Author: Tower Curator

 

Arkk stood back, supervising a trio of lesser servants as they assembled an idea that Savren had come up with.

The Evestani Sultanate had marched their army far further in two weeks than Arkk—or even Hawkwood—had thought possible. Aided by holy magics keeping them safe from the elements and assassins targeting the leadership of burgs in their paths, opening the gates for the invading armies, they had managed to cross a quarter of the Duchy before Hawkwood rallied and assembled White Company to act against them.

Smaller villages in between the larger burgs had been raided. Their storehouses, full at the start of the winter, had been taken by the advancing armies to fuel their march. Refugees fled eastward, putting strain on every burg and village they crossed. A few villages had tried burning their stores at the first sign of the approaching armies but Arkk, watching through crystal balls, could only say that a handful had been successful. The rest had been saved by sudden squalls that he could only describe as divine intervention.

Given the golden glow protecting the armies from the elements, those storehouses being saved probably were divine intervention. Or at least holy magics worked by the Golden Order’s miracle men.

But all that momentum was going to stop here.

In the shadows of the Twin Elm Peaks was a large and normally prosperous burg that went by the name Elmshadow. The mountains did not span the entire breadth of the Duchy by any means but they, and Elmshadow’s valley, stood in the most direct path further eastward, toward Cliff and the Cursed Forest. It was possible to navigate an army around the mountains but that would buy time for the Duke’s Grand Guard to make their way here. Hawkwood was already out west, doing his best to stall the advancing army for just a few more days.

Long enough for Arkk to finish his task.

It was a trying battle for him, Arkk well knew. Unlike their opponents, Hawkwood and White Company didn’t have the holy protection against the elements. White Company had a few priests and abbesses on retainer but none knew how the Evestani army was doing what they were doing. They were on hand for healing and other minor miracles only.

“Have I mentioned how creepy this is?” Edvin called out from where he sat at the head of a cart.

Arkk looked up at him with a frown before shaking his head. “Only once per hour,” he said, moving to the back of the cart. Peeling back a tarp, Arkk revealed an array of skulls. Looted from the barrows not far from Langleey Village. Taking two of them, one in each hand, he crossed the short distance to where the lesser servants had finished dragging over piles of stones. Vague stone mausoleums stood out at the mouth of the valley in a long line. These latest constructions extended that line clear to the base of the other mountain.

It was sloppy work. The lesser servants couldn’t work their construction magic out here like they could in Fortress Al-Mir. Nonetheless, they were still adept builders even while using stone brought over from Stone Hearth Burg’s quarry.

They were his only option at the moment. Everyone else was back at the fortress, preparing, training new recruits, or otherwise engaged in vital tasks necessary for the continued existence of Fortress Al-Mir.

It was a bit harrowing. Based on the reactions of the assassins at the Duke’s party to him and Vezta, Arkk had a feeling that their end goal wasn’t actually the Duke or Cliff City but him.

Tucking a skull under his arm, Arkk reached out and planted a hand on the ritual circle one of the servants had inscribed on the roof of the squat, four-pillar mausoleum. The intricate design pulsed once with a sickly green light before going idle. Taking one skull, Arkk slid it underneath the circular roof of the mausoleum and let go of it at waist height. It bobbed twice but remained floating in the air.

Slowly, it swiveled, peering out from between the pillars to face him. Ominous violet light filled the skull’s empty eye sockets.

Arkk felt the talisman hanging around his neck heat up for just a moment before cooling back down. The skull, losing interest in him, turned away and sought out other targets.

“You know,” Edvin said, tremble of obvious fear in his voice, “my mother always said not to mess with the remains of the dead. That’s how you get cursed, that is.”

“Your mother was probably far wiser than I am,” Arkk said absently, moving to the next mausoleum to repeat the process. “But I’m hoping that these skulls of our ancestors would rather their remains be used to keep the Duchy safe rather than curse us.”

“And you trust that Savren guy? Mother always said you couldn’t trust a necromancer because it doesn’t matter to them whether you are dead or not.”

Arkk paused, considering. He hummed a moment and then, in his most diplomatic tone, said, “I trust Savren about as much as I trust you.”

Edvin blinked once and straightened his back, looking proud of himself. “Be that as it may,” he said, trailing off at the end.

“Savren isn’t actually a necromancer,” Arkk said, taking another pair of skulls from the cart. “And despite what it looks like, this isn’t necromancy. It is mind magic. Anyone not wearing these talismans will be struck with such an intense and utter terror that the entire army might just drop their weapons and run back to Evestani.”

“You think it will be that easy?”

“Of course not. Despite Savren’s confidence in this magic penetrating the golden magic used by Evestani, it is a delaying tactic at best. Buying a little more time for reinforcements from Cliff to arrive. Maybe even the King’s army from Chernlock, if they’ve even heard of the situation.”

Arkk had no idea what the greater situation was in the Kingdom. He barely knew what the Duke was doing and that was only thanks to Hawkwood passing information to him. Ilya was still at Cliff but she was in no shape to spy or otherwise engage herself with the goings on there. The healers had seen to her but the emergency healing Arkk had provided had messed something up that couldn’t be healed normally. The same was true for Hawkwood.

Although both might have died if not for Arkk using that spell from the black book, something about it negated proper healing. It took all Arkk’s willpower to not rush back to Cliff and try to figure out how to undo what he had done. If he couldn’t check in on Ilya and see that she was sitting up and occasionally walking around for short bursts of time, he probably wouldn’t have been able to resist.

“You have much greater faith in the officials of this land than I, my friend.”

Arkk didn’t agree in the slightest. Hawkwood was someone he trusted. Master Inquisitor Vrox, even—though that was more of a ‘trust in the man to act in accordance with his duties’ sort of trust. As much as Arkk didn’t trust Edvin not to stab him in the back if the man saw some way of profiting from it, he probably still trusted the conman more than the Duke or any of the Duke’s advisors.

Which… That lack of trust in Edvin was most of the reason he was here.

Dakka, Rekk’ar, and Olatt’an were training the new recruits. Arkk wasn’t about to throw them into war without making sure they could survive. The rest of his orcs were split up, some running tasks around the Duchy to try to evacuate villages or shore up defenses. Zullie, Vezta, and Savren were finalizing the ritual—hopefully still on schedule to be performed in about a week. Agnete and the gorgon—the latter of whom weren’t enthused with leaving the warmth of the fortress outside Agnete’s presence—were evacuating small villages that might be targets of Evestani’s resupply raids. Lexa, Lyssa, Alma, and a few of the other recruits who could handle themselves were helping with the civilians while Larry had a full team working the kitchens.

Everyone was busy with an important task. Arkk, the only one aside from Vezta able to direct lesser servants, had to be out here as well. That only left Edvin.

“I trust in the nation’s officials to desire the continuation of the Duchy and the Kingdom, if only so that they might remain in a position of power,” Arkk said eventually, taking a leaf from Vrox’s book. In only a few words, the inquisitor had given him a different perspective on how others could be trusted even if Arkk didn’t trust them on a personal level. “Evestani threatens that.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

As soon as Arkk placed the final skull into its holding spot, it and the three nearest skulls all swiveled in place, aiming at a distant shape coming out from the cover of the trees on one of the mountains. An elk froze, staring for a split second before its legs thudded against the ground. Sliding on the snow-covered ground, it slipped and went tumbling down but that didn’t stop it from getting right back up and bolting off into the treeline.

That was as good of a test as any. “In any case, we’re done here,” Arkk said, hauling himself into the now-emptied back of the cart. The three lesser servants oozed into the cart alongside him. “Get us back to Elmshadow.”

Two armies meeting each other in open battle was not a common occurrence. Not now, not during the war thirty years ago, not ever. The simple fact was that most people didn’t want to die. Hawkwood knew that as well as any competent commander. White Company, gathered and assembled from across the Duchy, four thousand strong, were no different. Most of them weren’t even active soldiers. A company like White Company paid the majority of its members a small retainer for them to show up in situations like this but otherwise, they were simple farmers or regular peasants.

They were trained. Hawkwood made sure everyone in his organization not only received training upon signing up but also organized training camps throughout the duchy that members were expected to attend bi-yearly or risk expulsion. They also had equipment. Part of the retainer was meant for weapons and armor. Not everyone had the same make, style, or quality. The core of White Company, made up of about four hundred, weren’t even identical in uniform, let alone the rest of the masses. Nevertheless, inspections had been performed and everyone present outside Elmshadow Burg had worthy gear.

So, while prepared and equipped, now called to perform the task they had signed up for, actually rallying the men into battle was a near impossibility. From the last war, Hawkwood knew well how hesitant armies could be. They might talk big in the camps but put them on the battle lines and everyone was perfectly happy to shout and jeer at the enemy from the safety of a distance. Even once they started marching forward into actual combat, one army would more than likely turn tail and rout. Should two opposing armies actually meet, it still took hours of psyching people up, rallying cries, speeches, invoking the Light, and other tactics just to get people to march the last few paces into melee.

Hawkwood hadn’t bothered with any of that. White Company stood strong, showing a force, well in advance of the Evestani army. A protracted battle was not a victory condition at the moment. Nor was victory likely if they did charge into open combat.

Evestani’s army numbered upwards of ten thousand. They weren’t all gathered together right here, the opposing force was spread across the Duchy. White Company was still heavily outnumbered. Not to mention the miraculous magic on display, another penalty to the morale of his troops.

Thankfully, even despite their greater numbers, the same hesitance that White Company suffered from also affected the enemy. Just by moving his troops out here and planting them in the middle of the road, they had slowed the lightning-fast advance of Evestani. It wouldn’t last forever. Nobody wanted to rush into combat and take a blade to the skull. The Evestani army’s leaders would have a far easier time rallying their men into battle just by pointing out the numbers difference and the magic they wielded. White Company had its own spellcasters but their efforts toward battle were far less obvious than the golden light that suffused throughout the soldiers of Evestani.

It wouldn’t last forever.

In fact, Hawkwood doubted it would last another day. There had already been some advancements from Evestani. Only his archers and spellcasters had kept them from crossing the gulf that was the wide-open plains in the shadow of the Elm mountains. He had already given orders to be prepared to make an organized retreat should Evestani start charging.

This was why he almost collapsed in relief when the Swiftwing harpy dove out of the sky, spreading her wings right at the last moment to slow her descent. She touched down, taloned feet gripping the ground as she fluttered her wings. A few of the jumpier soldiers in their midst let out cries of alarm. The hard men of the group quickly calmed the others with no input from Hawkwood.

Harpies, like about half of all beastmen, lacked humanoid hands. They did have sharp claws on their wings. Combining those claws with a specially designed harness allowed the harpy to retrieve a thin letter, sealed with a violet-hued wax bearing a compass rose on a maze-like pattern. “Message for you, Sir,” the harpy said, voice scratchy like most of her kind.

“Thank you, Talan,” Hawkwood said, wasting no time in snapping open the seal.

It was a short letter without even a proper greeting. Just a few words, in fact. The defenses around Elmshadow Burg were ready.

“Adjutant,” Hawkwood called out.

Neil, ever at his side, stepped forward. “Sir?”

“Order the retreat. We’re falling back behind the Elmshadow defenses. Make sure that everyone has their talisman equipped.”

With a salute, Neil turned to carry out his orders, delegating to the various squad captains and everyone else who needed to know. Everyone should already be ready to move. By nightfall, four thousand of White Company should be back behind the defenses Arkk had cooked up. Hawkwood hoped that they worked but wasn’t going to count on them holding out forever either. Or even for a short time.

Falling back to Elmshadow was still the best option. The Evestani army was not hauling siege equipment. No catapults, trebuchets, battering rams, or breaching towers. It was likely they had magical bombardments but there had been no need to use it thus far. That had surely been one of the factors in their swift advance through the Duchy. They couldn’t have moved as fast while hauling heavy siege engines. They didn’t need any of that when their assassins could take out key figures in the guard and leave the gates wide open.

Hawkwood and Arkk had found two assassins lying in wait at Elmshadow, both discovered thanks to the efforts of one of his spellcasters’ proficiency in the anathema that was mind magics. Even if they had missed an assassin or two, it would take a lot more to take out White Company. Those gates wouldn’t open as long as one of his officers yet lived. Given its strategic location, Elmshadow Burg held several cannons and ballista for fending off attackers. Combined with Arkk’s new defenses, any siege should fail. Evestani would have to take the long treks around the mountain if they wanted to continue their advance.

By then, the Duke’s Grand Guard should arrive in force.

Evestani’s scouts would notice the activity. They had to hurry. Fighting while attempting a retreat would lead to unacceptable casualties.

“Talan, take to the skies and warn us of any—”

“Incoming!”

Hawkwood’s eyes widened as he turned in the direction of the shout. Evestani had launched the occasional volley of arrows in their direction but never without the scouts warning them that archers were assembling. White Company’s spellcasters were already filling the air with a haze, well-trained as they were, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Gaps in the haze over the army let golden arrows pierce through. Shouts and cries of pain and distress sprung up throughout the army. Shields went up and metal clanked against metal. The falling arrows lasted only a few seconds but the effects carried on.

“Casters!” Hawkwood bellowed. “Keep the skies clear! Clerics to the wounded! Have every man—”

Lethis, struck through the gap in between his helmet and his breastplate by a falling arrow, started screaming a dozen paces away from Hawkwood. For a moment, he thought it was the pain or the shock only to realize that something else was going on. Molten gold leaked from the seams in his armor, spreading out and coating the painted white gear. It ran down the outside of his gauntlet, forming a sword of gold to replace the one he had dropped when struck.

The screams stopped abruptly and Lethis stood. He jerked and jittered. Someone started to approach only to jump back as that golden sword lashed out.

A cleric cried out elsewhere. Hawkwood could only see his back and the golden sword pierced through. The sword ripped back through his body but the gold remained, spreading across the cleric’s back and clothes, slowly coating the thrashing man.

“Get away from anyone hit!” Hawkwood shouted over the fresh wave of shouts of alarm. He raised his shield, blocking a blow from one of his own men, now turned to a gold statue. “Shields up! Knights get between those golden soldiers. Everyone else, fall back to Elmshadow!”

 

 

 

The last rays of a peaceful sun set over the Evestani Sultanate. When the sun next shined down, it would be stained with the blood of war.

Sule, Sultan of Evestani, sat with his legs crossed atop an oversized chair. Below him, two rows of young women leaned over shallow bowls of water placed in front of each, listening to the ripples. Every few moments, one would lean back, babble a few incoherent words, then lean back over their bowl. An interpreter, sitting in the center of the room at a circular table, would then spin in his chair until he found the book he was looking for, scan through it, and scribble down his best guess on a thick tablet.

After managing to make something coherent, the interpreter handed the tablet to Zarkov.

Sule, fingers drumming on the armrest of his chair betraying his nervousness, watched the Grand Vizier’s reactions.

The doors to the chamber slammed open, striking the wall hard enough to shake dust from the rafters. The closest row of listeners let out identical screams as the waters in their bowls rippled from the sudden shock. One fell forward, face splashing into the water. Zarkov had to maneuver around the central table to pull the listener back before she could drown in the shallow puddle.

Sule’s eyes shifted, looking to the door as his second daughter stormed inside, golden dress billowing in her wake.

“Kala tells me you sent assassins after my husband.”

“General Kala speaks too much for her own good,” Sule said. His drumming fingers stopped as he frowned at his furious daughter. “And you have no husband. You were never married. You are no longer engaged.”

Mihra’s fingers curled around the fabric of her dress, crushing it in a slowly tightening grip. “Is this because I chose it? To get away from you? Alya and I had plans, we were going—”

“This has nothing to do with you, Mihra,” Sule said, speaking in a defeated tone as he closed his eyes. “Nor that elf.”

He would like to lay all his problems at the feet of that elf but, truthfully, he couldn’t. In fact, Sule had been quite supportive of their endeavor. Anything to help keep things going as they had been.

Thirty years ago, Sultan Mehmed’s untimely death brought a messy and chaotic end to the war against the Kingdom of Chernlock. The fighting hadn’t ended, however. With no heir, Evestani fell into a civil war with the regular citizens getting caught between a trio of generals, the former vizier, and… well, Sule himself.

As a mere civil administrator, Sule had tried keeping the people he could safe. Lacking a proper military, it hadn’t been easy. They were farmers, craftsmen, and the general working peoples of Evestani. That included some old veterans, enough to form a militia of their own to protect what farmland they could. And that was the extent of their power. They had been able to do little more than protect themselves as the rest of the nation tore themselves apart.

Help came from an unexpected source. An elf, bearing gifts of supplies, food, weapons, and even people from the very nation the former sultan had tried to crush under his expansionist heel. All given freely so long as he was the one to come out of the civil war on top.

Sule had. And now he was here, betraying that gift.

Sule’s eyes drifted away from his upset daughter to the other man in the room. A man wreathed in golden light with darker skin and short, light hair. Literally light. It looked as if the man had implanted tiny amber glowstones all along his scalp. He sat in a small wooden chair, head tipped back and eyes closed as if he were asleep.

“Father—”

The golden man’s eyes slowly opened. Just a crack. Just enough to cast his cheeks in a thin sliver of white light.

“Guards!” Sule said, standing before his daughter could continue speaking. A pair of soldiers entered the room, having been posted just outside. “Escort Mihra back to her room. She is distraught.”

“Distraught? Damn right, I’m—Unhand me you—”

“Daughter. Return to your room. We will discuss this later.”

Brown eyes glared as Mihra struggled against the hands on her upper arms. Her fingers nearly tore a hole in her dress as she clenched her fists. All at once, the motion stopped and an odd calm crossed her face. “And you wonder why Razie vanished without a word. Unhand me! I can walk on my own,” she snarled as she shoved the guards aside. Her dress trailed behind her as she stormed out of the room.

One of the guards looked at him, offering a small shrug. Sule barely saw it as he sank back into his chair, elbow hitting the armrest as his hand covered his eyes. Hearing his first daughter’s name in a situation like this… He would have to post other guards. Make sure no one else disappeared before he had a chance to explain things.

But first, he had a monster to please.

“Zarkov,” Sule said, voice low and firm. “Is it done?”

The Grand Vizier, looking up from a fresh sheet of interpretations, raised an arched eyebrow. He stroked his light-brown beard with two fingers. “Done? Sultan, we are only beginning.”

Sule drew in a breath, throwing his gaze up toward the ceiling for a brief moment. “Not in the mood for your theatrics, Zarkov.”

“Apologies, Sultan,” Zarkov said, sweeping an arm under his chest as he bowed. “We have successfully taken Moonshine Burg. Their storehouses are ours.”

“That was never in question,” Sule said with a glare. “What of the Duke?”

“The Duke… yet lives. Along with the elf.”

Sule’s eyes shifted to the corner of the room where the man wreathed in a golden light sat. He didn’t move a muscle at the disappointing news. His eyes were once again closed. Not allowing himself a small sigh of relief, Sule turned his attention back to Zarkov as the vizier began to speak.

“The assassins were able to take out a majority of the targets. However, it seems they were interrupted by a rather interesting individual right in the middle of the Duke’s party. A man with glowing red eyes accompanied by a monster of indescribable horror.”

The man in the corner of the room stood slowly, eyes opening fully to flood the room with a glowing golden light. Sule wilted under his gaze.

“It’s her,” he said, voice reverberating as if a dozen of him were speaking as one. “The last one has finally found a new master. The stars are shifting once again.” Stepping forward, he held out his hand toward Zarkov.

The Grand Vizier, holding only the interpreted notes, quickly handed them over before stepping back with a bowed head.

Sule wasn’t sure the man even noticed the sudden nervousness with which Zarkov moved. The man’s eyes shifted ever so subtly, casting light on the pages as he read. With teeth looking like finely cut glowstones, the man smiled.

“We will still them.”

Sule paced in front of the door to his daughter’s chambers. Though the evening had been stressful enough and he wanted nothing more than to huddle up in his room, trying to avoid thinking about anything that was going on, the upcoming week was not going to be any better. He had to get this done tonight. It had been left to fester for too long as it was.

