Author: Tower Curator

 

 

Wealthy merchants, knights and lords, and other important people, tended toward the far grander stayovers not far from the Duke’s manor. The Cliff’s Edge, situated near the garrison and nowhere near any cliff’s edge, was still the kind of place where people like Alma wouldn’t normally be allowed inside. It was a fine building, one of the taller ones around, made of hearty wood washed yearly with a glaze to fend off the corrosive ocean air. The washing had been done just a few months prior, leaving it gleaming in what little morning light made it through the overcast skies.

“This the place?”

Alma shrugged at Kelsey’s question. “How should I know? It isn’t like they passed out a notice, now is it?”

Luther, teeth clattering in a nervous tic that he couldn’t control, pointed toward the main entrance. “L-Look. Beastmen. T-This has to be the place.”

Following his gesture, Alma frowned. Luther was right in that a line had formed around the exterior of the building. Beastmen, demihumans, and even some humans were all gathered up. The latter two groups huddled together—while maintaining some minor distance between themselves—to better fend off the cold bite of the morning wind. The beastmen, especially the full-beastmen, were far less affected by the chill temperatures. Their fur or thick hides kept the heat inside well enough. They still kept their heads down, avoiding the gazes of any humans nearby.

“Kelsey, get us a spot in line,” Alma said to the burly man with the horns and hooves of an ox. “Luther and I will make sure this is the right place.”

“M-Me? G-Going inside?”

Alma’s expression softened and she rested a gentle hand on Luther’s arm. “No one is going to hurt you here.”

“B-But…” Luther’s slit pupils shifted to the line outside the stayover. His skin rapidly changed from a deep brown to a pale gray matching the layer of clouds overhead. “The others are waiting outside. Shouldn’t we—”

“Don’t want to waste our time standing in line for scraps off a noble’s table. Imagine how dumb we would feel when they ask us for a bowl and all we’ve got are swords.”

One of Luther’s eyes stayed on the line, the other shifted independently back to Alma. “I-I think we should stay outside. Don’t want to b-bother anyone.”

Kelsey clapped a strong hand on Luther’s shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Alma let out a small sigh. “I’ll be right there. Just going to peek inside and make sure the rumors were right.”

With a heavy nod of his horned head, Kelsey headed to the back of the long line with Luther in tow. Alma watched their backs for a moment before squaring her shoulders. Hands on her head, she made sure her hat was firmly in place. As a half with easily hidden characteristics, some might say that she was lucky. Alma wasn’t so sure. It certainly made brief excursions into otherwise unfriendly areas easier. The main problem came when people inevitably found out she was hiding herself.

Trust tended to snap. Even among those who didn’t hold ill intent toward beastmen, they would regard her with suspicion. Why had she been lying? Trying to get close, deceive them, maybe steal something? Most people, Alma didn’t care about. But it was impossible to strike up a friendship. Some said they understood but they would still put some distance between them in the end.

Despite that, Alma rarely went anywhere without her floppy round cap hiding her ears. She had Luther and Kelsey. Striking up relations with anyone else was unnecessary.

Well, unless they wanted to eat.

Slipping past those in line—who weren’t blocking the main entrance, just standing near it—Alma headed inside the stayover. The line continued inside with those standing about within the warm walls of the building looking far more comfortable than those outside. All were up against one wall, keeping well out of the way of the main floor of the stayover’s tavern. A few tables had been moved aside to make room.

The tables were occupied, most with the hardened sort one might expect from mercenaries who had seen action. Alma recognized White Company’s emblem on several of them. Others wore less familiar pins or insignia. A sword with wings, a compass rose set atop a maze, the profile of a helm with an overlarge plume of feathers coming out the top. Other free companies.

What surprised Alma were the amount of demihumans at the tables. Orcs, mostly. Almost all of them bore the compass rose emblem somewhere on their outfits. Alma was aware that free companies occasionally had competent demihuman members. Rarer were the free companies that hired beastmen.

