you know where to send the Swiftwings. Stay safe.”

“You as well,” Hawkwood said, giving Arkk one firm squeeze of his shoulder before letting him go. “You as well.”

Arkk took the stairs off the wall and hurried through town. Elmshadow was a fairly sizable burg. Not as big as Cliff but larger than either Darkwood or Moonshine. Its garrison and keep stood tall at the center of the burg, currently occupied by about half of White Company while the rest of Hawkwood’s men camped out outside the eastern wall. A large market, currently devoid of any people, sprawled out around the main garrison entrance.

While White Company occupied the majority of the garrison, Company Al-Mir had a few rooms for their personnel. At the moment, that consisted of Agnete, four gorgon, and six orcs. Hardly anything in comparison to White Company’s four thousand or the local baron’s guard which had several hundred.

It took only a few seconds to round up the gorgon and orcs. Arkk had to check in on where Agnete was using his employee link, though he wasn’t too surprised to find her down in the garrison’s local smithy. Ever since hearing fully about her patron, the Burning Forge, smithies tended to be her regular haunts, whether in Fortress Al-Mir or elsewhere. She didn’t usually participate in the work, often just watching or, occasionally, sitting entirely within the kilns and forges.

Whatever made her comfortable.

Today, she stood hovering over the shoulder of some poor member of White Company as the man fixed up a battered breastplate. The embers in her eyes lit bright as she watched and scanned, observing—even judging—the way he beat down the bent metal back into place.

“Agnete. We need to go.”

The wild mane of black hair she had shifted as she turned her head. “An attack?” she asked, embers in her eyes intensifying.

“No! No…” Arkk said quickly, both for her sake and the sake of the tense blacksmith at her side. He motioned, taking her outside and well away from anyone else before continuing. “Inquisitors. With a purifier who… I don’t even know how to describe it. He made spheres that destroyed everything inside them.”

“Purifiers wield holy flame,” Agnete said with a numb tone in her voice. She didn’t look worried but the glow under her skin started to brighten.

Arkk blinked, frowning to himself. Had he misunderstood? Perhaps there were more like Agnete and this new inquisitor was some other class of enforcer. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter at the moment. He could try to figure out what to call this new inquisitor later. “Whoever they are, they’re dressed like inquisitors. I’m not too interested in meeting them and I doubt you want to either.”

“Can you scry on them?”

Since scrying hadn’t been working on Evestani and the other inquisitors Arkk knew of had ways of blocking it, he hadn’t even tried. He quickly conjured his crystal ball. Fortress Al-Mir possessed two, one he kept to himself for the most part. The other had a team working day and night, scrying on various locales of import. Mostly areas Hawkwood had pointed out as being strategically valuable.

It did feel a bit bad that he kept one near himself when he wasn’t even using it every second of the day.

The value of being able to peer across a battlefield without resorting to Hawkwood’s limited spyglass couldn’t be understated.

He first did a quick check of the Evestani encampment. The crystal ball just went foggy. It was like Evestani had some spellcasters summon up a thick fog. That could easily have been what they had done. Arkk didn’t envy sitting around in a cold and wet fog in the middle of winter. Then again, he didn’t have that golden light staving off the elements.

Hawkwood had sent out lookouts throughout the mountains, making sure that no forces were hiking through with the intention of dropping those golden arrows on the burg. The mausoleums only protected the valley, after all.

Thinking of the valley, the viewpoint changed, dragged over to dozens of scooped-out divots in the terrain. The inquisitors were still working and were not doing anything to hide their presence from scrying eyes. Able to look closer with the crystal ball, Arkk spotted the familiar eye-shaped silver pin with a vertical bar in place of the pupil.

“Inquisitors,” Arkk said. “Recognize them?”

“No.”

Arkk felt a chill run down his spine as a new thought occurred to him. Were they inquisitors? They dressed the part. They had the right numbers, including one man who had a notebook, but that might only mean that someone had done their research. Taking an extra moment to think about it, something didn’t quite add up.

Where had they come from? They were out in the fields between the mausoleum defenses and the burg. They hadn’t passed through the burg or someone would have noticed them. Hawkwood’s scouts around the mountains had a whole system in place to check in on each other, making sure nobody disappeared and let anyone through. Thus far, the alarm hadn’t gone off.