The Palace of the Sultan wasn’t a particularly large or grandiose building. The original had been destroyed in the civil war and, when Sule came out ahead, he hadn’t wanted to rebuild it to be something overly opulent. Not at a time when the people of the country needed to focus on their rebuilding efforts. Its construction hadn’t even started until eight years ago, well after the war had ended and he had been sure that shelter and food had been fully secured for Evestani. Nonetheless, it still stood tall on its hill with a great number of rooms for family, workers, visitors, and servants.

He had hoped it would be a guiding light into how Evestani handled itself in the future. An example of balance between the ruling class and the people’s needs, a far cry from the original Mumthaz which had been built with gold and precious gemstones covering its rounded ceilings and tall spires.

Now he stood outside his daughter’s door, trying to decide how to explain that the future he had envisioned had all crumbled to dust.

“Mihra? Are you there?” he called through the door.

His daughter didn’t respond. Knowing her, he would have been surprised if she had. Especially after ordering the guards to drag her away. It had been for her safety but he well knew that was just an excuse. If anything, he was surprised that she hadn’t thrown a shoe against the door in response.

“Things have been complicated as of late,” he said in a half-sigh, leaning against the door’s frame. “The Golden Order has… Well, there’s a great evil threatening…” Sule closed his eyes, leaning his head back before deciding to focus on one particular thing she had said earlier. “Your elder sister, Razie, left because there were some things she didn’t agree with. She didn’t vanish without any words to me. Rather, it was more because of how many words she had for me that she felt she couldn’t stay any longer.

“Razie is a headstrong girl who never felt right smiling and accepting the people’s adoration. Skilled and talented, she always felt people only saw her because she was the princess and not because of her personal feats and accomplishments. In contrast to you, she never took well to being called a princess and when the prospect of political marriages came up, we had extensive arguments…”

Sule paused, waiting to see if his second daughter would say anything. He wasn’t even sure if she was still awake. Meetings and plans, organizations and generals, and the Golden Order had consumed the majority of the night. There was so much to do and so much he couldn’t delegate to others.

“Though her absence pains me, she didn’t up and vanish as you might suspect. It was the prospect of being married to a count in the Tetrarchy that truly infuriated her. When the prospect of marriage to Duke Woldair first came up with regards to you, I had expected the same, honestly. Marrying off any of my daughters to a pig like the Duke made me ill at ease. I had hoped you would object as well.”

“But you didn’t. Then the Golden Order came to me and I tried to make you see reason, to see the Duke for what he was and that elf for the puppeteer she is…” Sule opened his eyes, looking around the hall. There were certain things that he shouldn’t say. Especially not out in the open like this. It had been made readily apparent that, despite his station as Sultan, he was not a necessary component of this country.

His eventual replacement should he leave the throne vacant, a figurehead though they might be, was an unknown. Would they try to shield the people as much as they could from the consequences of the Golden Order’s actions? Or would they revel in the chaos as the warlords of old Evestani had? He couldn’t let someone else take the power. Not if Evestani wanted to continue.

“Mihra, might I come in?” Sule asked after another long stretch of silence. He tapped his knuckles against the wood of the door. When the silence continued, a small pit of worry fell into the back of his stomach. “Mihra?” he called, knocking harder. “I’m coming in, Mihra.”

Grasping the door’s handle, he shoved into the door. It opened a handspan before getting caught on something. He shoved his shoulder into it again and again, pushing it open a little more each time until whatever was on the other side gave way. A chair clattered to the ground as the door swung open.

“Mihra?” Sule called, stepping into the dark room. The glowstones in the lamps were missing. Taken. He charged past the books and shelves, into the bedroom proper, only to freeze.

The bed was empty, with thin sheets lying atop a flat mattress. The window, open to the night, clattered against the wall in a heavy gust of wind. Sule rushed over, peering out into the night. “Mihra!” he called. The bushes down below looked like something might have landed in them. A foolish daughter, perhaps. That daughter was nowhere to be seen.

“Guards!” Sule called, turning. “Guard—”

He froze as a younger man entered his daughter’s quarters, eyes glowing a brilliant gold.

“Y… Your Holiness…”

The man’s eyes shined their light around the room as he took it in, though his face betrayed an utter absence of emotion. “Sultan,” he said eventually, even offering a respectful bow. Sule didn’t believe in its genuineness for a moment. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s… my daughter. She has fled the palace.”

“Is that a problem?” the man asked, head tilting to one side as if he couldn’t understand the reason Sule was even making noise with his mouth.

“Problem? Of course, it’s—”

“Will it affect our operations?”

“I—” Sule’s jaw clamped shut as the man’s golden eyes turned to face him fully. He suppressed a shudder but couldn’t help the step back, bumping into the ledge of the window. Swallowing, he tried to smile. “No. No, it won’t.”

“Good. Then in light of the information we have received this evening, I think it would be prudent to accelerate our advance into the Duchy.”

“Advance? We’re already marching into winter. How much…” Sule trailed off, realizing just how little the man cared for anything he was saying. “Sorry, Your Holiness. I… What kind of advancement were you thinking?”

“I am glad you asked. Come along,” he said, turning back to the door.

Now that the golden light had turned away from Sule, he drew in a shuddering breath. He glanced back over his shoulder and made a decision.

He would not look for his daughter. Either of them. Though it pained him, getting away from the palace was perhaps the safest thing they could have done, even if they didn’t know it. He could only hope that Mihra would find her elder sister out there somewhere and they could support each other.

“Sultan?”

Sule jolted and hurried along, leaving the vacant bedroom behind.

 

 

Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox stared around the throne room, grimacing at every body his eyes crossed. As an inquisitor, he walked alongside death more than most. That didn’t mean he was a cold and heartless being, not even toward those he didn’t particularly enjoy the company of. Which, unfortunately, included most people the illustrious Duke held in confidence.

Still, few deserved to be ripped apart by the force of a violent explosion. Several of those closest to the blast weren’t recognizable. They ceased being people and instead became piles of mulched meat and bone. The Abbey of the Light had sent out their healers. They were taking care of those who had survived.

It was a wonder he had survived. The Duke as well. The trapped chandelier had fallen just in front of the throne, not ten steps away from where he had been standing. Darius eyed the raised platform where the Duke’s throne had sat before being shattered against the wall. It was a stone dais that only went up a few steps. It was not flush with the back wall, however. There was a small gap. Throwing the Duke in before taking cover himself had saved them.

It had been a close thing. Closer for him than for the Duke. The blast, or the flying bits of brass and glowstone carried through the air, had shredded his back. One had gotten deep into his leg. A cane slammed down onto the tiles, taking pressure off that leg as he turned around. Tap, step, light-step. Tap, step, light-step.

He found it somewhat amusing that he had come away with more grievous injuries incidentally from being in the periphery of an attack on the Duke compared with a direct assault on Arkk. Yet, as much as he would prefer to investigate just how the assassins had infiltrated so deeply into the Duke’s midst, he had his duty to perform.

Darius wasn’t quite sure what to think of Arkk at the moment. They fought. He abducted Purifier Agnete. Then he shows up in the city like nothing happened, brazenly walking around as if he knew that the inquisitors wouldn’t lay a hand on him while there were so many potential hostages around, not to mention Greesom’s continuing convalescence. Darius didn’t think he would take hostages—he felt he knew Arkk better than that—yet orders were orders. He had maintained a distance, observing only. The party provided a few moments where he felt he could interact without disobeying orders. He had planned on needling Arkk a bit, perhaps discovering what the man had done with Agnete.

Then this.

Darius stepped outside the throne room and looked to the nearest guard. One who had been too frightened to follow him inside. “He isn’t here.”

“What? But… I… That’s impossible,” the man stuttered, tripping over his words as he dared to peer into the throne room. “The only ones in or out have been White Company. They carried the wounded out. I think we would have noticed that thing slipping by,” he said with a visible shudder.

Did the guard not understand where the creature had come from in the first place? It could disguise itself or everyone at the party would have known about it well in advance of it making an appearance. Darius didn’t bother entertaining the guard any further, tapping his cane on the ground with every other step as he made his way through the entrance hall of the Duke’s manor.

He had already run through a quick check of all the injured. Arkk wasn’t among them. Neither were any of Company Al-Mir.

A few mercenaries wearing the black chevron of White Company stood about, mostly helping the healers where they could. Darius chose not to waste more time with them. They might have known something. It was just as likely they did not. He hadn’t waited around to be healed fully before leaving specifically because he expected that this might happen. There was limited time and he only had one real lead on where Company Al-Mir might be.

Darius limped out of the entrance hall, leaving the building. Guards were in place to try to stop most people from going anywhere, leaving the guards within to try to find any further evidence of hidden assassins. As with the members of White Company, they might know something or they might not. He stalked right past them. They didn’t bother to stop him.

Unfortunately, walking across Cliff wasn’t possible at the moment. Not with his fresh injuries. His own coach wasn’t present. It was likely that Douglas or some other church authority had already started using it for other purposes. Perhaps ferrying healers around or moving the less wounded to somewhere they would be out of the way. There were several horses and coaches outside the manor, ripe for the taking. So long as he wore the regalia of the Inquisition, no one would stop him from commandeering one.

Darius snapped the reins, sitting on one of the coaches. Given the darkness of the night, the horse was understandably wary of moving too fast through the streets. Especially while pulling one of the smaller carriages. Darius would have preferred leaving the coach behind and taking the horse alone. With his injuries, such a prospect did not seem all that viable.

Nevertheless, he made good time through the city.

The Cliff’s Edge stayover stood tall and bright with glowstone light leaking from its many glass windows. Darius spotted no movement in any of them but that didn’t necessarily mean that nobody saw him approach. The Abbey’s oracles already believed that Arkk possessed a means of scrying. Likely a genuine crystal ball. Not common but not altogether rare either. The inquisition had taken up precautions to avoid scrying but he wasn’t in any position to maintain the spell at the moment.

It didn’t matter if he was seen one way or another. It might cause Arkk to flee but Darius doubted it. Arkk… might not be the most intelligent of people. What could one expect from someone raised in some no-name village? That said, he had enough of a head on his shoulders—not to mention working eyes—to see that Darius wasn’t here to fight. He was in no shape to.

Limping through an utterly deserted lobby, Darius took the stairs one step at a time, grimacing the entire way. It didn’t feel good to be out of breath by the time he reached the floor above. Most of his body didn’t feel good but this was a psychological pain. He really shouldn’t be walking around at all right now. If he injured himself further or even delayed proper healing for too long, it might wind up that the healers wouldn’t be able to do much for him. A permanent limp would have him behind a desk for the remainder of his days. Not at all what he wanted.

Darius stopped at the door he knew to be Arkk’s. He thought about throwing it open. He knew enough combat magic to force a flimsy door and his poor physical condition wouldn’t change that. In the interest of not starting a fight, he instead knocked. Heavy, firm, yet polite enough.

The door swung open far sooner than he expected.

Darius felt his heart skip a beat as his breath caught in his throat. He stared into a pair of burning eyes. Not the burning eyes he had come to discuss but a different, far more familiar set. The faintly glowing scars on Purifier Agnete’s face didn’t twist in rage or surprise. Her messy black hair hung loose around her ears as she quietly regarded him. A dozen spells sprung to Darius’ mind. None made it to his lips. Purifiers were magical abominations that didn’t need lengthy incantations to wield their power. She would incinerate him before he could start.

Licking his lips, Darius put on his best smile. He had been told that his smiles weren’t at all reassuring. It was better than nothing.

“Purifier Agnete,” he said slowly, making sure she knew that he wasn’t casting any spells. “I see you are still alive.”

“Should I not be?” she said, head tilting to one side. Her eyes flicked up and down the hall with the motion, checking for other inquisitors, perhaps.

“I feared that Arkk, in his ignorance, would overuse the Binding Agent. To a catastrophic point.”

Agnete drew in a deep breath and let out a faint sigh of heated air. Having backed up against the wall opposite from the door, there was an entire hallway between them and Darius still felt like he was traipsing through a desert on a particularly dry day. “Your concern is noted but unwarranted. Arkk has not had cause to use it.”

That was an interesting tidbit of information. Agnete could not control herself around fire. Even a little campfire would require monitoring and readying to keep her contained. There were no flames around now but had that been the case for the last several weeks? Or did Arkk’s method of controlling that creature extend to Agnete as well?

He pressed his lips into a thin smile, deciding to bring that issue up with his superiors later on. Although they had suspected, knowing for a fact that he had Purifier Agnete working for him alongside the creature from beyond the stars and his cadre of more mundane beings would only make any action against him all the more dangerous. He had quickly grown to be a problem that a single inquisitorial cell couldn’t handle.

Things were going to get… unpleasant very quickly.

Unless Darius could do something about it. He honestly didn’t know what. He had come here more out of desperation than because he had a good plan. There was little incentive for Arkk to hand over his secrets or his companions. Threats could only go so far before they had to be enforced—Darius had been the one to screw up that enforcement with the debacle in the Cursed Forest. Nonetheless, he had to try.

“Is Arkk here at present? There are matters of which we must speak. Especially now that his creature has been seen by many.”

“Seen by many?”

“Ah. You haven’t heard. That means he isn’t here,” Darius said with a frown. “Am I right in assuming that he will be here to retrieve you before he leaves the city?”

“I hadn’t heard anything to the contrary,” Agnete said slowly. “Though I am not sure how much information I should be giving away. Familiarity may have caused me to give away too much already despite me being unable to say that I particularly enjoyed working with you.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’ve hardly given anything away that I didn’t already expect or assume. Or realize upon seeing you alive,” Darius added after a moment of thought. “Might I wait for Arkk—”

It turned out there was little need to wait. Several sets of footsteps started climbing the stairs, echoing up the stairwell. A few of the footfalls were heavier than others. An orc, Darius guessed just as the short orc crested the top of the steps. Although far filthier than she had been at the height of the party, Darius recognized her as the orc that had accompanied Arkk. She froze upon spotting him and immediately dropped into a combat stance despite her lack of weaponry.

“What’s—Oh.” Arkk was the next up, quickly followed by the other members of his entourage. And Hawkwood. Darius had encountered the mercenary leader in the past but hadn’t interacted to the point where he would claim to know the man.

Both Arkk and Hawkwood didn’t look like they were in the best shape. Hawkwood kept one arm reaching around his side while Arkk sported linen bandages wrapped around his head.

“Hello, Arkk,” Darius said, eyes shifting over the young man’s shoulder.

The being from beyond the stars stood just a step behind him, hands clasped on Arkk’s arm, supporting him with a demure expression on her face. She was the only one not to look surprised at his presence. He doubted she knew he would be here in advance—nothing the oracles mentioned indicated abilities of prescience—she simply didn’t care. The creature’s eyes, burning yellow suns in a black starfield, flicked over him with an utter apathy that even a depressed fairy would fail to match.

“Are we still pretending to be friends?” Arkk asked, far more tense than the monster at his back. “Or are we going to ruin the polished floors with a fight?”

“Please,” Darius said, holding up his hands. His cane dangled limp from one. “I can barely stand. I would very much prefer it if we avoided unnecessary violence. At least tonight.”

Arkk visibly relaxed. Darius had to wonder if he would have believed that from anyone else. Although he was genuine, any other enemy of Arkk’s could easily get the man to let his guard down simply by saying what he had. Then again, Darius allowed his eyes to drift over the others in the hall. Tension didn’t bleed out from the orc, Zullie, or even Agnete. Hawkwood, behind his scowl, looked mildly confused but wary of the situation. Even Arkk, on a second glance, didn’t look fully at ease. Darius wasn’t sure that he had ever seen Arkk let his guard down.

And the monster… Darius had seen her handily deal with the assassin that had been targeting the elf. She could emulate a demure expression as much as she wished, her inhuman thoughts and physiology meant that anyone letting their guard down around her would be the king of fools.

“We must speak, Arkk. With your creature having revealed herself—”

“This again?” Arkk said with a sigh. “All that happened tonight and you’re still worried about Vezta? You saw with your own eyes that she harmed nobody but the assassins. I would think that they would be a far more pressing issue.”

“I’m sure they are the topic of every conversation going on in the manor this evening,” Darius admitted. “The Duke’s spymaster, especially, will be investigating every one of the staff and checking just how far they might have infiltrated. We all have our duties. Mine lies in containing or controlling esoteric magics before they wreak havoc on the world.”

Darius could feel Agnete stiffening at his side. The rise in temperature wasn’t exactly subtle. He wasn’t even talking about her at the moment. Sweat beaded down the back of Darius’ neck, not all because of the heat. Did Arkk have the Binding Agent on him or had he foolishly left it behind?

“The Inquisition of the Light is the Abbey’s dagger,” Darius said, trying to move the conversation along. “A precision instrument for dealing with issues that arise. It is not the only tool in the Abbey’s arsenal. Carrying on as you are, flaunting your monsters in public, and showing blatant disregard for any concealment is going to bring down a force far greater than myself. One you are not going to be able to fend off with a few orcs and a few tricks.”

Arkk closed his eyes and sighed deeply. When he opened them, there was a slight glint that someone less attentive than Darius might have dismissed as a trick of the light. Darius, however, narrowed his eyes, wondering why Arkk had glowing eyes as well.

“One thing after another,” Arkk mumbled. “Thanks for the warning. I appreciate it.”

“Warning?” Darius said, a smile slipping from his face. “Arkk, I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. I believe you to be a reasonable man. That is the only reason I am here attempting to reason with you rather than standing back and watching the sword fall on your neck.”

“And I appreciate that. You wanted me to hand over Vezta and some object that doesn’t even exist that allows me to control her. That will never happen. If you know me half as well as you think you do, you would already know that.”

Darius sighed. “I do,” he said slowly.

“I imagine you would want Agnete back as well?”

“It wasn’t confirmed that you kept her alive.” Darius glanced to his side. “Confirmation will only increase the severity of the situation.”

“Then don’t confirm it. You’re the only one who knows, right?”

“You can’t ask that of me.”

“I am.”

“Even if I did, the oracles would discover the truth eventually.”

“As long as it buys us time. I know we aren’t friends or allies… or even like each other, but you said you trusted me. Right now, I think I need to use some of that trust.”

“You’re stretching my words far beyond what I intended, Arkk.”

“You know I’m not some maniacal villain bent on destroying the universe—or whatever you think Vezta represents. So I’m asking you to buy me time. Tell your superiors that I’m coming around to what you’re saying or that you think I’ll join them. Whatever it takes to get them off my back for just a little longer.”

“Why would I ever agree to that?” Darius asked, tone flat.

“Because war approaches.” It wasn’t Arkk who answered, but Hawkwood. The mercenary leader stepped forward, shoulders broad and back straight despite a grimace on his face. “Master Inquisitor, you might not know me but I am the head of White Company.”

“I’m aware.”

“After the events of the evening, White Company might be the only large free company with its leadership still intact. This war isn’t a far-off thing. It is happening now.”

Arkk held out a hand. A crystal ball appeared in his grip, the image within shifting and changing. Curious despite himself, Darius approached enough to see within. It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. Rows upon rows of soldiers marched past a high plateau, trudging through the darkness with only a handful of torches to light their way.

“They’re already at our borders,” Arkk said. “I have an employee there who contacted me in the middle of all the chaos this evening.”

“Are they mad?” Darius couldn’t help but ask. “It’s the start of winter!”

“They must think they can weather it,” Hawkwood said. “Or perhaps they don’t care about their soldiers. Whatever the case, they are half a day out from Moonshine Burg. I’ve dispatched Swiftwings to rally White Company. It will be up to us to buy time while the rest of the nation puts itself back together.”

“Company Al-Mir isn’t exactly at a size where we can fight in a war but we do have specialists and… esoteric magics. We can help, but not if I’ve got to fight off the Abbey of the Light and their misconceptions about my employees and companions.”