Not that she would disparage her fellow non-humans but getting a job as a demihuman was leagues easier than getting a job as a beastman.

Alma didn’t understand it. Demihumans and humans were easily distinguishable from one another. No one would mistake an orc for a human or an elf for a gremlin, not even under full armor. Yet, for some reason, demihumans were typically more acceptable than beastmen. No one could tell her apart from a human so long as she had a hat or helmet on. As soon as she took off her hat, crude comments about her parents and ancestors cropped up, questioning at what point an animal entered her family tree.

Truthfully, Alma didn’t know her parents and didn’t care to. She had no idea how beastmen came about. Neither did anyone else. Nobody even knew where humans came from. Only that they were numerous. That didn’t stop the commentary. Those comments shouldn’t have affected her. They didn’t. But they did affect her employment opportunities.

Yet, there were a small handful of beastmen at the tables as well. All the beastmen wore the compass rose symbol.

The rumors were true then. One of the free companies was willing to hire beastmen.

The end of the line stopped just outside one of the doors along the side of the stayover’s main room. As soon as she spotted it, the doors opened up. Three men—humans—emerged with sour faces. Alma knew the types. Heavy build indicating a well-bred position in life but carried themselves with discipline gathered from either a stint in the guard or one of the more militaristic mercenary companies. Probably sons of someone in a position of wealth who had been sent out to get some life experience.

As the door closed behind them and the men headed out of the stayover, Alma heard some noise at her back. Though her ears were hidden, she still had better hearing than most. The clink of coins changing hands was a familiar sound, as were the grumbles of those who lost a bet. She turned slightly, eying some of the orcs and humans around the tables.

“Told you. Those are the kind of people here for fun or profit. Arkk isn’t here for fun.”

“Two served at the garrison with me for a few years. Good men, decent in a fight, decent in bed. Thought they’d take.”

“First of all, Arkk isn’t here to bed his employees. Second, pretty sure he fancies women—exotic women, if you get what I’m saying. Third… Garrison men decent in a fight? How many fights do you all see in the garrison a month? One? And probably in the back of a bar.”

“The Duke’s men are highly trained,” a third person said, butting into the conversation.

“Trained against wooden dummies, I bet. Never see a real fight. Few weeks ago, we went after a group of slavers. Outnumbered us twenty-to-one. Killed a hundred of them, forced the rest to surrender, and only lost one of our own in all that.”

“Twenty-to-one?” Someone scoffed. “Sure.”

“Believe it or not, you want to run with us, you have to handle yourself. Oh, next group going in. What do you think about…”

The orc trailed off. It wasn’t hard to see why. The door opened again and a young human appeared in its entryway. He… didn’t look like much. His black clothes were nice enough—better than what anyone Alma knew would be able to wear—but not so grand as to imply a position of high authority. He had a full head of brown hair and a trim beard wrapping around his mouth. There was something about his eyes that gave Alma pause. The way they snapped back and forth around the room, as if he were scanning for any possible threats. A fairly familiar action. But it was the way he glazed over and dismissed everyone present that set Alma on edge. As if this room filled with mercenaries, warriors, and wannabes just wasn’t a threat to him.

Maybe it was that the room had several individuals bearing the same compass maze symbol that he had woven into his suit. Alma hadn’t counted but was fairly confident in saying that they outnumbered all the other groups put together. At least of those inside the building. Add up those waiting in the line outside and the scales would tip. Or maybe he was looking for something specific. A particular threat that nobody present represented.

Either way, his gaze passed over her without pause.

The next group in line started to approach, only to stop as the human held up a hand.

“Sorry about this,” the human said with a casual smile despite his alert eyes, “going to pause here for about twenty minutes. Just have to get some things prepared before we continue. I know it is cold outside for those still standing out there. I’ll order up a round of soup for everyone to warm themselves with before we continue.”

Another human emerged, heading toward the back of the stayover. Probably to arrange for the soup to be sent outside. The first human turned away, closing the door behind him.