Did that mean they had come from the mausoleums? Somehow avoiding that mental magic? Judging by Vrox and Greesom reflecting a gorgon’s petrifying gaze back upon the gorgon, Arkk wouldn’t be surprised if they could get past easily. But that meant that they were coming from the Evestani side of things.

“Are these inquisitors?” Arkk asked, voice a little more intense. “Even if you don’t recognize them, could they be new or just unknown to you?”

“That is likely,” Agnete admitted. “I can name… six inquisitors. Not including myself.”

“Six… that’s… Is that a lot? How many inquisitors are there?”

Agnete shrugged. Pinching a length of black hair between her fingers, she rubbed it in thought. “Three dozen? Maybe four. I don’t have exact numbers. That is a guess based on our typical operating area.”

That wasn’t many but it also meant that Agnete wasn’t likely to know any given inquisitor. Arkk bit his lip as he stared into the crystal ball, eyeing the woman, who he presumed to be in Vrox’s role within this group. She did not have pointed ears, he noted. The man at her side didn’t quite look like Greesom from a closer perspective. Their similarities ended with their height. Where Greesom was fairly rotund in a muscular manner, this man was thin and had a gaunt face. Maybe he had been ill recently, even.

The last man, the one causing the imploding spheres, looked mad. He had wide, crazed eyes and kept descending into fits of laughter. The woman snapped at him nearly constantly, though Arkk couldn’t hear what she was saying through the crystal ball.

“Is there anything that gives them away as impostors? Their clothes or that strange magic?”

Their clothes were almost identical to what Agnete was wearing now. Agnete’s weren’t official inquisitor clothing, but rather something made by the fortress tailor. From a distance, it was doubtful that anyone would be able to tell the difference—not taking into account Agnete’s lack of sleeves, having burned them off at some point or another. From close-up, it was a different story. The seams were bulky while parts that should have been protruding were flat. The stitching lacked regular finesse and the hems weren’t even. Were Agnete to stand next to a proper inquisitor, she would look like a cheap copy.

“Inquisitors seek out strange or anathematic magic. We don’t merely destroy it, however. We contain and, oftentimes, utilize that magic. Anathematic magic went into the Binding Agent that was used to control me.”

That fit with what Vrox had said to him in one of their meetings. He wanted Vezta and the artifact used to control her. With that in mind, it wouldn’t have surprised Arkk in the slightest if they intended for Vezta to take on a similar role as Agnete or this black-eyed man.

“As for their clothes,” Agnete continued, peering closer into the crystal ball. “I see nothing amiss. So long as they have the proper credentials, I wouldn’t blink an eye if they introduced themselves to me. Does something stand out to you?”

Arkk pursed his lips, staring down into the crystal ball. “The situation. They show up and start destroying the golden statues. Great. But where did they come from? With Evestani’s penchant for disguised assassins… Hawkwood will just let them in at the gate. They walk in, act like inquisitors. As soon as night falls, they take out anyone in a leadership position. Maybe try to find a weakness in the mausoleums. Assuming they don’t just use that magic to destroy them.” Drumming his fingers against his thigh, he looked to Agnete. “These proper credentials, would someone like Hawkwood be able to tell if they were true or forged?”

“Hawkwood has mentioned in the past that he doesn’t have much experience with inquisitors.”

That was a no, then. “Can you?”

“Unless something drastic has changed since absconding from the organization.”

Arkk ground his teeth, hating what he was about to ask. “How dangerous do you think it would be to meet them if they are real inquisitors?”

“Not any more dangerous than if they were assassins.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

 

 

“Edvin, get back to Fortress Al-Mir,” Arkk said, lowering his crystal ball. “I want Agnete here immediately. The gorgon as well. Have Vezta show you which ritual circles to use to reach her.”

“Me? Interact with the scary pyromaniac? Are you—”

Arkk turned, eyes casting a red glow over Edvin’s face. “Now,” he said.