“Readying White Company won’t be possible before they arrive,” Hawkwood said. “Moonshine Burg has strong walls and should have full storehouses of food. They can last a seige… If tonight’s incident was any indication, this has been in the planning for some time. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Moonshine Burg’s leadership has been taken out already and the gate guards replaced with agents who will keep the gates open for the invaders.” He took a deep breath. “No matter what we do, they will have a stronghold inside our borders by this time tomorrow. I don’t know if they plan to stop there for the winter or march through it.” He paused and glanced at Arkk. “With the Duchy in disarray, we need all the help we can get.”

“Did the Duke survive?” Arkk asked.

“He did.”

Arkk schooled his features but not before letting a flicker of disappointment through. He nodded his head. “I see.”

“He’ll need to be made aware of this,” Hawkwood said, giving Darius a pointed expression. “I would myself but I’ve got a war to run. Arkk promised transportation to White Company’s nearest stronghold.”

Arkk nodded. “Vezta, get everything ready. Send Zullie through first. Zullie,” he said, turning. “I want a progress report by morning. And I want to hear good news.”

The witch rolled her eyes. “Lovely. Staying awake all night after what we went through?”

“You stay awake every night anyway, don’t you?”

“Doesn’t mean I wanted to stay up tonight,” she grumbled.

“Master, is me leaving your side the wisest action given current circumstances?”

Darius shifted uncomfortably. Agnete represented a very real threat of a fiery death. She was still human, however. This creature barely looked at him. When she did, her eyes disregarded him so thoroughly that he felt utterly irrelevant in her presence. It was a wonder anyone else here could stand being under that gaze for long.

Then again, she didn’t look at Arkk like he was irrelevant. Perhaps ascribing emotions to such an inhuman being was wrong but he felt like there was an undercurrent of fanatical obsession hidden in those fields of stars.

Arkk didn’t notice or had grown used to it. “You’re the fastest at crafting ritual circles and we’ll need a lot before the night is over. Don’t worry. I can handle a crippled inquisitor on my own,” he said with an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not that I think Vrox intends any harm toward me.”

Darius frowned at the implied question. “I already said that I am not here to fight.”

“And calling the church down on me?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game here. Nothing can be hidden from the oracles for long. It is just a matter of them finding the right question to ask.”

“As long as it buys some time. Enough for other, more qualified mercenary companies and the Duke’s Grand Guard to get back on their feet.”

Darius remained silent for a long moment, thinking. This… He knew what Arkk was like. Everything he had learned about the man pointed toward this being an utterly and quite pathetically genuine attempt to help the nation at large. He wanted a stay of execution, not to escape but to help as best he could. It…

It was enough to make Darius laugh. He didn’t. He had more self-control than that. Still… Drawing in a breath, Darius spoke slowly, “I will file my report. If the chaos of the evening means it gets lost for a short time, then I suppose that is simply bad luck.”

Arkk put on a smile, wide and genuine. For a moment, it almost looked like he wanted to clap a hand onto Darius’ shoulder. He managed to restrain himself.

“Vezta, after you get Zullie and Hawkwood situated, get Dakka to the plateau.” Arkk turned to the orc. “I don’t know why an army would be interested in a tiny flopkin community, but let them know that we can house them if they feel in danger. Then both of you and Agnete get to Katja’s encampment. Let her know what is going on, offer asylum as well. We need her mages. If she declines…” He looked from Vezta to Agnete and back. “Well, don’t take no for an answer.”

“And you, Master?”

Arkk drew in a deep breath. “I don’t want to leave Ilya…”

“She survived,” Darius offered. “The healers are tending to her at the behest of… her mother, I presume.”

“I know.” He grimaced before hefting the crystal ball. “Scrying is handy. Her mother is doing well, is she? She is at her side.”

Darius didn’t react. Scrying on the Duke’s manor shouldn’t have been possible. It was as protected—if not more—as a temple. With its wards raised because of the attack, there shouldn’t have been any way to get magical information past its walls. Arkk had said that he received a cry for help in the middle of the attack as well, hadn’t he? Had that been before the alarm went up or after?

Darius nodded his head, filing the dangerous information away for later. They already knew of Arkk’s dive into esoteric magic. It was good to know capabilities but the fact itself wasn’t surprising.

“If I am headed back to alert the Duke to this invasion, would you like me to pass on a message?”

Arkk grimaced again, likely not favoring the idea of relying on someone that he wasn’t all that enthused with. “Tell her not to worry. I won’t leave her there. Let her know what is going on as well, if you would.”

“Very well.” Darius drew in a deep breath.

“Thank you. Vezta.”

“Understood, Master.”

Darius shifted away as the creature walked right past him without a second glance. Or… maybe it was staring at him the entire time. With her back to him, he had to take his eyes off her face and promptly found an oddity running down her spine, dark fields spreading the white of her outfit apart with glowing yellow eyes staring out.

Shuddering, Darius moved past Arkk only to pause. “Arkk.”

“Yes?”

“You went after that assassin.”

“Naturally.”

“Is it? I doubt many men would put themselves in danger like that. They would rather leave it to the guards to handle.”

Arkk simply shrugged.

“You didn’t succeed in stopping him.”

The casual shrug shifted as his shoulders slackened. “Can’t win them all.”

“Well, for what it is worth, I hope you and Hawkwood win this one. Don’t betray my trust.”

Arkk’s smile turned a little more brittle than Darius would have liked. With all the vague threats, Darius couldn’t exactly call that unexpected. Still, he kept it in mind as he descended the Cliff’s Edge stairwell one step at a time.

 

 

Hawkwood hadn’t expected to wake. Ever. He could remember what happened well enough. The commotion at the party. A sharp stabbing sensation in his back. The attempt to call for help as his legs went weak. The shocked expression on Arkk’s face. Finally, the sudden rush of lightheadedness, akin to standing too fast except far, far more severe.

He knew then, as the darkness took him, that he was dead. His heart stabbed straight through.

Now, he could feel his heart hammering in his head, throbbing and aching, he was awake. He blinked bleary eyes up at a mural-covered ceiling that was familiar but one he couldn’t quite place. Not until he managed to look around. It still took him a long minute.

People were lying in neat rows. Bodies? Some were alive. Some… weren’t. An abbess rushed past a few, stopping at a man Hawkwood recognized. The leader of the Order of the Claymores. A golden, holy light dripped from the fingertips of the abbess. A healing spell and a fairly powerful one. Hawkwood recognized that as well. Behind the abbess, two alchemists, dressed in the typical garb of their profession with long beak-like masks and dark cloaks, mixed a thick, green-colored ungent. Another healing concoction.

Slowly, Hawkwood turned his head. This was the Duke’s entry hall. Large and crowded. It was filled with injured people. Healers of varying professions moved about by the dozens, tending to those injured. Guards stood at every door—and not just the ceremonial guards in shining armor that the Duke kept around for show, but more rugged guards clearly pulled from the garrison.

Pinching his eyes closed, Hawkwood ground his teeth together and pushed himself up. A pinching pain in his back kept him from getting fully on his feet. It was like someone had grasped hold of every scrap of loose skin and was pulling it tight. Sitting, he tried to feel around his back—someone had removed most of his clothing during his unconsciousness, leaving him with a thin white bandage wrapped around his chest—but he couldn’t quite reach the spot with the most pain.

“You shouldn’t be up. You need rest.”

Hawkwood turned to find a priest moving from one of the wounded to another. He didn’t stop to chat but did settle down not far from Hawkwood. “I’ll rest when I’m dead. What happened?”

“Don’t know the details,” the priest said, peeling back bandages to inspect a wound. “Heard that there was an attack. Several were outright killed before an explosion claimed and wounded many more. Excuse me,” he said, reaching into the folds of his robe. He withdrew a small talisman that he quickly slapped against the man’s chest, muttering a prayer as he did so.

Hawkwood didn’t disturb him any further, letting the man walk away to tend to the next victim. Taking a breath and using the wall as a support, he dragged himself to his feet. He needed to find someone who knew what was going on. Someone who wasn’t a healer. Hawkwood knew better than most that in a situation like this, it was always better to leave the healers to their duties.

He had a headache and a pinch in his back. Walking wasn’t all that difficult or taxing, however. His legs worked and his balance was good enough. This wasn’t the first time he had woken while wounded. In fact, out of all the injuries he had received, this affected him the least. Given that he had been sure he wouldn’t wake at all, that was saying something. The healers must have done good work.

Hawkwood started toward a guard captain, only to pause as he realized that it wasn’t just the Duke’s men present. The distinctive black chevron of White Company stood out among the blue and white striped shields. Once he realized that his company was present, it didn’t take long to pick out Field Captain Rurik. He was somewhat surprised that they hadn’t been at his side. Then again, sitting at the side of an unconscious man didn’t help anything.

While the Duke’s men and garrison guard stood watch at the main entrance and prowled through the injured, clearly looking for any threats, White Company took up position around the large doors to the throne room. As he approached, he heard a knocking on the door. A specific pattern. Rurik tensed at the first knock but quickly relaxed and motioned for the others to open the door. They did so, admitting another pair of White Company soldiers who were carrying a body between them. One that didn’t look particularly healthy. Hawkwood couldn’t even tell if she was alive. Half her face had been burned away and bits of stone stuck out of her chest.

Hawkwood was pleased to note that neither of the ones carrying the wounded—maybe dead—girl stopped to acknowledge him. Aid ran before all. Those of White Company who were not carrying a body, on the other hand, quickly saluted him as he stepped closer.

“Sir, shouldn’t you—”

“One word about me needing rest and I’ll have you digging latrines next training run.”

Rurik snapped his jaw closed, though not without a slim smile touching the corners of his lips. “Good to see you up, sir. You didn’t look too injured but when we heard you were specifically targeted…”

Hawkwood closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “What happened? Report.”

“Assassins disguised as servants. Three, it seems, though we can only account for two at the moment.”

Rurik took his eyes off Hawkwood, looking slowly around the room as if he might be able to spot the third one now that he had mentioned it. Hawkwood did the same, though hopefully less obviously. He did reposition, making sure White Company was at his back and not the larger room.

“They targeted at least six individuals specifically before causing an explosion in the throne room that resulted in this,” Rurik said, continuing with a wave of his hand around the entry hall. “Of the six specifically targeted… it seems only you and Vizier Alya have survived.”

“How?”

“Not sure. At least in your case. Someone healed you. A few guards were going on about a glowing-eyed demon attacking you but not who helped you.”

“Demon?” Hawkwood said, narrowing his eyes as he cast yet another suspicious glance around the large hall. A demon certainly could have caused this. The fact that he was alive probably meant that it was an exaggeration, however. Stress and panic in a situation like what had happened would be far from unheard of. “Who else was targeted specifically?”

“General Yurt and General Josen of the Duke’s Grand Guard, Commander Rozen of the Red Rose Company, and Welkins Huntz of Huntz Trading Company.”

“Not Duke Woldair?”

“He may have been planned as a target but reports say that the Master Inquisitor Vrox made it to him and protected him just before the incident occurred.”

“They made it out then?”

Rurik looked around then dropped his tone to a near whisper. “Not exactly. Neither got a knife in the back like you did but they were at the center of the explosion. The Duke’s guards carried both away before we arrived. I presume they are somewhere else in the manor, somewhere less trafficked than here. I guess the Pontiff Bernardin arrived early on and was taken straight to them. Haven’t heard anything from them since. That would have been well over two hours ago now.”

Hawkwood pursed his lips in thought. Two generals of the Duke’s men, three mercenary company leaders, the elf advisor, and the head of a trading company. The last was a small outlier in the pattern until he recalled that Huntz Trading Company made its name during the war thirty years ago when they provided heavy logistical support to the soldiers.

“The Evestani Sultanate?”

“Sir?”

“Tensions have been high for a few months now. We figured war would begin in the spring when armies could march. Yet here they are trying to cripple the leadership of the armies and large mercenary companies…” Hawkwood swallowed, weight dragging his shoulders down. “Where is the Duke’s spymaster? How did we get caught so unaware?”

“Sorry. I don’t have any other information. Except…”

Hawkwood frowned as Rurik went uncharacteristically silent. It wasn’t like him to be hesitant about reporting information. He, and all of White Company, knew that Hawkwood was not the type to get upset at messengers. Even if they were at fault for something, as long as they were genuinely sorry and attempted to make amends, he wouldn’t be too harsh. “Except?” Hawkwood had to prod.

“There is something else. A… situation inside the throne room. The reason we’re here instead of the manor guards.”

“I didn’t know you were so good at dancing, Rurik. You sat out at Piter’s wedding. If I had known you were this good, I’d have insisted you show us your talents.”

Rurik gave Hawkwood a flat look, rolling his eyes before glancing at the door. “I don’t know about demons… but there is something in there. It hasn’t attacked yet but…” Rurik shuddered. “The Duke’s men and spellcasters have sealed all the doors except this one and we had to insist, taking responsibility here, just to get injured out.”

“Now you’re starting to make me worried.”

“Maybe it is best if you see for yourself,” Rurik said, backing up to the door. At their approach, two more of White Company, Felix and Tavyn, pulled open the throne room doors. They started just a crack, the latter peering inside as if worried something might rush out. When nothing did, they opened the doors just wide enough to admit Hawkwood and Rurik.

Bodies were strewn everywhere. More toward the far end of the room than the front. Given that walls were scorched, stone had cracked, the ceiling had partially caved in, and two chandeliers were missing, Hawkwood assumed that was where the explosion had taken place. Far from where he had been standing with Arkk when he had been attacked.

Where was Arkk anyway? Hawkwood hadn’t inspected the entirety of the entry hall but hadn’t noticed the other company leader in any of his cursory glances.

While the chaos and carnage of the far end of the room drew his eyes initially, movement closer to him pulled his attention. He tensed, somewhat nervous from Rurik’s words, only to relax.

He didn’t know where Arkk was but recognized two of Arkk’s people working in the dark room. The orc that had joined him for dinner, Dakka, was at one of the chandelier winches, slowly lowering it to the ground.

“Slowly. Slowly.” The one introduced as a magical researcher stood between the orc and the wall, using the orc’s large body as a shield between herself and the chandelier.

“I know,” Dakka snapped.

“Almost there. Gently. Gently.”

“Will you shut up?”

“Three, two… Lock it in place.”

The orc slid a pin into the winch, keeping it from turning any further. She curled her lips back, baring her tusks at the researcher—who didn’t seem to notice or care—before realizing that they had an audience.

“Dakka, Zullie, was it? Is Mister Arkk—”

Hawkwood started forward only to be held back by a hand on his arm. Rurik gave him a sharp look before nodding back past the lowered chandelier and the two members of Company Al-Mir.

It took Hawkwood a moment to notice. That whole end of the room was dark with the missing light and there were plenty of bodies and scoring in the walls that drew the attention. Staring at it a second time, Hawkwood realized that one corner was just a bit too dark. Shadows churned against the walls, twisting and moving in ways that didn’t make sense given the stillness of other lights. Then there were the bright yellow orbs hanging in the darkness. Orbs that shifted, moved, and watched.

Hawkwood felt a sudden weakness in his knees. If not for Rurik keeping him steady, he might have fallen in shock. It didn’t help that he already felt somewhat unsteady from his headache and the pinch in his back. Seeing… something, as Rurik had put it, had his heart hammering in his chest.

“—some magical bombs made to explode when jostled,” Dakka was saying to him while the witch started circling the lowered chandeliers. “All the room’s chandeliers were made to explode but, whether due to flaws in construction or simple luck, only two did. We disarmed those two,” she said, throwing a thumb over her shoulder. “Not too keen on having them explode on us.”

“I would say it is luck they didn’t all go off in sequence when the first one did,” Zullie grumbled, not looking up. She reached out with a scoring knife and, with sweat dripping off her brow, made a few careful marks on the upper part of the chandelier.

“Exactly. Don’t know what else might set them off so she’s… what was it again? Dispersing the stored magic or something like that.”

“What…” Hawkwood said, “is that?”

Dakka, following his pointed finger, stared at the abyss. The abyss stared back but apparently not hard enough to warrant more than a casual shrug from the orc. “Oh, that? Just Vezta. She’s watching over Arkk. He took a bit of a knock in the explosion. Still alive and he has started to stir a bit. Hope he wakes up soon because I would really like to get out of here before some people get funny ideas.”

Hawkwood barely heard what Dakka said beyond the name. It was familiar. It didn’t take long to figure out where he heard it from. “The demihuman with a skin condition?”

Dakka looked back to the abyss again. “Uh. Yes. Her… uh… skin condition is quite bad today, as you can see. Another good reason to leave soon. I don’t suppose you can help with that? Arkk should have a few ways to get us out of here but he’s out. I doubt he wants us fighting our way out. I don’t favor that fight either. Too many against too few.” Dakka paused as Zullie grumbled something else. “Right. That too. I don’t suppose you know where Ilya is? They carted her off along with her mother.”

“I…”

Hawkwood didn’t know what to say. Though looking at that abyss against the far wall of the throne room, he did have a feeling that he knew how Arkk managed to get to the gorgon in Silver City without being petrified. Vezta. That… thing over there had been at his dinner table, looking odd but not like that.

What was she? A demon as the guard suspected? They had said someone with glowing eyes had been standing over him. He had been near Arkk. Vezta being associated with him… But Arkk hadn’t attacked him. He had been surprised. That shock on Arkk’s face was burned into Hawkwood’s mind. It was the last thing he saw before he passed out.

“Is… she dangerous?”

“Only if you want to harm Arkk,” Dakka said with another casual shrug. “Told your men she wouldn’t be an issue. Didn’t stop them from tiptoeing around though. Really, I would be more worried about this.” Dakka waved a hand to where Zullie was making another scoring line on the main shaft of the chandelier.

A loud hissing noise came from the metal. Both of them jumped back. Zullie lost her grip on the scoring knife, leading to a loud clatter as it hit the floor. Rurik tried to pull Hawkwood back but his efforts were unnecessary. As quickly as it started, the hissing stopped. Everything went silent save for the tense breathing of the four people.

“That didn’t happen on the other ones,” Dakka said, taking another wary step back.

“I think it is a good sign,” Zullie said, also taking another step back.

“You think?”

“Well it didn’t explode, did it? Just a harsh dispersal. Nothing to be worried about.”

“That why you jumped out of your boots? Your tool is over there, right next to the stupid thing. Why not pick it up?”

“Why not shut up?”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Hawkwood watched the byplay between the two, slowly relaxing. If either were concerned with an imminent explosion, he presumed they would have turned tail and run in the opposite direction. He found his gaze wandering beyond them to that abyss against the back wall. No matter what Dakka said, he found that far more worrying.

Although he had been more or less confined to a desk for the better part of the last five years, Hawkwood considered himself a well-traveled man. He had been a part of several mercenary organizations in his time, fighting everything from simple bandits to foreign armies, delving into ancient tombs and climbing to the highest mountains, sailing the seas, and crossing the volcanic planes of the Dead Isle. With all he had seen, very little surprised him.

This, he didn’t recognize. He had written the book—or at least several chapters—on tactics against beings with unusual abilities. It, this Vezta, was monstrous to the point where his mind could only jump back to ancient myths and legends. A pre-Calamity monster.

Where had Arkk dug up something like this?

It was little wonder that the throne room had been sealed off by the Duke’s spellcasters. Even if there truly was no danger, Hawkwood couldn’t help but feel a tingle of pride at his men braving this room to recover any survivors who had been left behind. They were a gallant crew, better than he deserved.

The problem was, what happened now? Even if it was only the guard and his men, something Hawkwood doubted given the situation, people would talk. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if the only reason the Duke’s men hadn’t charged in was because this incident had shaken their organizational structure. Who was calling the shots? It sounded like the Duke was incapacitated and two generals were dead. There was a hierarchy but some captain who had been woken up in the last hour with no clue as to what was going on couldn’t command effectively.

The inquisitors… were already harassing Arkk. Probably because of this monster. Master Inquisitor Vrox had been incapacitated as well. That might be the only reason half the church wasn’t bearing down on this room as well. That wouldn’t last, however. There were other inquisitors. Other officials. Like with the Duke’s men, it would take some time but they would get organized eventually. Likely sooner than anyone would like.