Alma looked around, counting the doors on that side of the stayover, and promptly turned and headed back outside. She spotted Kelsey and Luther standing at the end of the line—although another few people had formed up behind them in the short time Alma had been inside—but rather than approach, she simply gave them an affirming nod of her head. This was the place. The rumors were true. But she wanted to know a little more about what they might be getting into before fully committing.

This wouldn’t be the first time someone had shown up with a decent job for beastmen only to turn around and try to sell them off to slavers.

Ducking down the alley, Alma counted the windows until she reached the one the human should be inside. She casually walked past once, discreetly peeking inside. The human was accompanied by a few others. An elf, an orc, and someone wearing a thick cloak that hid their features. A beastman? If they were accepted, why hide?

As soon as she finished passing the window, Alma turned and pulled a small knife from inside her cloak. Carefully, cautiously, she wedged it between the window panes and twisted just enough to make a small gap. Taking off her hat, her pointed ears sprung up, letting her hear as best she could

“Where did they all come from?” Arkk asked, looking around his advisors with one hand rubbing at his forehead.

Dakka grunted. “Sorry,” she said with a frown.

“You said you talked to a single poker table. And only the Claymore present showed any interest. That doesn’t account for the line stretching halfway down the street!”

“She talked?”

“Possibly,” Arkk said, sinking into his chair at one end of their interview table. Propping his elbows up on the table, he used both hands to rub at his temples. “It’s Edvin. I know it is. This is not what I wanted. A few discreet recruits, not half the city. What did he do? Hire out all the town criers?”

Upon realizing that they had scores of people here to sign up for Company Al-Mir, Arkk had quickly spoken with the Cliff’s Edge proprietors and made arrangements to use a private dining room as his impromptu interview room. As it was essentially meant for meetings among mercenaries, it had everything he needed to conduct these interviews. Which, given that he had no idea what he was doing, really only required a table and a few chairs. Maybe a piece of parchment and some ink to take notes.

“I fail to see the problem. Is this not what we wanted?” Vezta asked. “Additional personnel help us achieve our goals.”

“The goals are the problem. Not the recruits. If we were an ordinary mercenary company, I would probably be over the moon with the amount of interest we’ve got. But we aren’t. How am I supposed to tell people that we’re planning on undoing the Calamity, pissing off the Inquisition of the Light at every turn, and that we’re here to kidnap someone from the Duke’s manor?”

“Rescue,” Ilya cut in.

“Whatever it is, I doubt the guards will be all that enthused. I’m honestly surprised that Vrox hasn’t stopped by to leer at us. I’m still waiting for that shoe to drop.”

“Maybe they’ve decided we’re not worth it?” Dakka said, puffing out her chest in pride. “Sent them packing at the fortress. While not in the fortress, we are here in force. Not to mention we’ve got the purifier with us.”

Arkk nodded slowly. He had been getting the same feeling. It was one thing to stand off and wait for prey to stumble into a trap. But when that prey was skirting around the trap and uprooting the crops, it was time to toss the trap aside and hunt them down. Arkk wasn’t sure if that analogy really applied here. Still, the whole rush to investigate the Cliff Academy had been specifically because he had feared that the inquisitors would try to accost them the moment they learned of Company Al-Mir’s arrival.

Instead, as far as Arkk could tell, they had complete freedom to travel around the city. Nobody had tried to stop them. He had even gone back to the academy for more mundane purposes—learning proper magic was still an aspiration of his even if it had fallen in priority with everything else going on—and nobody had stopped him. His entourage, all those who were attending the actual party, were set to meet with a tailor in a day and a half. Hawkwood had been in and out, discussing various matters when he had free time. Now, this recruitment drive that had somehow sprung up was drawing plenty of attention. Even if Vrox had somehow missed his arrival, there was zero chance that Company Al-Mir’s presence in the city wasn’t known.

Thanks, Edvin.

And yet, they had been left entirely alone.