“Going!” Edvin said, his voice tinged with forced cheer. He fled, not bothering to hide his rush as he dashed out of Elmshadow’s garrison office that Arkk and Hawkwood had taken over.

They had a teleportation circle in the dark cellar with a lesser servant burrowed beneath, ready to destroy it if anyone unauthorized so much as stepped into the room. Fortress Al-Mir was seven hops back. Arkk hadn’t liked using them before but found them to be too efficient. Now, however, their tactical advantage in moving small numbers was too great to ignore. There were traps and decoys around each actual teleportation circle, other circles were designed to look like a proper teleportation circle but would kill or maim any users. He worried it wasn’t enough. All it would take would be someone scrying to reverse engineer where the teleportation circle went, then they could follow that straight back to Fortress Al-Mir.

It wasn’t so much of a concern with the inquisitors as they already knew where the fortress was—even if he hoped his ruse of moving the fortress was still intact. Arkk didn’t know if that was true of Evestani, however, and fully intended to keep the location as hidden as possible. He didn’t know Evestani’s scrying capabilities but imagined they had some methods of keeping watch on distant matters. He wanted to find out how the inquisitors were blocking his scrying so that he could use the same protection around the teleportation circles. Until he—or, more likely, Zullie—figured that out, he had taken to enclosing the ritual circles in pitch-dark environments, easily constructed with the help of lesser servants.

He did wish there was a way to move larger forces around. Scaling up the ritual circle did not work. It would only transport one ‘thing’ at a time. A person. A horse. A cart. A person could carry another person or things, but there was a limit. A cart couldn’t even be fully loaded. At some point in loading the cart, seemingly at different levels every time they tried, it would just leave behind everything beyond the cart itself. Neither Zullie nor Vezta had an explanation as to why. In addition, for everyone beyond him, Vezta, Zullie, Savren, Agnete, and Hale, activating the ritual circle more than once or twice quickly became magically exhausting. Even they would tire after a dozen or two uses.

Not exactly a feasible option for transporting thousands of soldiers, their supplies and sustenance, and all the support personnel required for running an army.

Which was incredibly disheartening now of all times.

Standing, Arkk turned to the window in the garrison’s office. Elevated above the rest of the burg, it allowed a clear view out between the Twin Elm Peaks, over the wide and currently vacant fields nestled in the valley. Far in the distance, near where he had been setting up Elmshadow’s defenses, he could just barely make out the movement of the approaching White Company, fleeing from a few dozen golden soldiers.

Arkk wasn’t sure what was up with those things. Nor why Hawkwood had his company, four thousand strong, fleeing from no more than fifty of them. They were sluggish and heavy, judging by how deeply they sunk into the ground with every step. When Arkk had first scried on Hawkwood’s fleeing army, they had been much closer. Now, Hawkwood had put some distance between them. Their movements seemed stiff and janky, not at all like how a human would move. When he had scried on them earlier, he hadn’t noticed any flesh under their detailed armor and cloaks, just more gold.

The mausoleum defenses needed minds to target. These things looked more like animated statues. Had that all been a waste?

He hoped not. Even if the golden soldiers got close, the mausoleums should survive. The lesser servants had constructed them to be sturdy enough to hold up to all but the most dedicated of long-range bombardment. They would have been useless if any old archer could have knocked them over. A sword, especially a soft golden sword, would break before the hard stone.

The army made it past the mausoleums without problem. That was one small thing he had been worried about, especially with them being chased, but the talismans were exceedingly simple to make. Just a few quick marks that redirected the specific magic used. They weren’t even magically active themselves, more like an extension of the fear-inducing ritual that didn’t do anything while too far away.

Unfortunately, the golden soldiers followed. They didn’t stop to attack the mausoleums but neither were they turned aside by their power.

A heat at his back signaled the arrival of Agnete. With the temperature rise, she didn’t even need to announce her presence. Khan slithered into the room at her back, a step behind.

“Agnete, can your flames melt gold?”

She quirked her head to one side, sending her wild hair bobbing with her head. “I have encountered exceedingly little that my flames will not consume.”

“Good enough. Khan,” Arkk stepped closer to the pair, crystal ball in hand. “What do you make of these golden statues?”