What of him? Hawkwood considered himself and his men. White Company was large. Per their contract, only the Duke could order them around. Still, if a threat befell the city, White Company would act even without orders. Throwing them against a pre-Calamity monster that they knew nothing about wasn’t something he aspired toward. It was clearly strong. Arkk hadn’t mentioned it before but it did fill in a few gaps of just how Arkk managed to convince a bunch of raiders to take up a more noble profession, not to mention his other seemingly unlikely feats.

Trying to attack the creature was, at the moment, unnecessary. It wasn’t doing anything but guarding Arkk. If the Duke or the Abbey of the Light decided to act, however, it would be a disaster. Another tragedy on top of an already trying evening.

The Evestani Sultanate had attacked, clearly aiming to weaken those in command. Send the Duchy into disarray. They didn’t need more good men dying against something that wasn’t even an enemy.

Was it the right thing to do? Hawkwood wasn’t sure. He wasn’t a cleric and knew nothing of such beings. Perhaps this would end with the inquisition harassing him. Nevertheless, he stepped forward, brushing off Rurik’s hand in the process, certain that a fight with Company Al-Mir was not in anyone’s interests.

“We have to get you out of here.”

 

 

A black, oily tendril flung out from Arkk’s shadow as a dozen burning suns manifested in the dark mass surrounding Arkk. The soldiers accosting Arkk, standing far too close and not expecting any kind of monster to attack them, were handily batted aside. Armored knights bowled through the guests and crowd. Fresh screams of panic and terror from both guard and onlooker joined with the cacophony already present in the throne room.

Arkk strode forward, moving through the cleared space and leaving Hawkwood behind. The guards would hopefully pick themselves up and help him. If not… Unfortunately, Arkk could only be in one place at a time. Even with as much as he owed Hawkwood for his help, Ilya took priority.

Vezta took form alongside him, transitioning from her shadowy state to a fully corporeal body mid-stride. Between the guards being thrown around, Vezta’s appearance, and Arkk’s glowing eyes, people were doing the best they could to get out of the way. A large number were running toward the throne, perhaps hoping to seek protection from the Duke’s guards. It just wasn’t enough. There were already panicked people running in the opposite direction from whatever the assassins had done, crashing into others and taking them down, creating a mass of people all pushing against each other.

He could easily order Vezta to throw them all out of the way. Fighting through the entire crowd and getting more soldiers trying to surround him was less than ideal. Instead, he turned to Vezta. “Cranium Internum.”

Vezta jolted slightly as Arkk’s perspective shifted. Then her body jolted again. This time, forward toward Ilya. Her body broke apart, losing its humanoid form to a mass of tendrils. He wasn’t controlling any tendril individually. Intention guided him, pulling him where he wanted to go. One with Vezta, Arkk lurched over the crowd of frightened guests and guards.

As an amorphous mass more akin to the lesser servants, they couldn’t hope to stop him. His body simply deformed, stretching out or constricting to fit between any gap of people that he could find. Covered with eyes, and not stunned by the sight of the shattered sky, he could instantly pick out the optimal path to take among dozens of options. He could also see everything around him.

One guard in particular, hand thrust out in an offensive motion, was trying to cast a spell in his direction. Arkk’s body simply twisted and deformed, easily squishing underneath the glowing green chains that lashed out from the man’s hand. Vezta’s body didn’t even lose any of its forward momentum.

Cresting a group of fleeing guests, many of whom dived upon seeing Vezta’s body stretching over them, Arkk got a clear look at the far end of the room. Inquisitor Vrox was still protecting the Duke inside the spell while a contingent of guards had arrayed themselves in front of the throne. Most of these guards looked less ceremonial and more functional, though still with a bit more opulence than anyone would go to battle with.

A distance from the throne, near the wall, Ilya was slumped in a heap on the ground. She wasn’t moving at all. Alya had backed up toward the throne, earning the protection of the guards there. The assassin…

He fled, rushing toward one of the walls not far from where Zullie was taking up her guard position. Wrong idea. Zullie, noticing, flicked her wand in the assassin’s direction. The same wind spell that she had used to clean up after testing the Langleey villagers swept the assassin off his feet, throwing him straight back toward Arkk.

Arkk wasn’t sure if Zullie intended that but Arkk wasn’t going to complain. Tendrils lashed around the bald assassin, gripping him and pulling him close. Terror, unbridled fear, twisted the man’s features. He struggled and thrashed in Arkk’s grip, trying to escape. He shouted and pleaded and…

Stopped.

All at once, he stopped moving. For a moment, Arkk thought he had somehow killed the man.

“It’s you.”

A dozen eyes across Arkk’s body blinked. At the same time, the assassin squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing as if a sudden pain struck him.

“It’s you. It’s you. It’s… [you]…” The man’s eyes slowly opened, just a sliver at first. Bright, golden light mixed with the red coming from Vezta’s many eyes. “[Found]/[Hide and Seek]|[Over]—”

Arkk’s tendrils moved on their own. Or rather, Vezta fought against his control, just enough to twist. The man’s head went from looking straight at Arkk to looking straight behind him. Arkk let the limp body drop to the ground, staring as the golden light reflecting off the floor flickered and dimmed.

Ilya let out a faint groan, barely audible over the crowd yet somehow impossibly loud in Arkk’s ears, ringing like a gong. He ended the possession spell in an instant, dropping to the ground beside Vezta mid-dash. Crashing to his knees, Arkk hesitated. Ilya was… not in a good state. Far, far worse than Hawkwood. Hawkwood’s wound had been deep but surgical, a straight stab through a majority of the man’s vital organs.

Ilya had been flayed. She must have tried to fight back. Without weapons or armor… Her arms had been torn to ribbons and her chest… It was like someone had stabbed her a dozen times over, each a twisting, ripping stab. Even among all the orcs and the various wounds they had sustained in battle against the slavers and inquisitors, none had been remotely as bad. That was the difference between armored combat against a fighter and getting attacked by a trained man to kill.

“Vezta,” Arkk said, not sure of even where to begin. “Is there anything…”

“I am sorry, Master,” Vezta said, having reformed her human form at his back. “I can seal small wounds, cuts, and scrapes. Something like this is beyond my abilities. Your spell to mold flesh stands a better chance. Failing that…” She trailed off for a moment. When she spoke again, a note of distaste entered her tone. “Failing that, the so-called holy magic wielded by the likes of priests, abbesses, and inquisitors would be your best option.”

Arkk shot a glance up to the throne. Vrox still had the projectile shield up in action. It looked like it had thinned a bit. Strain? Arkk hadn’t used it ever, so he wasn’t sure how draining the spell was. It had thinned to the point where Arkk could see Vrox beyond the shimmering swirl of the magic.

And Vrox could see him. Or, rather, see out. His eyes weren’t on Arkk at all. He stared directly at Vezta.

Would he help if Arkk asked? Arkk might have said no before this night but… now… He figured the answer might be yes, though conditional. Arkk glanced back at Vezta for a brief moment before shaking his head.

“There is still another assassin. The one who got Hawkwood. Can you locate him? Failing that, get Zullie and Dakka here.”

“I will not leave your side. If they arrive, I will protect them to the best of my ability.”

With a grimace, hoping he wasn’t making another mistake, Arkk nodded his head. Zullie should have a clear path toward him. Dakka was further back in the room but unless the assassin had gone back, she should be out of harm’s way.

He had to focus on Ilya.

Peeling up the top of her dress, Arkk grimaced at the state of her body. Steeling himself, he chanted the incantation for Flesh Weaving and focused, trying to feel out for the largest injury. Holy spells, he knew from asking Abbess Keena when he first learned he had the capacity for magic, didn’t require much thought put into them. They were miracles granted by the Holy Light. Not something mortal men had come up with on their own. A holy spell here would have simply restored her body. They weren’t universal cure-alls, there were limits, but with something like this where Arkk couldn’t even visualize what might be damaged, a priest would have had a much easier time than he.

That didn’t stop Arkk from trying. He felt around, physically pressing his fingers against Ilya’s wounds. Contact made Ilya’s muscles tense up, which Arkk took as a good sign. Was she breathing? It was shallow at best but there. A pinch here. Smoothing the flesh of an organ over there. Her stomach and abdomen were the worst. The assassin hadn’t tried going through her ribcage. Neither had he angled his blade upward. He had simply tried to put Ilya down in order to get to Alya, who could only be the actual target.

Why Alya and not the Duke? Was it because of the inquisitor protecting the Duke and Alya was just a secondary target?

Why start with anyone but the Duke? Killing someone out in the middle of the crowd was sure to start a panic. Even if the inquisitor hadn’t been present, surely the Duke would have been escorted to safety long before the killers could make their way through the crowd.

Arkk pushed a healthy dose of magic into Ilya, hopefully mending perforations and not making things worse. She had lost a lot of blood. So much blood. Kneeling on the ground, it felt like he had fallen into a muddy puddle of warm muck. But it was all from Ilya. Flesh Weaving couldn’t fix that. He had to hope that she hadn’t lost too much. His efforts were, at the very least, staunching the wounds enough to slow her bleeding.

Unless that was just her body running out of blood. Grimacing, wishing he had more practice on deep wounds, Arkk worked faster.

All the while, Arkk could feel eyes on him. Alya stood with mild injuries, simply watching him. She wasn’t moving to help or hinder. More guards had surrounded him and Ilya. Vezta wasn’t assaulting them, though with her tendrils stretched out around the area, she was warding them off. Inquisitor Vrox had finally let the spell drop, though even he wasn’t doing more than simply staring.

Had Vrox ever used actual holy magic? Arkk didn’t think so. Regular spells, yes, but in the fight at the false fortress, only the chronicler had used holy spells. Perhaps Vrox was incapable, which would make pleading for his help useless anyway.

A quick check through his employee links found both Dakka and Zullie still safe. Though Dakka looked about ready to start swinging at a few guards who weren’t letting her get closer to the Duke—and Arkk. Zullie still had her back to the wall. She was edging toward the front of the room but she was being cautious about it. It wouldn’t be long before she ran into the line of guards trying to keep people away from the Duke though.

It was odd. Arkk pinched closed one wound before throwing a glance over his shoulder. Behind the line of guards surrounding him, there was a brief gap before the next line of guards keeping the general public away. But it didn’t look like they were letting anyone out. Trying to capture the assassin? Or…

Had the assassins activated a trap of some kind? Sealing everyone into the room? There were doors along the walls but none were open.

The thought sent a chill down Arkk’s spine, forcing him to look up from Ilya. There was at least one assassin left.

They forced a room change. They trapped people in. They targeted a few select individuals. Arkk wasn’t sure who else had been attacked but based on Hawkwood and Alya, they were important individuals. And now, with half the garrison having made it into the room, trying to maintain order and people unable to leave, what was their next move?

“Vezta,” Arkk started, only to trail off as he spotted movement between the legs of the distant guards. The movement caught his eye because most of the crowd wasn’t moving at the moment. The feet appeared again, a few steps forward between some other sets of legs, moving perpendicular to the length of the room. Toward the wall where Zullie was.

“Vezta!” Arkk shouted, far more urgently. “He is heading toward Zullie!”

“Master, I won’t—”

Casting one look at Ilya, hoping he had done enough, Arkk grit his teeth. He wasn’t going to let any of his employees or friends die here. Some might call him greedy but he couldn’t just watch an assassin casually approach Zullie. Maybe she would blast him away with her wand again or maybe she would get caught off-guard. He couldn’t take the risk.

“Jalan yang paling banyak dilalui menyediakan jalur yang stabil untuk maju ke tujuan Anda dengan aman,” he spat out as fast as his tongue would allow, focusing on a stone brick road while swinging his arms down over his head as if wielding a heavy construction hammer. Not the easiest motion to make while trying to stand but all of Zullie’s magic—regular magic—required an element, visualization, and gesture.

As soon as his imaginary hammer struck the ground, ethereal bricks fell from above, forming a road of transparent cobblestone. The moment his foot stepped on the first magical brick, he felt more sure of his stance. His legs moved with an ease that couldn’t be explained through mundane means. His speed increased.

It had the added benefit of frightening a number of the guards ahead of him, sending them scattering to the sides in fear of an attack despite the bricks passing harmlessly through several of them. The effect didn’t extend far, unfortunately. A few paces. Although the swiftness stuck with him when he stepped off the road, it didn’t clear his path toward Zullie enough to sling a lightning bolt at the assassin.

Vezta tried to stop him. Tried. Capable though she was, her tendril lashing out to restrain him just moved so slowly from his perspective. It barely took any effort to step aside. By the time she realized she missed, he was already leaping over the second line of guards. Her attempt to stop him was exactly why he hadn’t tried possessing her again. He didn’t want her fighting him the whole way.

Now, he flew through the crowd of guests and soldiers. Supernatural stability allowed him to shift directions without losing speed, bouncing around, dodging individuals while making his way to the other side. It caused a commotion, naturally, drawing the eyes of guests and guards alike. It caused enough of a commotion that he spotted the sandy hair of the servant jolting forward, discarding subtlety in favor of haste.

Although he had a supernatural swiftness, the assassin had the lead on him. The throne room was large and opulent, longer than it was wide.

Zullie wasn’t defenseless, however. She had that wand, not to mention her library of spells. Arkk wasn’t sure if she noticed the assassin or if Arkk rushing at her tipped her off but the effect was the same either way. A gale of wind blasted through the crowd. Guests went flying through the air, landing on top of each other. Guards, weighed down by heavier armor, mostly fell over. Some managed to maintain their footing.

The assassin must have been prepared. Maybe he saw Zullie ready her spell, maybe he simply never let his guard down. The man rolled into the gust of wind ahead of Arkk, springing up to his feet the moment it passed.

With the crowd cleared away, however, Arkk could act. “Electro—”

The man must have heard Arkk’s incantation beginning. He dove to the side, hiding among people who had been out of the way of the blast.

“Run!” Arkk shouted. “He’s after you! Get to Vezta!”

Zullie didn’t argue. She didn’t turn and run either. Rather, she backed away, wand at the ready. Wise. Turning her back on an assassin wouldn’t be a good idea.

Arkk’s eyes slid away from Zullie, trusting in her ability to get to the safety of Vezta as long as he kept the assassin distracted for just a few seconds longer. People were running again, fleeing. Trying to push through the guards and escape the danger. The assassin wasn’t. The situation had gone wrong, yet he still pressed forward. Not toward Zullie now, but to the wall?

“Electro—” Arkk started again, only for the assassin to whip his head around. The man grabbed hold of a passing guest, a shorter man with wine staining the front of his disheveled shirt. A merchant whom Arkk was fairly certain Wolf had introduced earlier in the evening. Not that Arkk remembered his name.

He did try to struggle. That only lasted as long as it took the assassin to jam the tip of a sharp blade into his throat. It didn’t puncture the skin but it was clear that it would take little effort to cut the man’s throat. The merchant realized this as well. He dragged the merchant backward, one step at a time. The guards were quickly assembling, swords drawn. This time, they weren’t aimed toward Arkk. At least, not all of them. In short order, the assassin had his back to the wall, right where Zullie had been standing only moments before.

“Surrender,” one of the guards barked. “You are surrounded. There is nowhere to run. Your accomplices have been—”

The assassin let out a cry, inarticulate and angry. He shoved the merchant forward, forcing the closest guards to pull back lest they stab the man on their readied blades. Rather than try to flee, the assassin turned and stabbed his blade into the gearing of the winch against the wall. With a twist and a pull, the metal snapped.

The chain of the winch, leading up to one of the large chandeliers over the Duke’s throne, unspooled rapidly. Vrox grabbed the Duke, throwing both of them off the throne platform even as the chandelier crashed down. Even had they not moved, it alone likely wouldn’t have killed either of them.

But the moment the chandelier’s glowstones touched the ground, a deafening shockwave rippled out from the center. The violence of it felt like another gust from Zullie’s wind, except infused with a heat that scaled Arkk’s skin as it threw him to the floor.

Ears ringing and vision swimming, the last of Arkk’s cognizance focused on the assassin’s face appearing overhead, golden light shining from his eyes as he raised a blade to strike down. Arkk tried for a spell but the words came out slurred and unsteady.

A black, oily tendril snaked around the assassin’s neck. With a twist and a pull, the assassin fell limp just as Arkk blacked out.

 

 

While trying to look mildly embarrassed over how the inquisitor admonished him, Arkk looked over the room. His eyes skipped over the gaudily dressed nobles, wealthy merchants, and mercenaries, focusing instead between them, on the servants that otherwise went unnoticed.

There were two kinds of servants at the party. The entertainment, mostly made up of non-humans showing off their bodies, dressed similarly to what Dakka had ended up wearing. The attendants, on the other hand, moved about in fine clothes that were nonetheless designed not to attract attention as they brought food and drink to guests, set up tables and chairs, and otherwise attended to the partygoers. They were predominantly human, though Arkk did spot a few elves among their number.

The body had been human. That didn’t exclude that he had been part of the entertainment but Arkk felt it was far more likely that the assassin had taken on the guise of an attendant. It would have been less notable.

Did one look suspicious?

The one shaking so much that the glasses on his tray rattled? The bald one handing out wine glasses? The one Dakka had up against a wall, stealing every one of the miniature snacks from his tray? Or maybe the one standing at one end of the room, hands behind his back as he looked over the guests for someone who needed attending?

There were only two dozen but that was too many for Arkk to guess at from looks alone. If he went up and inspected the hands of every one of them, he might have been able to pull the same trick as Hawkwood and Vrox. From hair and posture, Arkk couldn’t point out anyone in particular. Which was probably intentional. If he had come here intending to steal a disguise, he would have done his best to figure out how to appear so as to not draw attention.

Vrox didn’t look like he was trying to find the assassin. He moved, as casually as he could, through the guests. The throne room, while large enough to fit half of Langleey’s buildings, wasn’t as large as the ballroom, leaving far less space between the little cliques that formed among the guests. The Duke, sitting at the overly opulent throne, was at the far end of the room. Alya and Ilya weren’t far away from him, talking quietly off to one side of the hall at the far end. Ilya looked like she had either just gotten over crying or was just about to start. Alya didn’t look upset in the slightest. Pained, maybe, likely at having to come up with excuses instead of enjoying the extravagant food.

Arkk shook his head, trying to shove his irritation aside before his eyes started to glow. In doing so, he caught sight of Zullie, glowering at the crowd from where she leaned against one wall not far from a hefty winch that was connected to one of the great chandeliers. She was probably upset at the lack of strange magic to investigate. This room was lit by a series of grand chandeliers, topped with an array of amber glowstones. While the intensity at which they glowed indicated extremely high-quality stones, they were a far more mundane solution compared with illegal magic siphoning light from somewhere else.

Zullie met his gaze. Something must have shown on his face. She narrowed her eyes and started looking around, clearly aware that all was not as well as it seemed.

Sighing, Arkk tried to massage away any stress, rubbing the sides of his temples. It wouldn’t be good if he gave everything away. This wasn’t his battle anyway. There were guards here. Vrox was handling things.

In fact, should he even try to stop the assassin? The obvious target was the Duke. Hadn’t he just been ranting to himself about the Duke? Now someone was here, ready to do his job for him. Or close enough.

Actually… If the Duke did get assassinated, thus removing that problem from Arkk’s back, and then he swooped in to apprehend the assassin after the fact… He could go to the state funeral, shed some tears, but come away smelling like a proper hero for having caught the Duke’s killer.

“Everything alright there, Arkk?”

Arkk lowered his hands, giving a mild smile to Hawkwood. “Got turned around on the way to the latrine. Luckily, I bumped into the Master Inquisitor. He helped me find my way back.”

The look Hawkwood gave him was one of utter disbelief. “Few people would say that they were lucky to bump into any inquisitor. You least of all. Hasn’t the inquisition been… interested in you?”

Arkk quirked an eyebrow. “You heard about that?”

“Put out the word with a few of White Company’s branches to keep an eye on your advancements. It isn’t every day I get to mentor an up-and-coming company, let alone one that has risen to such prominence so quickly,” he said with a laugh.

Arkk glanced away from Hawkwood. The inquisitor, tall as an elf, was easy to spot as he made his way toward the Duke. He wasn’t taking a direct path, likely not wanting to agitate the assassin. He even paused to talk to someone for a few words.

“He isn’t that bad,” Arkk said eventually. “Just doing his job. We’ve had some disagreements but… I guess, as a person, I don’t find him all that disagreeable.”

Hawkwood’s bushy mustache ruffled as he let out a softer laugh. “That wasn’t even a proper compliment and it still sounded like torture to get it out.”

“I’m not saying I’m going to invite him to any parties I might hold in the future. Just that he isn’t the manic fanatic I expected from someone with the title of Master Inquisitor. He’s just doing his job.”

Hawkwood chuckled, clapping Arkk on the shoulder. “Any more of these backhanded compliments and I’m going to start worrying that I need to watch my back for angry inquisitors. Come. Since we’ve moved rooms, it seems the meal has been delayed. We’ve some time to kill. Did I introduce you to Victor Vector? Head of Sanctuary, a company that specializes in smaller-scale combat much like your own.”

Arkk felt his smile start to strain. He had been introduced to so many people between Hawkwood’s mercenary contacts and Wolf’s trade partners that he honestly had no idea whether or not this Victor had been included.

More than that, Hawkwood’s comment made Arkk reconsider the situation at large. They had moved rooms. While Arkk believed in coincidence, a lighting array going wrong for the first time in decades on the same night that an assassin was prowling the halls seemed unlikely. Why force the move? Was it something about the meal, delaying it to buy time to poison it, perhaps?

If the meal was poisoned, letting the assassin continue could lead to a lot more people getting hurt than just the Duke.

But if it was poisoned, the assassin might not even be here. They would be in the kitchens.

Were there other reasons for wanting the room to be swapped? Having a trap prepared in advance made the most sense. Perhaps a deadly magical circle hidden underneath the Duke’s throne. Underneath this room might be some cellar filled with explosives. The possibilities could easily spiral out of control. There were too many unknowns. Was the Duke even the target? There were a number of wealthy and powerful people here, all of whom likely had more than their fair share of enemies.

Even Arkk had probably stepped on a few toes despite Company Al-Mir only existing for a few months. If those slavers had any friends angry at their elimination, he could have a huge target on his back. The Pious of the Golden Order came to mind as well, even if none had acted against him at Moonshine Burg.

“Something else wrong?” Hawkwood said, staring at him for a short moment.

Arkk flashed a quick smile. “No,” he lied. A bald servant was distributing tall glasses of amber liquid just a few paces away. He couldn’t say anything now even if Hawkwood was the best person he knew who might be able to help with the situation. “Just thinking about business. I honestly can’t say that these kinds of parties are for me. I think I prefer mercenary work.”

“I understand that completely,” Hawkwood said with a firm nod of his head. “But these kinds of things can be nice changes of pace. A field of roses might be astonishingly beautiful with the most wonderful fragrance but that won’t stop you from getting sick of it after staring at it for years. Sometimes you have to step through a patch of blighted fungus just to remind yourself of the splendor.”

“That… certainly is a metaphor,” Arkk said slowly, earning another hearty laugh from Hawkwood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Vrox finally making it to the Duke. The moment he leaned down to whisper into the Duke’s ear, a cry ran through the crowd. Arkk tensed, spells tingling at the tip of his tongue. His shadow curled around him with no glowing suns shining from within but ready to act nonetheless.

Vrox moved as well. From across the room, Arkk couldn’t hear his words. It was clear he managed a spell. A barrier, much like the one Zullie had demonstrated during Arkk’s first encounter with the witch, formed around Vrox and the Duke well before Arkk could have managed the same elongated spell.

But the cry hadn’t come from near the throne. Distress and alarm rippled through the crowd not far from where Dakka stood halfway through the long room. The crowd swayed and parted just enough for Arkk to see a man on the ground with a pool of blood slowly spreading out from him. Dakka had left the servant she had been harassing, clearly on the lookout for what went wrong. A contingent of guards were quickly making their way to the commotion.

But Arkk found himself scowling. Everyone was staring at the body, backing away like it was the problem. Who had done it? Had nobody seen? Arkk looked away, scanning the crowd again. Vrox, hidden behind the opaque barrier, would be useless here. Even with a body on the floor, Arkk was the only one who knew there was an assassin around.

It didn’t take long to spot something amiss. A man moving between the guests headed away from the body and toward the throne. No one seemed to notice him. They were too focused on the commotion to notice the servant slipping between them with steps far too sure considering the situation.

For a long moment, Arkk just watched as the bald man stepped with confidence toward the throne. Morbid curiosity held his hand. What was the man’s plan? Did he know what Zullie’s spell did? How was he going to get past it and Vrox? Vrox and the few guards that had gathered around Vrox’s barrier.

Arkk stepped forward, wanting to see what this assassin planned, only to be held back by a tight grip around his arm.

Licking his lips, Arkk half turned his head without taking his eyes off the bald man. “There’s a man,” he started to whisper toward Hawkwood. “I think—”

A sharp gasp of air cut Arkk off. Arkk’s eyes widened as he tore his gaze off the bald man. Hawkwood’s face, contorted and twisted in surprise and pain, slackened quickly. The grip on Arkk’s arm loosened as the man slumped forward, falling flat on the ground with a long handle sticking out from his back.

Half-pulled to the ground by the falling Hawkwood, Arkk caught sight of a servant’s shoes retreating through the crowd that had been around him and Hawkwood. There was more than one assassin? Already, more cries rang through the room. Some around Arkk. Others, more distant. Other attacks? Or people finally realizing that there was genuine danger nearby?

Arkk threw one last look after the bald man making his way toward the far end of the room, lips pressed together. “Assassins!” he called out. “Dressed as servants!” The bald man heard, changing directions as he did. So did others. Arkk didn’t chase after the man himself. He had done his part. If the assassin wanted to kill the Duke, it wasn’t Arkk’s job to protect the man.

Hawkwood, on the other hand, was a friend and mentor. Ducking down, Arkk looked over the mercenary leader with a heavy frown on his face. A dagger jutted out from the man’s back. Blood was quickly soaking into the man’s silk suit.

Focusing a hand over Hawkwood’s back, Arkk took a breath, visualized hands knitting a sweater, and spoke. “Tenun bebarengan otot lan daging lan balung, gabungke rong bagean sing kapisah kanggo nggawe siji wutuh.”

With his free hand, Arkk grasped the hilt of the weapon left in Hawkwood’s back and swiftly pulled it out. It was a long, needle-like dagger. Jutting under the man’s ribcage at an angle, it could have easily pierced a kidney, lung, and even his heart all in one go. Not the kind of angle an amateur attacker would be able to pull off, especially while remaining unseen despite the distraction the other attack had caused.

The Flesh Weaving spell wasn’t meant for such deep wounds. It would work, but it forced Arkk to close his eyes and concentrate, shutting out all the surrounding shouts and cries for help and stomping of armored boots. Magic flooded into Hawkwood from the tips of Arkk’s fingers. He could picture clearly the weaving and knitting that the spell was doing inside the man. He had seen it on surface wounds often enough, melding and shaping flesh as it did. It had originally been designed for increasing muscle mass and mutating bodies in ways that weren’t natural—it had been a spell in that black book, after all—but it was doing an adequate job of sealing the wounds caused by the thin dagger. There wasn’t much flesh damaged, after all. Just a narrow puncture.

Unless the blade had been poisoned, Hawkwood should be in one piece when Arkk finished. If he was poisoned, this was useless. That didn’t mean Arkk wouldn’t try.

Arkk’s healing came to an abrupt stop. Starting from the inside and moving out, Hawkwood was hopefully out of immediate danger. He still had a hole in his back. But Arkk found his concentration disrupted as a spike of panic ran through him. A call he had only heard a handful of times before rang through his ears. One of his employees called for his attention.

Arkk, in a panic, quickly checked on those present. Dakka was trying to make her way towards him but a blockade of guards halted her progress. They weren’t attacking her—or even focused on her—they were just trying to gain control over the situation. Zullie, on the other hand, kept her back pressed up against the wall she had been leaning against while eyeing everyone nearby. Ilya stood with Alya, not far from the Duke’s throne and the bubble Vrox had created around himself and the Duke.

Yet the call wasn’t coming from any of them. It was someone afar. Further than the Primrose and the Cliff’s Edge. Further even than Fortress Al-Mir.

Far out on the western edge of the Duchy, an employee of Fortress Al-Mir that Arkk hadn’t even met properly stood on the edge of a plateau. The half-flopkin clutched a gold coin, holding it close to her chest like she was making a wish on it. Several other full-flopkins stood around, gazing off into the distance with fear-stricken faces. Unfortunately, Arkk couldn’t control his perspective while observing his employees. It was always a top-down view of their immediate surroundings and nothing more.

Something was happening. More slavers? Being able to respond to possible slaver threats was the whole reason Arkk had asked Ilya to head up to the flopkin village in the first place.

Concerning, but it wasn’t here. They weren’t fleeing in terror. Whatever was going on, it could wait until he had a moment to grab a crystal ball and examine the situation properly.

Although blood stained Hawkwood’s clothes—and Arkk’s own—the bleeding had mostly stopped. A quick repeat of the incantation let him pinch together the last of the wound. Hawkwood’s breathing was shallow and his pale pallor didn’t bode well, but at least he was breathing. Arkk didn’t think there was anything else he could do for the man.

Arkk tried to stand when a second cry for help struck him through the employee link. This one joined by an immediate sensation of pain and fear. It wasn’t the flopkin.

Ilya clutched her chest, looking down at far too much blood. The bald assassin shoved her aside, pulling out a dagger from her stomach before advancing on Alya. The older elf, fear on her face, stepped back from the assassin. Her step carried her outside Arkk’s perspective.

Arkk sat in shock for what felt like an eternity. The gears in his mind ground against each other. This was his fault. He had ignored the assassin, assuming his target to be the Duke. What had happened? Had the assassin gone after Alya when Ilya jumped in the way? Or what if the assassin didn’t know what his target looked like, only that it was an elf with silver hair. He might have decided to attack both. Or…

Or…

Fists clenched, Arkk stood, only to freeze as he found himself looking down the edge of a sword. A contingent of knights, bearing the emblem of the Duke on their ceremonial armor coverings, looked like they weren’t sure if they wanted to attack or flee from his presence. He had a feeling he knew why. The guards wore shiny, polished armor that looked like it had never seen proper combat. Ceremonial, likely. That shiny polish made the suits reflective.

Each of the soldiers had twin red lights gleaming off their armor. Even their tabards and the stone floor gleamed with bright red light. Brighter than Arkk had ever seen it before.

A man hunched over a bloody Hawkwood, casting spells with glowing red eyes, probably hadn’t been the best for optics. Arkk didn’t care. Certainly not now. He didn’t have time to try to explain away the misunderstanding.

He spoke one single word.

“Vezta.”

 

 

Arkk stood alone in a side hallway of the Duke’s manor. He wasn’t sure that he was supposed to be off on his own. In all the commotion of moving the guests around, no one had stopped him and right now, he just didn’t care.

Something about seeing Alya standing there behind the Duke ticked him off. He hadn’t meant to lash out. From Ilya’s account of their first visit to Cliff and the various people who had given him information on the Duke’s advisor, he knew that she wasn’t being held against her will. He thought he had been prepared to maintain a calm façade, carrying on the charade that was Company Al-Mir. Instead, he had lashed out, all but shouting at her for up and leaving without a word.

It was from seeing her. The way she stood behind the Duke like she was as trusted to that man as Ilya was to Arkk. Her clothing, a flowing dress with silk so fine that Arkk doubted anyone from Langleey had seen anything comparable. The dignified posture and slight smile on her face before she realized who he was…

All of it just stirred something inside him.

When he had left, Ilya had been talking to Alya. Arkk wasn’t sure what excuses Alya was coming up with but he hadn’t wanted to hear them. He made his excuses to the Duke and slipped away before he could say something he would end up regretting.

This party had been a bad idea. Not because it was a trap or because Vrox was present—though he wasn’t quite ruling that out yet despite Vrox’s words to the contrary—but just because this… everything disgusted Arkk. This party. The elites of society meandered about, feasting and celebrating nothing but themselves while, just a jaunt down the harbor, half the city lived in squalor. Non-humans were treated like trash while an elf ran about with such a fancy title as Vizier. The villages outside the city limits weren’t in much of a better state. High taxes forced villages like Langleey to overfarm, leaving little room for anything else, both physically and temporally.

On his first visit to the city, he hadn’t paid all that much attention. Fortress Al-Mir had been brand new at the time and he had other problems on his hands. The Duke living large and the people living small had just been how the world worked ever since he had been able to understand it. Maybe he could have done something then but he hadn’t been in the right mindset.

There was nothing that could be done about all those problems. He was a regular guy, not someone with the power and influence of the Duke. He couldn’t make large, sweeping changes that might affect thousands or tens of thousands.

He had been thinking too small.

Now, months down the line, he had stretched Fortress Al-Mir. Taken it out for a walk. He had defended villages, persuaded hostile beastmen to join his cause, defeated a contingent of inquisitors, and ridded the world of a blight of slavers. For the majority of those, he hadn’t even been in the vicinity of the actual fortress.

Early on, he had mentioned overthrowing the Duke to Vezta. He had been serious but he hadn’t really seen a way to do it, even with the supposed offerings Fortress Al-Mir could provide.

Now?

He was wondering why he had let the issue lie for months.

Not really. Obviously, there were issues. The number one of those being simple numbers. Twenty orcs, a few specialists, and, now, fresh recruits who might not even stick around if he started a war, wouldn’t be enough to take on armies. Even if he could somehow lure the armies to the fortress, the numbers alone would overwhelm him.

Although surely not his intention, Edvin’s actions that caused the recruitment spike might have been worth more than Arkk initially thought. Non-humans would likely jump at the chance to overthrow the Duke. Even humans, although treated better, might still be interested. Especially if they came from the most heavily taxed villages in the Duchy.

Then there were the promised allies from the Underworld.

He wouldn’t quite know what he had access to—or why people from an entirely different plane of reality might come to join him in a crusade unrelated to their current existence—until he completed the ritual. All he knew was what Vezta had told him. There would be magical beings interested in traversing the boundaries between worlds. They would likely wish to undo the Calamity as well, aligning themselves with that goal at the very least. As magical beings, they would require the support of the Heart to survive here. At least until the Calamity was reverted and magic could flow freely.

That was the real trick of it. Making sure everyone’s goals aligned.

The orcs would probably agree to anything. Theoretically, they didn’t have a choice if they didn’t want to be handed over to the Duke’s men given their raider pasts but… Arkk wasn’t quite so willing to hold that over their heads at this point. They had been through too much together. Arkk was fairly confident that they were entirely for a good—or at least successful—fight no matter who their opponents were.

The gorgon would be harder to convince. Arkk had enticed them to Fortress Al-Mir with promises of safety and security from an invading army. While a few of them were willing to help out with things like the slavers, he wasn’t sure how they might react to more. It would be something to think about and feel out a bit with Khan and Zharja.

Savren was a criminal and didn’t have a choice. Unlike the orcs… Arkk didn’t particularly like the man. Or perhaps it was easier to say that the man wasn’t a very likable person. Zullie, on the other hand, might have qualms. At the same time, if Arkk ended up fighting off the inquisitors and the Abbey of the Light as a whole, the freedom to research whatever she wanted would be an enticing reward for helping out.

As for the thieves, Arkk wondered if he could drag them into this. Lexa had jumped at the idea of riches. A gold piece a month was enough to buy her loyalty. At least for the moment. Would others jump at the opportunity—

“Master.”

Plots and plans flew from Arkk’s mind as his bones leaped out of his skin. The familiar yet completely unexpected voice of Vezta at his back had his heart hammering in his chest. He turned, hand over his heart, expecting to find the servant standing in the otherwise deserted corridor. Instead, he found a stalk of oily, violet-hued flesh sticking out of an oily shadow that didn’t quite fit with the lighting in the hallway. An uncannily humanoid mouth topped the stalk, aimed in his direction.

For as used to Vezta as Arkk had grown, she really had a way of unsettling him every now and then.

“I don’t mean to disturb you—”

“Too late,” Arkk grumbled, looking around. He didn’t think Vezta would do this if anyone could see. It still felt dangerous.

“But,” she continued, undaunted. “I must inform you that I smell bodily fluids.”

Arkk frowned. He didn’t think she had startled him that much. Taking a whiff of the air, he wrinkled his nose. The fetid stench of a latrine filled his nostrils. Beyond the rank scent, a metallic undercurrent stung his senses. A familiar scent, both from his days as a hunter and his more recent job as a mercenary leader.

Blood.

“I smell it too,” he said, wondering how distracted he must have been to have missed it. “Hide again. We don’t know how many of the walls here have eyes.”

Whatever corridor he found himself in appeared deserted, that didn’t mean it actually was.

It was a servant’s hall, he assumed, something they used to travel around the manor unseen. It was far too narrow for a man like the Duke. Not in the sense that he was overweight, merely that his status inflated him beyond the need to travel through a poorly lit, cramped corridor. Arkk hadn’t been traveling through it. He was pacing back and forth as he worked out his mental frustrations over the situation.

Having delved so deeply into his thoughts, he wasn’t sure which direction to head nor which of the many doors along the walls would get him back to the party and the guards who would surely want to know about this.

That scent grew stronger as he picked a direction at random, forcing him to pull the corner of cloth from his breast pocket to hold over his mouth. It probably meant that he was heading the wrong way. Just as he was about to turn around, he spotted a door ajar not far ahead. Curiosity got the better of him and he approached, peeking inside.

Dim, worn glowstones embedded in the ceiling provided enough light to see by. It was some kind of storage room. Large tarps wrapped around old, unused furniture. Chairs were stacked up along one wall and a table with its legs removed sat against another. Shelves, boxes, and a tall armoire littered the rest of the room.

The armoire drew Arkk’s attention. It was hard not to, what with the arm dangling from its partially opened wardrobe door. The strong stench of a fresh latrine was coming from it as well. Stepping into the storage room, Arkk pulled open the armoire’s door.

A filth-covered man slumped out of the closet, falling to the ground hard enough to make Arkk wince. Not that the man felt a thing. His throat had been slit, leaving lifeless eyes staring up at Arkk.

Arkk wondered if he should have been more repulsed or panicked at seeing a dead body. As a hunter, he had seen his fair share of dead animals. Humans, however, should have been unnerving. Yet this was probably the hundredth body he had seen in the past month alone. Rather than disturbed, Arkk found himself more curious about why the body was entirely naked.

It was fresh. He could tell that much from experience, even if he wasn’t an expert. Within the last hour, he guessed. What had happened? A lover’s tryst gone wrong? That would explain the lack of attire. Except clothes would have been scattered about unless the man and his lover had traveled through the halls in the nude. There were no clothes anywhere in sight. Not to mention, a tryst going wrong feels like it would have been more of an impulsive kill. The surgical slash across the man’s neck looked far too… steady. Planned or, at least, practiced.

In fact, the slit across the man’s throat brought up memories of how Lexa had dispatched the slaver beastmasters.

He quickly checked on his stealthy employee, making sure that she wasn’t somewhere nearby. To Arkk’s relief, he found her in a tavern somewhere, casually lifting a coin purse off a man who was distracted by conversation with Edvin.

He… probably should have a chat with them about that later.

Shaking his head, Arkk backed away from the body. Guards could figure out why and how the man died. Being caught standing over it wouldn’t be a good look.

Turning, Arkk froze with a cold sweat dripping down his back.

Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox stood tall in the doorway, watching the situation with no sign of his vapid smile anywhere to be seen. “You didn’t think I would let you slip off on your own, did you?”

Arkk clenched his jaw, staring up at the tall man. “I had nothing—”

“Relax, Arkk,” Vrox said, tone serious as he swept into the room. Arkk tensed, doubly so as his shadow started roiling. However, Vrox merely stopped at his side, looking down at the body with a frown. “Not only was I following you, I told you that I studied you,” he said as he crouched down. He grasped the body’s head by the hair, looking at the man’s face before moving on to one of the man’s hands. “Murdering a random servant isn’t in my profile of you. Regardless of our… disagreements, you didn’t kill this man.”