The gorgon’s tongue darted out of his mouth as if it were possible to taste the statues through the ball. He shook his head a moment after. “They move. Thiss iss not gorgon magicss.”

“I figured,” Arkk said, tone polite yet deadpan. “Can you stone them? Or at least solidify them?”

“Unssure. I have never encountered ssuch creaturess.” He leaned in closer. “Sshow me their eyess.”

Arkk, looking down at the crystal ball, adjusted the scrying angle. Several of the golden soldiers were wearing armor and helmets. Only a few were lacking. He quickly closed in on one dressed as a priest, focusing on its face.

He recoiled involuntarily at the sight of the golden statue. The skin was nothing short of astounding. It bore an uncanny resemblance to human flesh, capturing every intricate detail with perfect precision. Every dimple carved around its lips, every wrinkle etched upon its forehead, and even the faintest scars were faithfully rendered in gold.

What truly sent a shiver down his spine was the hair. The tiny, delicate hairs that adorned the statue’s face. He had a trim beard, minute stubble on his cheeks, and even faithfully crafted eyebrows, drawn up to the golden man’s forehead. It was a masterful display of craftsmanship that Arkk couldn’t quite comprehend. They were being used as soldiers. Surely the artisan wouldn’t have bothered in going quite so in-depth when it was likely the solder was going to take a bludgeon to the face, deforming it all.

And the face… What a face. The expression frozen in such intense detail was an amalgamation of fear and terror. As if the artisan had looked upon a dying soldier and decided to use that pained visage as the inspiration for his construction. The eyes, so lifelike, held a silent scream of anguish that made him shudder.

Tearing his eyes from the crystal ball, Arkk noted his two companions. Agnete, though stony-faced as always, had taken a half step back. Khan looked unaffected. Being a gorgon, perhaps a human posed in such a state didn’t affect him or perhaps his inhuman features were simply better at concealing his disquiet. Either way, Arkk couldn’t help but wonder if there was some magic to these statues beyond simply animating the gold. A fear effect much like what he had tried to erect around Elmshadow would explain why Hawkwood was running instead of just crushing the soldiers.

“Their eyess are not flesshy,” Khan said, startling Arkk into a small jump. “Gorgon magicss won’t work.”

“Alright. Thank you for your input. Agnete, you up to turning these soldiers into puddles?”

The embers in her eyes intensified and the glow in the scars marring her face doubled over. She didn’t say a word but she did nod her head. Arkk could feel the sudden eagerness coming off her in the form of heat.

“We’ll take some of the garrison’s horses,” Arkk said, moving around the two. “Khan, stay ready here. Agnete, let’s ride.”

“I thought you said your fire could melt gold!”

“Give me a gold coin and I will make it flow like water,” Agnete shouted back, one of the few times Arkk had heard her raise her voice.

A gout of flame hot enough to make Arkk dive to the ground surged forth from Agnete’s extended arm. The fire wasn’t aimed in his direction, but rather toward a golden knight bearing the chevron of White Company. Orange flames wrapped around the statue, intensifying to the point of turning a nearly transparent blue. Snow evaporated in an instant, plants buried beneath went up in smoke, and even the ground turned to glass.

The golden knight took another step forward, foot sinking deep into the molten glass.

Although unharmed, that at least gave it pause. Once its other foot sunk up to its knee, it couldn’t move forward. Arkk’s eyes widened. “Stop, stop!” he shouted, hoping Agnete could hear over the roar of the fire.

She did. Agnete quenched her flames. In the absence of the immediate heat, the ground quickly returned to a solid state, solidifying around the golden man’s legs. Arkk watched from his spot on the ground for a long moment. The statue could have easily hacked away at the ground with its sword until the rough glass chipped and broke away from his feet. Instead, the thing merely wiggled back and forth, clearly lacking the intelligence necessary to free itself.

There were other golden statues steadily approaching.

“Can you do the same thing to the others?” Arkk asked, latching on to the solution, even if it was only a temporary one.

Agnete, the sleeves of her long coat completely missing, let out a misty breath of air as she straightened her back. She looked down at Arkk but didn’t offer a hand to help him up from the ground. Arkk probably wouldn’t have taken it if she had. Burns and boils on his hands were the last things he needed right now.