Arkk let out a small breath. That… was good, right? Vrox could have used the situation to arrest him, he was sure. But instead, the man was inspecting the body.

“Servant?”

“His hair isn’t styled in the manner of the wealthy. It is grimy and unclean. Could be a guard but his hands aren’t calloused like those of someone who trains in martial combat.”

Arkk frowned down at the body. Hawkwood, during his first encounter with White Company’s leader, had pulled a similar trick, identifying Arkk as a peasant who recently came into wealth as easily as Arkk could spot the difference between a cow and a dog.

“I’ve seen kills like this before,” Arkk said, making a snap decision to assist Vrox. Not only would it hopefully keep Vrox from changing his mind about trying to have him arrested, a rather selfish aim, but it would hopefully help bring some solace to the man’s family if justice was done. Disgust with the Duke aside, the Duke’s household staff were probably innocent. “Professional, clean cut.”

“As have I,” Vrox said, looking up to the armoire. “The body was sloppily hidden.”

“Bodies are heavy,” Arkk said, again from experience. “Picking it up off the ground to shove into the armoire’s closet would have been a good amount of work for someone. Especially if they were in a hurry or…” Arkk blinked twice. “Or didn’t need it to be hidden for long. His clothes are missing. A servant’s clothes are missing.”

If this wasn’t a tryst gone wrong… if this was fully planned by someone who knew what they were doing…

“Assassin,” Vrox said, standing abruptly.

It would have been easy. Slip in during a crowded night and take a servant’s clothes. How many people knew the faces of every servant? The Duke and Alya didn’t, that much Arkk already knew from their reactions to the tall tale Zullie had spun. The majordomo might have known. Maybe a few other servants. In all the commotion of the evening, especially after all the guests had to move across the manor…

Arkk blinked in realization. Zullie had said that she hadn’t touched the lights. Even when Vrox had left and before the Duke arrived, she had said that it wasn’t her. He had thought she was just covering for herself but there was no need to lie to him. He wouldn’t care if she blew up the Duke’s manor. He might even give her a bonus.

“Zullie wasn’t lying about it not being her.”

“Excuse me?”

“The lights. They blew up. It wasn’t Zullie. She was telling the truth about the overload.”

Vrox’s eyes widened behind his glasses ever so slightly. “To get the guests to move. They must have needed a different room for some reason.” He turned toward the door but paused. “Why do you sound so surprised about her words?”

“Did you believe her when she said it wasn’t her?”

Vrox considered then shook his head.

Arkk just shrugged. “Same.”

Vrox didn’t say a word in response. He turned back to the hall. Arkk, figuring he knew which way to get back to the party, hurried alongside him.

“I trust you, Arkk.”

Arkk blinked at the sudden vote of confidence. “What?”

“Let me rephrase,” Vrox said without a pause in his steps. “I trust in my profile of you, Arkk. All of your actions demonstrate a need to help those less fortunate than you, those who find themselves in danger, and those whom you have personally impacted. You play the role of an idealistic hero. Do not betray that trust.”

“Don’t betray the… trust you have in your profile.”

Vrox half-turned his head, a vacant smile in place. “Now you’re getting it.”

Arkk disagreed. He wasn’t quite sure how Vrox could say that he trusted him even in such a roundabout way. If a fight broke out, Arkk doubted he could ever trust Vrox at his back. Even if they had a common enemy, he could just imagine that man waiting for the opportune moment to slip a dagger into his back. But then, perhaps that was just what the inquisitor was saying. Arkk didn’t think he was the kind of person to do that. At least not to Vrox. Assault on the fortress aside, they really hadn’t had poor interactions. Disagreements, as Vrox had put it, but nothing overtly hostile. Even the assault was the inquisitor carrying out his misguided duty to either rid the world of Vezta or control her.

Vrox paused in front of a door near the end of the corridor, hand on the handle. “Act as naturally as possible. If our assassin realizes that he has been discovered, he may take drastic and catastrophic action.”

“Right.”

Vrox threw open the door and immediately clamped a firm hand around Arkk’s shoulder. A spike of panic shot through Arkk, fearing he had been lulled into a false sense of security. That panic faded as he realized this was natural. The inquisitor ushered him into the large throne room where most of the guests had assembled.

That firm hand stayed on Arkk’s shoulder until they walked a few paces from the walls. Vrox didn’t handle him roughly. Sternly, yes. Arkk doubted his suit would even be wrinkled.

“Leave the gathering again at your own peril,” Vrox said, tone harsh.

“Just got lost,” Arkk grumbled, catching on quickly. “I clearly don’t know my way around as well as you. I’m surprised the Abbey sends you here often enough that you’ve learned its layout.”

“My duties carry me to a great many places. Some pleasant, some I’d rather not visit if at all possible.”

Arkk raised an eyebrow, wondering what the inquisitor was referring to. The Duke’s party? Or maybe the fortress? Or maybe they were just empty words for the charade they were putting on. Whatever the case, Vrox didn’t elaborate. He let go of Arkk’s shoulder.

“I’m looking out for anything suspicious,” he said, making deliberate eye contact. “This is your only warning.” Without waiting for Arkk to respond, he turned away, scanning the room once before making his way through the nearby onlookers.

Arkk shuffled his shoulders, straightening out his suit. A good dozen people, some of whom he had been introduced to even if he failed to recall their names, were watching him with expressions ranging from disapproval to moderated curiosity. Arkk didn’t find himself all that concerned with their stares. It was hard to feel self-conscious at the moment.

Not while there was an assassin somewhere in the crowd.

 

 

 

For all the negativity he had heard with regard to these monthly parties and his own biases against the Duke, Arkk couldn’t say that the party was bad. Strange and alien, yes. Social rituals were being conducted all around him, ones he didn’t quite understand nor could he participate in.

Arkk, led through the ballroom first by Hawkwood and then by Aron Wolf, bounced from group to group. He barely had time to talk to any of them before being whisked off to be introduced to the next little clique. Zullie, Ilya, and even Dakka were nowhere to be seen. None had alerted him to any problems…

If he were being honest, he wished one of them would have a problem just so that he could disentangle himself from smiling at some old man who was droning on about how well the glassblowing industry had faired this year. Arkk kept up a polite smile, not sure what to say or do. Aron occasionally interjected with his commentary on whatever business ventures he had entered into recently, mostly discussing his plans for Darkwood come spring.

At its base, the party was a festive feast. Not altogether unlike a good meal after a bountiful harvest back at Langleey. Yet the whole affair was so… subdued. People stood around, talking and making business deals rather than celebrating. This wasn’t exactly a celebration so maybe that was understandable. Still, it just felt off to Arkk. Then there was the food and drink. People drank but not like at a proper feast. They sipped at tall glasses, metering and measuring how much they consumed. The food was slightly less surprising, if only thanks to Hawkwood’s invitation to dinner upon Arkk’s arrival to Cliff. It consisted of a dozen plates of what was effectively samplings of a proper meal, though, as of yet, that proper meal had yet to be served.

“Ah!” Aron said, interrupting his own words. He reached out and patted the old glassblower on the arm. “I’ve spotted Geralt. I simply have to speak with him this evening.” He paused and glanced toward Arkk. “Head of a woodworking guild who I’m hoping to court to produce end products,” he explained. “Care to meet him?”

“That’s… very kind of you,” Arkk said, trying to avoid looking like he was searching for an escape while still looking for one. If he were being honest, he very much wished that he was still being led around by Hawkwood. At least the man’s mercenary contacts were more… interesting than hearing about trade commissions all evening.

Thankfully and luckily with perfect timing, someone in the room screamed. A sharp note of surprise, not pain. An instant later, blinding white light reflected off the slanted panes of glass overhead, making Arkk blink for a moment before an entire corner of the room went dark.

“But I should see what this is all about,” he said, moving quickly before Aron had time to protest. It helped that the man—and the other businessmen in this group—were looking around with obvious shock and surprise, trying to figure out if something dangerous was going on.

Arkk wasn’t concerned. At least not that the party was under attack. Weaving through pockets of people, he made it to the end of the room just after a small contingent of guards. Judging by the looks on their faces, the guards hadn’t expected anything to go amiss. They probably worked at a ton of these events, all of which went smoothly. Of course, all those events hadn’t had Zullie in attendance.

“—flimsy filigree! It is no fault of mine that the Duke’s contractors couldn’t build the ritual array to last! I was just looking! I didn’t even touch it.”

“—staring at it all night! I watched her walk around the column no less than eight times.”

“—tried to make it look like she slipped but she did something when she touched it. There was a flash. I saw it! Everyone saw it!”

A small crowd stood around in the darkened corner of the room, all talking at once. The poor guards were looking back and forth, trying to sort out the stories. It was clear that none of the guards were leader-types as none had taken charge. Figuring it was best to get in before things could degrade, Arkk started forward and froze.

A tall man broke the barrier formed by the crowd before Arkk could. Hands clasped behind his back and wearing an empty smile, Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox reached the pillar in just a few quick strides of his long legs.

“Zullie, Zullie, Zullie. How lovely to see you again.”

A change rippled over the crowd. If these people didn’t know who Vrox was, the gleaming silver pin of an eye with a bar through it told them enough. Many onlookers turned, not-so-subtly edging away from the area. If an inquisitor was involved, they didn’t want to look like they might have had anything to do with the problem. Even the guards, while immediately deferring to the inquisitor, shuffled in obvious discomfort.

Arkk, for his part, remained in the wings, watching to see how the situation played out. If Zullie looked like she was in trouble, he would jump in without hesitation. Until that moment, however, he wanted a better read on the situation. This was the first they had seen of the inquisitors. It had gotten to the point where Arkk figured they just didn’t care. Vrox knew that Zullie worked with Arkk and, by extension, the ‘being from beyond the stars’ as well. Zullie had even fought against Vrox during the invasion of the false fortress, though she hadn’t played a very focal role.

How Vrox interacted with Zullie would tell Arkk a great deal about how the inquisitor might treat him. Would a fight break out right here in the middle of the party? Would Vrox act cordial as he had their first few encounters? Was he upset and holding a grudge? Was it just business?

“Darius,” Zullie said, tone cool and with a note of familiarity. “Finally decided to crawl out from under your church to harass a respectable researcher more intelligent than yourself again?”

“I would never describe you as any of those three words,” Vrox said, tightening his smile ever so slightly. His eyes flicked up to the top of the pillar, which, Arkk noted, was leaking a bit of smoke. Thankfully, the glass ceiling had panels that could be opened. The room wasn’t filling up. “You overloaded the array. Beginner’s mistake.”

“If someone had designed a proper shunt, it wouldn’t have been possible to overload. Not that I did. I was just looking when the cycling magic overloaded itself.”

“Ah yes. Spontaneous overload. One of your earlier research projects. You wrote a paper on the subject that almost got you laughed out of the academy. A way of excusing your mistakes in array construction, so claimed your peers, with no factual basis in reality. Haven’t heard a word about it in the years since.”

“The context of those essays was overlooked,” Zullie snapped, stomping her foot. “Spontaneous overload only occurs in planar arrays that fail to compensate. Not regular ritual circles. Everyone ignored that bit… And I didn’t shut up about it because my ‘peers’ mocked me.” She used her fingers to accentuate the comment. “I dropped the research because you came knocking at my door.”

“I recall that conversation. Early in my career, I was a little more generous. Shouldn’t have let you go free, should I have?”

Zullie shifted, looking a little less confident. She adjusted her glasses in a way that Arkk had come to understand meant uncertainty. “I appreciated it,” she hedged.

“Well—”

“Darius Vrox,” Arkk said, deciding to not let his employee suffer any other threats to her life. “How good to see you again.”

“Arkk,” the man said, turning. His circular glasses slid down his nose as he looked down from his height. “I heard you were in town,” he added, tone as flat as Arkk’s.

“I’m hurt you didn’t come visit. I was expecting you from the very first day and you never showed.”

“That, Arkk, is exactly why I didn’t come. You’re one of those types who isn’t as clever as you think you are. The difference between you and those incompetents is that you have a frankly absurd degree of luck to fall back on,” Vrox said. His smile slipped during the latter part of his comment. Taking a breath, he let it out as a long sigh before smiling once again.

“I try,” Arkk said. “I think I’m getting better.”

“That concerns me.” Vrox cast a glance around the room. “You didn’t bring the purifier with you?”

“Agnete said that she isn’t interested in these kinds of things. Even if she was…”

“You wouldn’t want to put all these people in danger,” Vrox finished, nodding his head.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to. I know the purifier. Though not as well as I had thought. I honestly expected you to slip up and leave the Binding Agent aside, opening yourself to incineration. I suppose that was too much to hope for.”

“She isn’t that bad.”

Vrox hummed a note of disagreement.

“So,” Arkk said, eyes flicking down to his shadow just to confirm that it stretched a little too long. With the column in front of him darkened and the rest of the room lit, it reached clear across the space to Vrox. “What now? Fight? Try to arrest us?”

“Unless you’ve come with war in mind, not today, Arkk. Hardly a suitable location for it here, is it? No. I’ve studied your movements and actions for the past several months. You aren’t the type to place unrelated people in danger. I am not either.” He shook his head, looking mildly upset despite his words.

“You sent random people searching through the Cursed Forest.”

“And none were harmed,” Vrox said with the worst smile. Like he knew that there had been no danger in the first place. He was right. It still irritated Arkk. “Arresting you would be within the realm of reasonable action. If I thought it would work. I do not believe you would have come here without some trickery or foolhardy plan on how you might extricate yourself.”

At that, Arkk dipped his head in acknowledgment. That one was true and Arkk didn’t mind admitting it if it was a factor in not trying to arrest him. “So what then? Smile and wave and go our separate ways?”

“It isn’t too late to avoid all conflict. Have you given any further thought to our last discussion?”

Arkk blinked, taking a moment to remember. His first thoughts were of the invasion of the fortress. Aside from panicking over an unleashed Agnete, they hadn’t talked about much during that fight. The last discussion had taken place in Langleey just after he sent Hale and John off to the fortress to keep them out of the inquisitor’s hands.

“About handing over my companions?” Arkk asked with narrowed eyes. “I haven’t spared a single second thinking over such nonsense.”

“Shame.” Vrox’s eyes flicked up and over Arkk’s shoulder. Arkk didn’t turn. Although he couldn’t see any eyes lighting up his shadow, he trusted Vezta to have at least some awareness of their surroundings. If someone was sneaking up on him, she would react. “Very well, Arkk. I trust you to not cause issues tonight.”

Trust. An odd way to put it. Arkk doubted he would have trusted Vrox if the man were wandering around Fortress Al-Mir during a party. Nevertheless, Vrox clasped his hands behind his back once again and started away. The guards watched him go, still unsure about what to do with the situation. They had been hoping the inquisitor would definitively resolve it and he clearly had not.

Arkk took advantage of their uncertainty, rushing forward and taking Zullie by the arm. “What were you doing?” he whispered, trying to lead her away. “Blowing up their lights like that?”

“I didn’t. I was just looking. There is something unusual about the lights here. The light isn’t generated normally and it isn’t emitted as a byproduct like what happens with a flame. It is… siphoned from somewhere. Planar magic. Right in the open and on full display.”

Arkk stopped short, glancing back. He had thought he understood the array when he saw it. Granted, he had only looked briefly before his attentions were stolen away by the rest of the party. His studies hadn’t reached a point where he had started learning anything about planar magic, unfortunately. He only knew how to draw out teleportation circles from rote memorization, not from any actual knowledge of the subject.

“You’re sure?”

“It is subtle,” Zullie admitted. “But it is there.”

“Where is the light coming from?”

Zullie shrugged. “That’s what I was trying to figure out. Could be the other side of the world where the sun is still up. Could be… elsewhere.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“How am I supposed to know that? I don’t even know where it is coming from. Unless it is brand new, other parties have been held here and nobody has—”

“What is the meaning of this?” a deep voice bellowed in anger.

Arkk hid the grimace that appeared on his face as fast as it came. He wished for a moment that he hadn’t stopped to look back at the column. It was a silly wish. The guards wouldn’t have taken any time to track him down if he stayed at the party.

Now, he had to deal with the main man.

Arkk had never before met—or even seen—the Duke Levi Woldair. That didn’t mean he didn’t recognize the man before him instantly. He had heard from Ilya, from Aron Wolf, and from Hawkwood what the man was like and how he looked.

With bloated cheeks, a round belly, and eyes a smidge too large for his face, the man looked like a toad. A toad dressed in a flashy red and black suit with thick lapels. Golden thread adorned the hems of his suit jacket, the legs of his pants, and even the ruffled ascot tucked down his front. More gold bands wrapped around each of the man’s thick fingers. Enough to buy a small room back at Fortress Al-Mir.

But Arkk’s eyes lingered on the red-faced man for only a moment. The figure behind him, standing tall with an uncomfortably familiar ethereal grace, stole his attention. Her long hair flowed behind her, draped over her bare shoulders above her light gray dress. There was no doubt about her identity. If there had been, the way her sharp silver eyes flicked over Arkk, Zullie, and the pillar would have removed any uncertainty. It was the same look Arkk had seen a million times while Ilya was out tracking down game.

Although, when she looked at him, Arkk failed to see any familiar recognition in Alya’s eyes. He supposed that made sense. It had been fifteen years since she last saw him. He had been a boy. A peasant at that, off in some backwater village that most of the Kingdom had likely never heard about. Now, he wore fine clothes and stood with dignity among those who would have passed him by with an upturned nose before.

Hopefully, the back of his neck wasn’t quite so sun-worn now.

“Duke Woldair,” Arkk started, forcing his eyes off Alya before she realized how much he was staring. “Pleasure to finally make—”

“Enough,” the man interrupted, face turning shades of purple that couldn’t be healthy. “What happened?” he said through grit teeth. It wasn’t too surprising given what Arkk knew about the man. He valued appearances and wealth. Having a whole corner of his ballroom plunged into darkness with smoke billowing out from the skylight wasn’t the best look.

And Arkk didn’t quite know how to answer him. So he looked to Zullie.

The witch rolled her eyes before donning the fakest smile Arkk had ever seen. “I’m a magical researcher with Company Al-Mir. While enjoying your fine festivities, I started hearing a fizzling noise. A sure sound of improperly vented magical circles. Following my ears, I found the source to be the lighting ritual here,” she said, motioning back toward the pillar. “I began a cursory examination. Following the Keppler array and applying Ragnold’s transvector theorem, I deduced the problem as a violation of Leibniz archaeo-ingnem horaspace directional slipstream. Unfortunately, before I could figure out a way to properly vent the system of excess magical energy… well…” Zullie glanced up, looking and sounding genuinely sorry.

Arkk just stared at her. He had only been properly studying magic for a few months now and only between all his other tasks. Still, he was fairly certain that he should have heard of at least one of those things she mentioned. He hadn’t. Had she made it all up? Arkk honestly could not tell.

At least the Duke looked less angry and more confused. He clearly had even less of a background in magical studies than Arkk did. “This room was built in my grandfather’s time and has never had a problem.”

“Not surprising,” Zullie answered instantly. “An issue like this is only apparent if the one activating the array has a drastically above-average capacity for magic. Fairly rare. Was someone new in charge of turning on the lights this evening?”

Woldair shared a look with Alya. It was clear that neither knew. Arkk doubted that the Duke involved himself in what was likely the duties of the lowest servants. Arkk wasn’t exactly sure what role Alya played. From what he had heard, she had served as some kind of advisor for the last five years or so. Managing servants was probably not among her duties either.

After frowning up at the thin layer of smoke that wasn’t quite venting out the open windows fast enough, the Duke looked back to the main entrance and made a swift motion with his hand. One of the finely dressed men announcing incoming guests hurried over.

“Majordomo,” the Duke said, sounding far more reasonable now that he wasn’t apoplectic. “Have tables set up in the throne room. Have the guests head to the entrance hall for the time being. We can’t carry on here.”

The servant nodded without a word, turned, and made a few hand motions of his own that gathered a few other servants to his side. They quickly left, departing the room while others began ushering the guests out. Arkk noted Dakka among the first few out the door, talking with what was likely the only other orc in the room.

“Company Al-Mir, you said? I appreciate your efforts at preventing this, even if they failed,” the Duke said, clearly skeptical still. Perhaps he just didn’t want to make more of a scene. “I’ve heard of you. Got the mines of Silver City running again?”

“Yes sir,” Arkk said, hoping his smile didn’t look too forced. Being recognized startled him somewhat. Given that their invitation had been forged, this was the moment when everything might crash down around them.

“A good metal,” the Duke said, nodding his head. Or maybe not. As with the lighting arrangements, the Duke didn’t send out invitations himself. “Not my favorite. It tarnishes too quickly.”

Arkk just kept his smile, not sure what to say to that. Eyes flicking down to the rings on the Duke’s fingers, he had a feeling he knew what metal was his favorite.

“I heard you turned down the reward.”

“The city looked like it needed all the help it could get. Taking what little they had wouldn’t have helped.”

“A man should be entitled to the fruits of his efforts,” the Duke said.

“In that, we agree completely,” Arkk said, trying to keep anything unpleasant out of his voice. Hoping he hadn’t slipped up, he quickly added on, “It was really no effort at all. I just asked the gorgon to move somewhere a little less disruptive.”

“If that was all,” the Duke said, relaxing even more than before. He stepped forward with a smile slowly forming on his face, making him look even more like a toad. “I can’t say I’m upset that you didn’t take my silver.”

Arkk’s eyebrow twitched as Woldair laughed and clapped a hand on his arm.

“That isn’t the first reward you turned down for a job well done if I remember right. Keep that up and you’ll go far indeed. Some of these mercenaries are greedy beyond belief.”

Arkk doubted any mercenary company could turn down rewards while still paying their men. Fortress Al-Mir was a bit special in that regard.

“Arkk was it?”

“Yes sir. Leader of Company Al-Mir. This is Zullie, my chief magical researcher. My field commander, Dakka, just got swept out into the hall with some of the other guests.” Arkk paused, turning slightly. “My second in command is standing just over there.”

Through his employee link, Arkk could see exactly where Ilya was and the conflicted, hesitant expression on her face as she watched the goings on.

The Duke turned to follow his gaze. Alya did as well. The Duke’s eyes took on a far more disgusting look as he mumbled something about “A man after my own heart.” Arkk had nothing polite to say about that and kept his mouth firmly shut.

Alya, on the other hand, drew in a sharp breath of air. She hadn’t reacted upon seeing him or even hearing his name. If the Duke knew this much about him, she had probably heard it before. It was very likely that she hadn’t thought he was the same Arkk that she had helped raise for a little under a decade. Arkk doubted he was the only one with his name in the whole Duchy let alone the greater Kingdom.

Seeing Ilya standing off to the side, however, dispelled any notions that he was someone else. She placed a hand on her chest, wrinkling her dress as she stared at Ilya. Through obvious force of will, she managed to look back to Arkk with renewed interest, looking him up and down with nostalgia in her eyes.

“Arkk?”

“Ah,” the Duke started before Arkk could say a word. “My vizier, Alya.”

“Yes. I’ve… heard of her. Though she is nothing like I imagined.” Namely, a slave chained to a dungeon wall, not someone high in the Duke’s confidence.

“Exotic and beautiful,” the Duke said, nodding his head in total agreement with nothing Arkk meant. “I have a taste for good… people,” he added with a wink.

“People…” Arkk said with an ill feeling in his stomach. He shook his head and smiled once again. “Does she ever write home to her family?”

Woldair propped an eyebrow up, not quite understanding. Alya, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes.

“Ilya, my second in command over there, worries a lot about her family. She frets and fears the worst. Just a few months ago, she made her way back home only to find out that the place had been raided by slavers. The poor woman was beside herself, thinking her entire family were slaves, sold off to the most deplorable sorts for reasons nobody wanted to think about.”

“The Duchy condemns slavery,” the Duke said, frowning as he started looking around.

“Oh yes, officially. Rogue elements still operate between burgs. Company Al-Mir just took out a large slavery operation near Moonshine Burg.”

“Terrible business…”

“Indeed. But just imagine poor Ilya’s surprise when she found out that one of her family wasn’t sold off at all but was leading those slavers.”

“Arkk…” Alya said, fully frowning now. “You don’t understand…”

“Oh? I don’t, do I?” Arkk asked, anger rising. “I was there, seeing everything with my own eyes. Saw Ilya’s mother cavorting with—”

“Arkk!”

Arkk clamped his jaw shut, looking to where Ilya was hurrying over.

“That’s enough,” she said, voice cracking. “That’s enough.”

Arkk disagreed. Fifteen years, they thought Alya was some slave to the Duke, taken against her will. Yet here she was, standing tall next to the Duke. He didn’t know the dynamics of the situation exactly but he was willing to bet that she was one of the more powerful people in the Duchy in terms of politics. Vizier? And she couldn’t even write a letter to her daughter?

But he didn’t open his mouth again. He was fairly certain that, despite speaking obtusely, he was going to be thrown out of the party if he kept talking. If not by the Duke, then by Alya. So, after lightly resting a hand on Ilya’s shoulder, he stepped back.

“Ilya,” Alya said, word careful and guarded.

“Hello, mother.”

 

 

“I feel like an impostor.”

“We are impostors,” Ilya said, fiddling with the sleeves of her dress. She grasped hold of long, dangling strips of cloth. “What are these for? Can’t I cut them off?”

Arkk looked over her. Madame Webb’s Fine Threads had come through. Last night, the day before the party, Arkk had received the delivery at the Cliff’s Edge. Clothes for himself, Ilya, Dakka, and Zullie.

Ilya’s dress was a long white gown that hugged her waist and left the tops of her shoulders bare, save for a single white strap on each keeping the dress up. Long sleeves looked relatively normal right up until they reached her wrists, at which point the cloth hung down for almost another arm’s length, drifting loosely in the wind. Down at her feet, her dress spread out over the floor of the carriage, leaving her feet hidden.

“And what’s with the tightness around the knees? I can barely walk.”

“The tailor assured us that this was current fashion,” Arkk said, forcing his eyes back to Ilya’s face. He had been somewhat skeptical as well. The bare shoulders especially. The bare shoulders with sleeves extra especially. He couldn’t fault the end result, however. “You look beautiful.”

Ilya glanced aside. Embarrassed? Her expression quickly switched to a flat look that she leveled at Arkk. “Like I can trust your opinion.”

“You’ll draw every eye there, I’m sure of it.”

Ilya put up one eyebrow. “Is that a good thing?”

“I… don’t know. I might get a bit jealous if too many good-looking young men approach you.”

Ilya pressed her lips together. He expected some admonishment about how who she interacted with would be her decision. “Frankly,” she said instead, “I don’t think I want anyone at one of these parties to approach me. I spoke with that Wolf guy’s daughter once or twice over the week. She had nothing good to say about anything.”

“If anyone bothers you, we can handle it. Though let’s try to avoid making too big of a scene.”

“And if the Duke bothers me?”

Arkk’s teeth clenched together, unable to keep his irritation at the thought from his face. “We’re not peasants. We have status and renown. He can’t just… steal you away.”

“If he does?”

“Then we switch to Plan D,” Arkk said, voice hard.

Ilya stiffened then, slowly, smiled as she nodded to herself. It was a small thing. A shy smile that made Arkk’s heart calm.

“What if he comes after me, boss?”

Arkk turned, pulling his eyes away from Ilya. He had almost forgotten that there were others in the carriage with them.

Dakka sat across from him, leaning against a wooden panel next to the carriage door. Bare shoulders were surprising on Ilya. Arkk wasn’t quite sure what to think about Dakka’s dress. Madame Webb had never designed for an orc before and, given the short notice with which they needed attire, had instead cobbled together a few different pieces that she had lying about. Madame Webb had claimed that she wished to show off the orc physique with her creation. Arkk was fairly certain that she simply didn’t have the time to sew together enough cloth.

The end result was bare arms and a bare midriff. Dark blue cloth, sprinkled with lighter blue highlights woven into the fabric, criss-crossed over Dakka’s chest, looping around her neck and the middle of her back. A light gray sash looped around her waist, underneath which long strips of the same blue cloth hung down to her ankles. Part of the lower dress was split, letting her walk a whole lot easier than Ilya while showing off one of her legs.

Dakka didn’t look bad. Quite the opposite. It was strange and unusual attire. If he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Dakka said that she came from some far-off kingdom where the weather was always warm. He was sure that the wealthy and elite would balk at the multitude of scars adorning her tan skin but Arkk thought they added a bit of character. They and her impressive muscles showed off that she was a warrior.

Arkk had thought she might balk at the dress. He had been right, though for the wrong reasons. Her main issue wasn’t in the attire itself but rather the lack of weapons at her side.

“Stare too much and the elf will get jealous,” Dakka said with a grin. Confident in her tone yet he could see the way her hand hovered where her axe should have been.

Ilya scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Oh? I saw you watching Arkk just now, looking for his reaction to me.”

“You misunderstand. I watched in the hopes that you would take this love-struck fool off my—”

“If you people are done with your primitive mating rituals,” Zullie cut in, looking irritated as she adjusted her glasses. “We’re crossing the drawbridge to the Duke’s Manor now.”

Zullie wore something more akin to Ilya’s dress. Bare shoulders—though her black dress had three sets of straps over each shoulder, one vertical, one at an angle, and the last parallel to the ground. A crescent moon cutout on the front of her chest had some semi-transparent sheer cloth over the top. The same material adorned her waist, loose as it draped down to the floor. Some thicker cloth underneath covered her legs. Rather than sleeves, she wore long black gloves that stretched up above her elbows.

“You look good too, Zullie,” Arkk said with a smaller smile.

The woman just scoffed. “I can’t believe I’m here. I would rather be back at the stayover, reading through the books we stole. Ugh. I can’t believe Savren was right about the counter-clockwise magic collision problem. Where did he even learn about that? But I was right about the anti-magic seepage barrier. Planar magic is far more chaotic than mind—”

“Should we be talking about that here?” Ilya asked, looking around with obvious discomfort. As if someone might hear them talking.

Technically, their coachman wasn’t part of Company Al-Mir. Rather, someone in Hawkwood’s employ whom he had hired to take them to the manor. But the carriage was fully enclosed. Unless they raised their voices, they shouldn’t be heard that easily.

Despite Ilya’s concerns, Arkk leaned forward, interested. “Katja can provide ten spellcasters. With what you know now, is that enough? Do we need to find a few more?”

“That should be enough. The ritual should only need minor alterations at this point. I’ll know more once I get back and can do some proper calculations.”

“Good,” Arkk said, sitting back. As he did so, he felt something else move at his side.

The other member of their group had been leaning forward as well.

“Excited?”

Vezta hummed. She was the only one in the carriage who did not have fanciful attire on. She didn’t even have her heavy cloak. Vezta sat in her usual body, white and dark violet in parts that gave off the impression of clothing. A multitude of her golden eyes swiveled in their starfields to focus on him. “Breaching the Calamity and reaching the Underworld will be a great step toward undoing the Calamity in its entirety. I’m surprised at how close that task feels after a thousand years of stagnation.”

“I’m surprised you sat around in the fortress for a thousand years.”

“I could not leave the Heart,” she said simply, not using the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE] for perhaps the first time. Arkk had specifically asked her not to do anything that might draw extra attention to them. While employees of Fortress Al-Mir seemed fine with hearing the language, anyone else got headaches, stabbing pains, or just feelings of deep discomfort. “The Heart is my responsibility. Abandoning that to languish without a master, even temporarily, would have been a severe dereliction of my duties.”

“Even if you would have been able to find a new master sooner?”

“You came eventually. My patience was rewarded. I need no other Master.”

Arkk stared a moment, eyes lingering in Vezta’s burning suns. After a short moment, he nodded his head. “Well, I can’t say I’m upset that someone else didn’t steal the opportunity from me. Hopefully, I’m living up to your expectations.”

“Moving from a peasant to a proper Keeper of a Heart isn’t a simple jump. You are performing most adequately.”

“That’s good. I—”

Arkk cut himself off as he felt their carriage come to a stop. Looking away from Vezta, he gazed past Ilya and out the window of their carriage. Even though night had fallen, the Duke’s Manor was lit up to the point where he might have been confused about the time of day. Statues of lions flanked the entrance while rows of guards wearing gleaming silver armor stood up and down the path to the main entrance.

“Vezta,” Arkk said. The servant nodded and ripped herself into his shadow without a word. He looked to the other three. “Remember, if you need help, you can call to me. I’ll find you as fast as I can. Or Vezta will if the situation is dire enough. Hopefully, we won’t need that, though. Let’s just try to have some fun, talk to Alya, and get out of here in one piece.”

Their coachman, after tapping his knuckles against the door as a warning, pulled open the doors.

Ilya stepped out first. For the first time ever, Arkk watched as her natural grace failed her and she almost stumbled out of the carriage because of the tight dress around her knees. Arkk caught her by the arm, keeping her from falling outright. The coachman promptly mumbled an apology and held out a hand to help her out.

Arkk moved next, accepting the coachman’s help but not needing it. His attire wasn’t that difficult to move in.

He wore a light brown jacket over a white, ruffled shirt. The jacket wasn’t closed or buttoned together. A thin pair of varnished leather bands kept it from fluttering open in the chill breeze but it was otherwise open to display the fancy shirt underneath. Intricate designs were woven into the jacket up and down the edges and a white cloth poked out of a breast pocket. His trousers were far simpler than any of the dresses, barely being anything different than what he might normally wear except in terms of how fine the cloth was.

The coachman didn’t help Dakka out of the carriage. Arkk offered his arm instead. She placed a hand on his arm but didn’t put any weight on him, not needing the help to get out. Zullie, the last one out, scowled at the coachman and then at Arkk before hopping out on her own.

“Try to smile,” Arkk said, forcing his face into a casually pleased look.

“I’d rather be back at the stayover.”

“Yes. You said that. Just imagine what kind of magical protections the manor has. Doesn’t that sound interesting? Maybe you can get a tour of that tower,” Arkk said with a wink.

Zullie just scoffed. “More interesting than planar—”

“Ilya’s right. No talking about work while we’re here.”

Her violet eyes glowered behind her rectangular glasses.

Arkk just forced himself to smile a little more.

“Sir. Ladies,” a newcomer said, dressed in fine attire yet nothing flashing. One of the manor’s servants. “If you would be so kind as to follow me.”

Leaving the coach behind, Arkk walked alongside Ilya with Dakka and Zullie a step behind. He had to frown as they passed the guards outside the entrance. It was a soft noise but he could hear metal rattling. Given the cold air, he had to imagine they were shivering something fierce inside their armor. Even with a thick gambeson under their armor, being made to stand around in the cold as they were was a fairly cruel posting. Had they upset a superior to be assigned here or did they draw straws? Whatever the case, they surely could have performed guard duty from a slightly warmer locale.

They were here to show off. Their gleaming, polished armor was evidence enough of that.

Arkk wasn’t wearing as much as he would have liked either. Hawkwood, Wolf, and even Madame Webb had all said that it would be warm inside, however, so he just steeled himself until a pair of guards pulled open overlarge doors, admitting them into the manor proper.

And what a manor it was. In his travels, he had seen a few keeps and manors for the various barons that ran the Duchy. He hadn’t been inside too many of them. Just the Moonshine Burg keep while reporting on his efforts against the slavers and Edvin’s former crew. Most were fairly modest affairs, even the large keeps. The smaller village barons had small homes with only a few rooms. Maybe a second floor or maybe not.

The entryway alone to this manor could have held three stories. A mural adorned the high, vaulted ceiling depicting a cloudy sky with a few figures engaged in revelry. A dozen men poured what he had to assume was fine wine into each other’s glasses, toasting the skies and feasting on a lavish spread of meats and fruits. Magical rituals had been carved into the stone columns holding up the ceiling, providing enough illumination to see everything. Enough illumination that the large shadow underneath his feet should probably have been a lot smaller. People didn’t notice that sort of thing, luckily.

While there were a few others, guests judging by their attire, standing about the large room, the valet led them through to the large glass-roofed ballroom just off the main entrance. Although lit in the same way, Arkk felt like the mural was a bit more impressive than the glass. Perhaps a bit too gaudy though. A bit too on-the-nose with regards to the Duke’s greedy taxes. In that respect, Arkk preferred the peaked glass.

They came to a stop just inside the ballroom. One well-dressed valet swiftly approached and held out a hand. “Invitations, please?”

Arkk tried not to look nervous as the moment of truth arrived. Would Edvin’s forgeries be enough? They had passed Hawkwood’s examinations but there was always the chance that these people were trained to spot such forgeries. Reaching into his jacket, Arkk withdrew the folded piece of paper.

The valet skimmed over it with half-lidded eyes before turning to the room at large. “Company Al-Mir has arrived,” he announced.

And then he walked back to his post. No one came to stop them. No one looked twice at the unfamiliar announcement. In fact, of the packed room—there had to be at least two hundred people present if not more—only those closest to the door looked over at the announcement and they all quickly went back to what they were doing.

People mingled about, all wearing attire roughly in the same vein as theirs. Tables were set out along the sides of the room but the central area was left free for people to stand. Off to one side, atop a small wooden platform, a few minstrels provided music using windpipes and stringed instruments. They played quietly enough that conversations wouldn’t be disrupted but loud enough that awkward silences wouldn’t be completely silent. A set of stairs at the far end of the room led to a dais with a statue set on top. It wasn’t the Duke, which Arkk would have expected of the man, but rather something that looked vaguely similar to the statues in Fortress Al-Mir’s temple room.

It was a tall man with a strong jaw and a mask hiding his upper face, holding onto a spear in one hand and a staff in the other. A long cape made from brass spread out behind him while a golden heart-shaped emblem stood proud on his armor. A sort of mixture of the three statues Vezta had pointed out as traitors.

Arkk wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Vezta noticed, though he wasn’t quite sure how as he couldn’t see any eyes in his shadow. Still, he saw the way the edges of the shadow twisted and churned in agitation.

“It will be alright,” Arkk said softly, stepping further into the room. He didn’t want to block the entrance if there were more guests on their way. More importantly, he didn’t want to stand around gawking like a peasant. Although he had no fondness for the Duke, some of the people present could be valuable contacts for information or even goods that Fortress Al-Mir couldn’t produce.

Ilya, tall at his side, scanned the room from one end to the other. “I don’t see Mother.”

Arkk looked around and frowned. Most of the attendees were human, as he expected. A few weren’t. There was a scattering of elves throughout the room that looked dressed in a way that Arkk would presume meant they were guests. However, there were several nonhumans mixed into the crowd. Some danced on their own, separate from the guests, while others carried around small trays of food and drink. A few, Arkk noted with his frown deepening further, weren’t dressed too dissimilarly to Dakka.

If Madame Webb thought that Dakka was entertainment rather than a proper member of their team, she wouldn’t be receiving his business again in the future.

“It’s the start of what I am sure is going to be a long night,” Arkk said, whispering as he took a flute of amber liquid from a passing dark elf. Elves and orcs stood out easily because of their height. He didn’t see Alya either. “I’m sure there will be time to find her. If it is getting toward the end of the night and still no sign of her… we’ll see what we can do.”

Ilya opened her mouth but didn’t get to speak before a boisterous voice called out. “Arkk! You made it.”

Hawkwood approached with a bright smile. He looked much better than he had the last time Arkk saw the man. There were still hints of fatigue around his eyes. Arkk wasn’t sure if he was faking his enthusiasm or if he had genuinely gotten some rest recently. Either way, Arkk put on a smile of his own.

“Hawkwood.”

“Come, come. We’ve some time before the meal begins. Would you like an introduction to some of the other mercenary leaders around?”

“I think that would be excellent,” Arkk said, looking back to the others.