Although all the snow had melted off, Arkk still felt muddy and damp as he stood. Taking a few steps closer to Agnete, who was now aiming a baleful glare in the direction of the nearest statue, solved the damp feeling. Unfortunately, that left dried mud caked all down his front. Brushing himself off a few times, he backed away, letting Agnete have some room as she spooled up the heat once again.

Agnete deliberately waited until the next of the still-mobile statues was a fair distance from the first. Arkk figured that she didn’t want to risk softening the ground under the first’s feet. Once she felt ready, flames surged forth once again, this time focused on the earth. The golden statue walked right into the liquid-yet-viscous earth, sinking clear up to its thighs before Agnete cut off the flames.

Gaining confidence in the strategy, Agnete advanced, preemptively melting the earth in front of an approaching trio. One stumbled from the uneven terrain and ended up knocking the other two face-first into the viscous glass. Their legs and arms sunk in, leaving them stranded even more than the others. Agnete smiled at the sight, a faint red glow illuminating her teeth.

Arkk let her move on, staying behind to get a closer look at the closest of the statues.

Not too close of a look. They had passed Hawkwood’s forces on the way, leaving their horses behind to avoid cooking them alive in Agnete’s heat. While there, they had been handily informed not to, under any circumstance, engage the golden statues in melee combat. They were far stronger than they looked and could turn their victims into more golden statues. Hawkwood hadn’t been sure if it required death or just a grievous wound but he had personally witnessed several fine soldiers turning those golden blades against their own.

“Electro Deus,” Arkk intoned, opening the floodgates to his magic. A thick bolt of electricity hit the statue, lasting far longer than any natural lightning bolt. It did have some effect. The statue spasmed and seized, twitching and thrashing far more violently. Arkk kept the bolt of lightning going for nearly a full minute, stopping just as he felt the beginnings of fatigue setting in.

Fatigue was something other spellcasters had to worry about. Even Agnete, an avatar of the Burning Forge, couldn’t throw around flames continuously for too long. Zullie, the next most powerful caster in his employ, could only manage about a dozen Electro Deus casts of brief, instant lightning before collapsing. A dozen more than before she had entered his employ by still only a handful compared to what he could unleash.

And yet, the golden statue still twitched and jerked. His lightning affected it but what he had just put into the statue would have turned any normal person to ash and dust.

Arkk waited, watching the statue. It continued to twitch and did not resume its smooth yet sluggish movements. He must have damaged some of the spell that was keeping it animate. Zullie had taught him some diagnostic magic that should tell him for sure and might uncover what these things were and what kind of magic powered them as well. That would be the first step in figuring out how to stop them permanently. Unfortunately, that would also require getting far too close.

Perhaps if Agnete managed to trap one on its hands and knees like the trio without any upright nearby, he could try.

However, he had a feeling he knew what was going on. Not exactly and he didn’t know how to undo it or shut the magic down. Still, he had enough information to know that this had to be the work of a miracle passed down by one of the three traitors to the Pantheon. The Heart of Gold, he guessed just based on the name of the deities.

He had suspected before. The assassins suddenly having glowing eyes, the fact that Evestani was home to the Golden Order, and the suddenness and unexpectedness of the invasion, which nobody seemed able to explain. Now these golden soldiers with magic that even Agnete was struggling to defeat.

Arkk wasn’t sure if it was him or something he had done, Vezta or something she had done, or just that they existed at all, but it was clear to him that they had garnered the ire of a god. This, more than anything else, made him sure that Evestani was after Fortress Al-Mir, not Cliff City and the Duke.

Would he still have accepted the power of Fortress Al-Mir if Vezta had mentioned that it would make him an enemy of the only three gods that could access this world? Probably, if he were being honest. The situation at the time had felt dire, the most harrowing event he or Langleey Village had ever faced at the time. The threat of the orcs and goblins and, later, demon summoning had been a very real and lethal threat. On the other hand, gods were some vague and distant entities, only spoken of in terms of vague myths by Abbess Keena during the Suun sermons. The source of power for healing miracles. Not something that could or would bother to affect regular people.