Dakka was standing a little closer to him than he might have expected, looking like a bodyguard despite her attire. It was her eyes and the way they scanned the room. Not for familiar faces as Ilya had done. Rather, she was on the lookout for threats. Her fingers kept close to her side where she normally kept her axe.

Zullie, on the other hand, had drifted away and was frowning up at one of the supporting pillars, eyes looking over the ritual circle inscribed in its side. Arkk didn’t see anything special about the magic used for lighting—he was educated enough to recognize it for what it was now—but perhaps she noticed something he had missed?

“I’d like to look around for a minute,” Ilya said, taking a step away from Arkk.

Arkk held out a hand, lightly touching her elbow. “Careful,” he whispered. “Remember, if you get in trouble and need help—”

“I know, I know. I’m not going to do anything. Just see who I can talk to around here. Maybe some of the other elves.”

Arkk nodded and turned back to Hawkwood with a smile. “Well then, I suppose it is just Dakka and myself.”

“Wonderful. I must say, you’ve been garnering some notoriety,” Hawkwood said, walking away while half turned to speak to Arkk. “The current commander of the Order of the Claymores has been asking about you.”

“Uh oh.”

“Hm?”

“I… uh… might have poached a few of her people.”

Hawkwood’s grin spread wider. He gave Arkk a hearty clap on his back. “Don’t worry. Happens all the time. It’ll be fine. No one is here to be enemies.”

“If you say so,” Arkk said, not so sure at all about the truth of that statement.

He was still waiting for the inquisitors to drop down on his head. They or the Duke… Or even Alya herself.

There was a lot that could go wrong. He just had to smile and hope for the best.

While planning for the worst.

 

 

Arkk looked around the commandeered room of the Cliff’s Edge, eyes meeting with those of the assembled recruits. There were just under forty in total—not including a few he had hired outright earlier in the day before realizing just how many people had shown up. About half were beastmen and a quarter were demihumans with the remainder being humans. Not many. Especially not compared to how many people he had seen throughout the day. It was more than he expected upon arriving at Cliff, however, that number having been less than twenty.

He still wasn’t sure that doing this was the right idea but there were a few advantages. Immediately, it made Company Al-Mir look even more legitimate. Mercenary companies recruited often. Maybe not quite the way he had but similar enough. He knew that from his talks with Hawkwood.

Secondly, as much as Company Al-Mir wasn’t a regular mercenary company, they sure had been doing a good job of acting like it. More boots on the ground meant that larger operations, like handling the slavers, would hopefully be safer and far more achievable even without the heavy hitters like himself, Vezta, or Agnete. They couldn’t be everywhere.

Third, though it wasn’t necessarily an advantage, deciding against antagonizing the Duke in the immediate future made it far more palatable to hire people who had less dependence on Fortress Al-Mir. Although Dakka pointed out that he preferred to recruit those under duress, he had decided that it was more like he was willing to recruit those who had nowhere else to go. If they had nowhere else to go, their loyalties felt more firm. Maybe that wasn’t true but it made sense somewhere in his mind.

All the new recruits had to worry about were the inquisitors. Speaking of…

“There are a few things to note before you finish signing up with Company Al-Mir,” Arkk said. It was the same thing he had already told those he already recruited. Part of deciding to wait to hire the rest all at once was purely to save his breath explaining this several dozen times. “Chief among them is that the Inquisition of the Light isn’t too pleased with us. We’ve had a few run-ins with inquisitors. Only one incident turned violent. There may be incidents in the future. If that offends your morals or otherwise sounds too dangerous for you, the door is right over there,” Arkk said, motioning to the back of the room.

He paused and waited a moment, fully expecting at least one person to get up and leave. To his surprise, however, nobody did. A few glances passed between some of the assembled crowd but aside from a light cough in the back, nobody even said anything. Arkk wondered what to think about that. The beastmen, he could easily imagine, were a little too desperate for coin to concern themselves too much. The rest? He wasn’t sure about.

He would have to keep an eye on everyone for a time to make sure there were no spies among them.

Shrugging, Arkk carried on. “Company Al-Mir makes use of a magical contract for employees. It primarily offers a method of grabbing my attention. Panic, pain, or deliberate attempts to call me will let me know that you’re in trouble. Might not do a lot of good if I’m on one side of the Duchy and you’re on the other but it can—and has—meant the difference between life or death for some of our employees. As a side effect, you might be able to cast spells where you hadn’t been able to before. That is a facet we’re still experimenting with. If magical contracts sound frightening or unappealing, again, the door.”

This time, someone did stand up. Or flew up. A fairy beat its long, dragonfly-like wings and, without a word, drifted over to the door.

Arkk didn’t know too much about fairies. They were a demihuman race that had, according to legend, once been powerful spellcasters. Then the Calamity struck and magic withered. Unlike many magical species, the fairies didn’t die off. They did lose their magic. They were effectively shorter humans—though taller than gremlins—with insect wings now.

All that made him think that she had been offended at the idea that he could grant people the ability to cast spells. Or maybe she didn’t want to get her hopes up only to find out that she still couldn’t use magic. Either way, Arkk waited for the door to close behind her before looking over the rest of the crowd.

Nineteen beastmen, including three who weren’t allowed to leave, sat on one side of the room. Most had watched the fairy depart with pitying looks, furthering Arkk’s suspicion of the fairy’s reasons. The eleven demihumans—seven orcs, two gremlins, and two dark elves—just shook their heads. The seven humans maintained stiff shoulders and barely paid any attention to the rest. Not out of malice, Arkk hoped, but simply because most of them were more disciplined, having jumped ship from the Order of the Claymores.

Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any problems with that company over his stealing of their members.

“The pay is a gold coin every month. There are bonuses when you see combat and for other work performed. I mentioned this during the interviews but, as a reminder, anyone with skills outside the realm of combat is in high demand. Bonuses in pay are available for blacksmiths, magical researchers, carpenters, tailors, and so on. You can speak with one of us later on.

“As for us… Once again, I am Arkk, leader of Company Al-Mir. Outside of life-or-death situations, we’re fairly casual. Call me Arkk, boss, or whatever else you like. This is Ilya, my second-in-command.”

Ilya gave a curt nod of her head, making sure people knew who he was gesturing toward. She didn’t speak, however, and from years of knowing the elf, he could tell that she was at least a little nervous. Which Arkk found mildly amusing. She charged off with a bunch of raider orcs in tow, rescued slaves on her way back, and interacted with everyone at the fortress without trouble but set her up in front of a crowd and she balks?

Cute.

“Dakka is a primary field commander and who you’ll likely be reporting to in the immediate future.”

The large orc took in a breath, making herself look just a little taller. Her hard eyes looked over the crowd but kept drifting back to the orcs. There wouldn’t be any problems with her being the ‘runt’ of Company Al-Mir. Arkk had made sure of that during the interviews. Unless Arkk had misread the situation with the orcs currently employed, Dakka had proved herself worthy of her position. Still, he could understand her nervousness as well.

It was also cute in a way.

“Zullie is the head of magical research. If you do have a background in spellcasting, you’ll want to speak with her.”

“Please don’t,” Zullie said with a tight smile, using her middle finger to adjust the position of the rectangular glasses she wore. “Unless you have five years of study at Cliff Academy or equivalent, have invented your own spells, published books on theoretical magics, or apprenticed to any well-known names in the magical community, you’ll be useless in Al-Mir’s research division.”

“So she says,” Arkk said with a smile. “But if you have unorthodox training, you might want to check in with her anyway. She has been surprised by the capabilities of those without a formal education before,” he said, hardening his tone as he shot her a look.

Her tight smile turned to a tight-lipped frown but she nodded, accepting the point.

“Lastly, at least among those present today, Vezta. My adjutant—” He decided to steal Hawkwood’s term for his assistant as he felt it best described what Vezta was to him. “—and the primary caretaker of our headquarters. A quartermaster, in other words. If you have material needs, please ask her.”

At her introduction, Vezta lowered the hood of her heavy cloak. That caused a reaction. Not as much of a reaction as he had experienced during his first encounter with Vezta. Then again, that time had seen her spreading her mass throughout an entire room with dozens of glowing yellow eyes peering out from the shadows. Here and now, she really did look just like an unusual demihuman.

Alma, one of the recruits who wasn’t allowed to leave, visibly shuddered. The hat on her head hid her ears but small movements in the hat made it look like they flattened down against her head. She did not join in on the low murmuring going on among the rest of the recruits.

“Any questions?” Arkk asked as the noise died down. A few looked about ready to stand up and speak but Arkk headed them off. “Any questions not related to Vezta? It’s just a minor skin condition. Not contagious or harmful to anyone around her. We’d all appreciate it if you didn’t make it into a big deal.”

Despite the disbelieving looks passed around, most of those who had been about to speak didn’t. There were still a few questions. Where were the headquarters located? What kind of training was available? How did the contract work? What kind of work did Company Al-Mir specialize in? Several of the questions he had answered during the interviews but not to everyone. Some questions he had to make things up on the spot. Others he answered evasively—mostly any question related to the location of Fortress Al-Mir.

After a time, the questions tapered off. Aside from the fairy who had left, not a single one of those remaining seemed to have any kind of major problem with any of Al-Mir’s various oddities. All of them stuck around until the end.

“Queue up, please. Sign your name on the parchment. If you cannot write or read, Ilya will assist and there may be lessons available in the future. After that, you’ll receive an advance on your payment. A single gold piece.”

Let them think that the paper was the magical contract. It had a lot of text on it and several symbols that wouldn’t do anything, thanks to Zullie. There were a few hesitations in signing it but everyone did so in the end. No one hesitated to take the gold.

“Is this Evestani gold?” asked one of the former Claymores. Joanne, if he remembered correctly. “I don’t recognize it… except this is your company’s heraldry?”

“Company Al-Mir mints its own gold coins. Rest assured, I’ve not run into any problems using them within the Duchy. They typically exchange for between thirty and fifty silvers, depending on how generous the merchants are feeling.”

“Odd. Why not use the King’s stamped coin?”

Arkk shrugged. “This is what I’ve got. In any case, once paid, you’re free to go for now. As mentioned, Company Al-Mir has no official presence in Cliff City. We’re staying in the city for one week and one day for other business, which you all don’t need to be involved in as new recruits. In a week, we’ll meet back here and leave the city, heading westward. We’ll reach Fortress Al-Mir and get you all settled in properly. Enjoy yourselves, don’t spend your payment all at once, and if you need us in the interim, we’ll be here. Just find anyone with the compass maze badge and they’ll find one of us later on if we’re not around.”

“If we…” one of the beastmen started. A younger boy. Glancing down at the paper, Arkk quickly picked his name from the list. Luc. Arkk wasn’t quite sure what kind of beastmen he was, only that he had feathers instead of hair but wasn’t a harpy as he had humanoid hands and no wings. “If we don’t have anywhere else to go, can we stay here?”

Arkk considered a moment then nodded his head. “I believe there are a few bunks free in the room the majority of the employees are staying in. Anyone else wish to stay? I’m willing to rent another room if necessary.”

About two-thirds of those present voiced agreement. Every one of the beastmen plus both dark elves and one of the former Claymores. More than Arkk expected but he wasn’t all that surprised. Knowing how Cliff treated nonhumans, the chance to stay in a fancy stayover or head back to the streets they had lived on before wasn’t that difficult of a choice.

“Alright, I’ll have arrangements made. Everyone else is free to go. Alma, stay behind, I need to explain—”

“Arkk,” Ilya whispered, leaning over with a hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to be late to our other appointment for the day.”

Arkk grimaced then nodded his head. “Right. Alma, Vezta will explain a few more things to you now that you’re one of us properly.”

The poor werecat looked like she was going to be sick. “Can I just wait for you to come back?”

“No. She won’t bite.”

“But…” The werecat peered over at Vezta—who had a prismatic smile on her face, completely ignoring the horror of the situation—and let out a shaky sigh. “Okay.”

“Dakka, Ilya, we’re heading out in a few minutes.”

Standing in front of a larger manor, one that easily exceeded the Baron of Langleey’s home, Arkk had to frown at the large head of a wolf adorning its front gate. It wasn’t a real wolf but was some metal artwork designed to look like one. The home of Wolf Trading Company’s founder, Aron Wolf.

If Arkk were being perfectly honest with himself, he had completely forgotten about his brief encounter with the man and his daughter out in Darkwood Burg. The same was not true in reverse. Much as Hawkwood had done in sending out his adjutant to invite him to dinner, Aron Wolf had sent out a servant with a similar invitation. Not for a meal, just for a quick chat to catch up.

Arkk wasn’t sure that he had made that large of an impression on the man. Still, the invitation had come and there was probably some good that could come from cultivating relations with a renowned merchant. No sense throwing it away. It could have come at a slightly better time. Although he trusted Vezta and Zullie to see to matters involving the recruits, being there in person would have been ideal, at least for now.

“Ah. Sir and madams, you have arrived.” A lanky man with a bushy white mustache appeared at the gate, hardly using any effort to swing it open. He stepped aside, motioning with one hand over his waist as he offered a respectful bow. “If you would follow me.”

Arkk, smoothing down the front of his black suit, stepped forward. Ilya and Dakka fell in step just behind him.

“Mister Wolf was quite thrilled to hear of your arrival. Although, he did express some disappointment when you neglected to reach out to him.”

“I’ll be sure to apologize,” Arkk said. “It was a busy few days and we just haven’t had the time for social calls yet.”

“Of course. But you made time today. I’m sure Mister Wolf is most appreciative.”

After leading them up a flagstone courtyard, they stepped into an entry hall furnished with polished wood. Several pedestals lined the walls, each bearing a curio of, presumably, high value… though Arkk doubted he would ever be interested in displaying a curled conch or broken sword. Higher on the walls, paintings lined the entry hall. Some were of simple scenery. Others were portraits of people that Arkk didn’t recognize.

Off to one side of the entry hall, the butler brought them to a small lounge. Wood cabinets, decorated with more curios, broke up smooth tan-colored walls. A few life-sized portraits and one large polished mirror filled in the spaces between the cabinets. A fireplace, already lit, warmed the room with an accompanying yellow glow.

At the center of the room, surrounding a small table, two chairs sat across from two larger couches. The chairs were occupied. For a moment, Arkk almost didn’t recognize the people. Arkk wouldn’t have described the Wolf family’s appearance in Darkwood as peasants but they had certainly been wearing cheaper traveling attire. Here and now, a middle-aged man with graying hair, styled with a tasteful touch of grease, puffed on a wooden pipe in a rich velvety-red jacket. At his side, wearing a slim yet elegant white dress, Aron Wolf’s auburn-haired daughter waved an irritated hand in front of her face, trying and failing to dispel some of the smoke.

“Mister Arkk! Welcome, welcome!” Aron Wolf stood, leaving his pipe behind in a tray on the wooden table. When he stepped around the table, hand extended to greet Arkk, his daughter grabbed it and emptied the contents into the fireplace. “Please, join us. Take a seat. Your companions as well. I think I recognize you,” he said to Dakka, “but never had the pleasure of hearing your name.”

Arkk wondered if that was true or if he was just guessing that she was one of the orcs he had with him back during their previous meeting. Dakka wasn’t wearing the armor she had used at Darkwood, but black pants, an underbust corset, and a white shirt with small wooden buttons. Her hair, braided tightly against one side of her head while hanging loose on the other, wasn’t nearly as chaotic as it had been while they had been out traveling in Darkwood. She did have her axe, even now. Slung through a leather loop hanging from her belt, she had to remove it in order to sit on one of the red couches around the table.

“Dakka.”

“Lovely,” Aron said, smiling. “And, speaking of lovely, I’m sure I would have remembered someone as beautiful as you, my dear,” he said, turning to Ilya.

Ilya started to roll her eyes. Arkk saw the very moment where she decided that doing so would be a bad idea and forced herself to stop. Instead, she put on a smile and took his offered hand.

“Ilya, Company Al-Mir’s second-in-command,” she said.

He twisted her hand to the side and stooped over, planting a kiss on the back of her glove. While his head was down, Ilya did roll her eyes. An action, Arkk noted, which Arianna mirrored.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, taking a little longer than necessary to release her hand.

When he finally did, Ilya and Arkk took their seats. Dakka, muscular and large as she was relative to the humans, occupied an entire couch on her own, leaving a single couch for Ilya and Arkk. They were large enough that there should have been plenty of space between them. To Arkk’s surprise, Ilya leaned over toward him, half resting against him as they settled in.

Aron hesitated a moment before smiling and retaking his seat. His hand absently grasped at the tray where he left his pipe but, finding nothing as Arianna still had it, he quickly motioned to the other occupied seat. “Arianna, my daughter, I’m sure you remember.”

“Greetings,” the girl said, tone flat.

Arkk smiled in turn. “She did leave an impression at Darkwood,” he said, prompting a polite laugh from Aron.

“I’d hope so. She’s going to be the face of Wolf Trading Company one day and needs to leave all the impressions she can!”

“Let us not discuss this now, father,” Arianna said, tone stiff. “You invited our guests to talk about them, not me.”

“Now, now. When socializing, you must offer yourself up as much as you ask of the other party. Otherwise, one side ends up feeling awkward. But, you aren’t completely incorrect,” Aron said with a laugh, looking back to Arkk. “When you said you got out to Cliff on occasion, I thought we might see each other sooner than this.”

“I don’t know that I said on occasion… just that I had been now and again.”

“Glad you arrived when you did. We’ll be taking off on business again in about two weeks. Almost missed us. Heading out to a little salt flat in Lockloch to see what we can make of the place. How about you, though? Here on business?”

“Something like that. Company Al-Mir has garnered enough renown for the Duke to take notice. We received an invitation to his next party.”

Arianna made a very vocal “Ugh,” glancing off to one side as she did so.

“Ah. I do recall you mentioning wanting to attend one of those. Next Suun, yes? I’ll be there as well. Arianna… is avoiding this one.”

“Really? Any reason why?”

“The Duke is a pig,” Arianna said in the same flat tone. “Everyone there is scarfing through his scraps. The worst of the worst—”

The smile on Aron’s face vanished in an instant. “Arianna! Please.” He looked back to Arkk, eyes stopping over Dakka and Ilya on the way. His worried expression slowly lessened, likely taking in the expressions on their faces. They were no allies of the Duke.

Ilya especially.

“Well… you shouldn’t let her comments get you down if you’re excited to go. At the very least, the food is excellent. Even Arianna agrees.”

Grudgingly, she gave a curt nod of her head.

“Though, I have to ask… you aren’t attending in… that, are you?”

Arkk glanced down at his suit and frowned at Ilya’s casual tunic. “No, no. Of course not. Hawkwood made us an appointment with a tailor. We’re seeing them tomorrow morning, actually, for some quick attire.”

“Tailor?” Aron said, latching onto the safe topic as quickly as he could. “Anyone I know?”

Arkk hesitated, drawing a complete blank. Thankfully, Ilya came to his rescue.

“I believe it was Terrier’s Silken Goods?”

“Oh. Oh no, no, no. That won’t do at all.” Aron shook his head back and forth. Even his daughter nodded along.

“Is that a problem?”

“Not if you want uniforms for a mercenary company, I suppose. Gowns and dresses for a party? Don’t worry. We can still fix this. Madame Webb’s Fine Threads is where you’ll want to go. I’ll send a letter explaining the situation. Webb is an old friend of mine. She’ll get you what you need and in half the time. I doubt Terrier would be ready by next Suun. You are cutting it a bit close, though. Next time, it would be best if you made arrangements at least a month in advance.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arkk said. If there was a next time.

“Now that business is out of the way. Sebastian! Tea, if you please.” Aron clapped his hands together. The man with the bushy mustache quickly set out cups in front of everyone, including a larger cup for Dakka. “And while we drink, I would love to hear about your adventures. I say, Darkwood was a bit close to the adventures of a mercenary group for my tastes but I can’t deny that it was thrilling! Been up to anything else in the interim? Something impressive to have garnered the attentions of the Duke, no?”

“Well…” Arkk started. “There was a group of slavers…”