The situation did make him wonder about the traitors and their intentions. The Abbey of the Light, the dominant religion within the borders of Chernlock, likely owed patronage to the Holy Light. So why was the Golden Order of Evestani in the middle of a full-scale invasion while the Abbey of the Light had sent out three inquisitors who hadn’t understood the scope of the situation. Vrox, as he had admitted, wanted to control or contain Vezta and other archaic magics. They hadn’t known anything about what Vezta actually was.

Those assassins at the Duke’s party had been taken over by something. Possessed, or some similar spell. The one that spoke had recognized Vezta and had even used the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE]. Evestani knew. Maybe not the soldiers marching across the Duchy. Their leaders? The one sending them here? They knew.

So what about the Abbey of the Light then? Could they be allies? He had brokered some kind of truce with Vrox. Then again, Vrox, in his ignorance, could have gotten the entire scope of the situation wrong. Maybe he had been imprisoned and was suffering torture or even death for letting Vezta out of his sight. Arkk didn’t know. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Vrox since the night of the Duke’s party.

Looking up, watching as Agnete immobilized the rest of the slow-moving statues, Arkk frowned. It was something to keep in mind. Thinking about it in terms of what Vrox had said, he couldn’t trust the Abbey of the Light because he didn’t know how they would act or what they wanted. The same was true with the Holy Light and the Heart of Gold. He didn’t know what they wanted, other than him and Vezta. He wasn’t even sure that it was possible to know what a deity truly wanted. They were being of such incomprehension that even Vezta, who supposedly knew them better than anyone alive, couldn’t guess what they wanted beyond their stated domains.

“Arkk.”

“Is that all of them?”

“All the ones chasing White Company,” Agnete said, steam roiling from her bare shoulders. “If any broke off… They may find their way to an undefended village…”

“Damn it.” Arkk grit his teeth. She was right. Hawkwood and his army had been focused on not falling to the golden soldiers as they fell back to Elmshadow. He might not know if any had separated. “Get back to Fortress Al-Mir. Have the scrying team focus on the area around here and around where Hawkwood was camped. They’re slow and shiny. Should be easy to notice.”

“Understood.”

“Return here after. If Evestani has more tricks up their sleeves, we might need you.”

Agnete nodded her head. “There is one other thing,” she said, raising a scarred yet muscular arm. The embers in her scars were at a low glow, visible only thanks to the overcast skies.

Arkk followed her pointing finger.

Evestani’s army had followed along in the wake of the golden soldiers. It probably wasn’t all of them, merely their vanguard. Arkk watched as a small squad, mounted on horses, rode across the vacant fields and empty plains. Perhaps, seeing that there were only two enemies out here, they intended to rush forward and take his and Agnete’s heads.

Whatever they wanted didn’t matter.

Their bravery and courage despite witnessing Agnete’s flames vanished in an instant upon approaching the mausoleums. Even from the distance, Arkk heard the blood-curdling screams of terrific horror, the shrill whinnying of their horses, and the violent clattering of armor. Horses threw their riders, falling to the snow-slicked ground before scampering in the opposite direction. The riders scrambled along the ground, crying out in long shrieks of fright. They fled, arms forgotten on the ground, back toward the bulk of the army.

“Well at least that is working,” Arkk said, glad that they had finished the line of mausoleums before Hawkwood had to retreat. He wasn’t sure how long it would last, whether or not those affected would continue running until they collapsed from exhaustion, or if their comrades would be able to bolster their courage once more.

Such was the consequence of using experimental mind magic from a man who had thought it was a good idea to live for months in an abandoned mine, surrounded by creatures who would have killed him in an instant if they knew what he was.

“Come, I don’t want to stand out in the open any longer. Get back to Fortress Al-Mir and return as fast as possible.”

“Shall I fetch Zullie to investigate these golden soldiers?”

Arkk hesitated. She might be able to figure something out. Maybe she knew of some longer-distance diagnostic magics that she hadn’t taught him. But every time he took her, Savren, or Vezta off the ritual project, it just delayed it. She had said one week just a day ago. Disrupting that now…

“No. We’ll have to be enough.”