It made him think back to his most recent encounter with Vrox. The man, upon realizing that he had lost the one thing that could keep Agnete under control, had called Arkk out. Playing to his sense of responsibility and desire to not cause wonton destruction by pointing out that other villages would have been in danger from the purifier’s conflagration. He knew that Arkk wasn’t a bad person. Every encounter they had, he was happy to talk. Well, happy wasn’t exactly the right word. They hadn’t always been pleasant talks but the man hadn’t even tried to arrest or attack him until talking definitively failed.

Aside from a few bits of magic, like the teleportation circles, Arkk didn’t even think he had done anything wrong. Maybe that was enough. But it was Vezta that the inquisitors were really worried about. Maybe they finally had enough proof or assurances that Company Al-Mir, Vezta included, wasn’t on some world-destroying warpath at the behest of beings from beyond the stars.

The thought brought an involuntary shudder over Arkk. He turned slightly, looking at the side of Vezta’s cloak, before standing and moving to the window. His eyes searched over the clouds in the sky. The utterly normal and mundane clouds in the unbroken sky. He let out a long sigh, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

“Maybe—” “I’m not sure—”

Arkk cut himself off, looking at Ilya. Both had started speaking at the same time. He nodded to her before looking up to the sky once more.

“I was just going to say,” Ilya said, shifting from one foot to the other. “I was talking with some of the people around here. Trying to learn more about the Duke and my mother. I…” She clenched her fists, eyes looking off to one side. Arkk could see it in the reflection of the window. “I’m not sure… she is being… held. Against her will, that is.”

That sounded painful for her to say. Like each word twisted a knife in her stomach.

“The Duke has an advisor. Lots of them, actually, but one keeps getting mentioned when I ask. An elf with long, silver hair and matching eyes.” She drew in a deep, haggard breath. “I should have known after last time. No. I knew. I just didn’t want… Damn it,” she hissed, slamming her fist down on the table.

The sudden noise made Arkk jump. He wasn’t the only one.

Outside the window, a pointed pair of black, cat-like ears slipped into the corner of his vision. Just for a moment. At first, he thought it was a child in the alley but, leaning a little closer to the panes, he realized someone was listening in on their conversation. The blade in the window, keeping it cracked open just a hair, was evidence enough of that.

Arkk quickly looked away, keeping the person only in his peripheral vision. Not that doing so was necessary, Arkk quickly realized. Their back was to the window. They were listening only, not watching.

Ilya continued, talking about her mother, what she had heard from the people she spoke with, and her worries that Alya just didn’t care about her anymore. Arkk empathized. He really did. But his mind was racing over the revelation of this eavesdropper. What had they said? Anything damning? They were already targets of the inquisitors—it was hard to get more damned than that—but anything else?

The Duke. Kidnapping someone from the Duke’s manor. That was a new revelation. Something the inquisitors wouldn’t be aware of. Was this person reporting to the inquisitors? The Duke? A rival mercenary group? No matter what, that was information that couldn’t get out.

“Vezta,” Arkk said, drawing the servant’s attention. Stepping aside, making sure that he wasn’t in view of the window just in case, he pointed down to the corner and mouthed ‘eavesdropper’. “Zullie is taking a long time in the kitchens. Would you mind heading out and seeing if there are any problems?”

Vezta’s eyes flicked to the window then back to Arkk’s. “Understood,” she said, standing. Moving to the door, she quickly left.

Dakka and Ilya, the only two left in the room, stopped talking. Both stared at the corner. Dakka, though she didn’t have her full armor on, still carried her axe at her hip. Her hand firmly gripped the axe’s haft. Ilya tensed and adjusted her stance, moving as if to pounce out the window should he open it.

Arkk waved them off. Making a smiling gesture in front of his mouth with his thumb and middle finger, he pressed forward as naturally as he could. “I was thinking something similar,” he said. “Upsetting the Duke right now isn’t a good idea. We have… twenty-something orcs, a few gorgon, three spellcasters, and now our latest recruits who will probably abandon us if the Duke decides to send his armies out. While I’m sure the Fortress could weather them simply because of its location and the defensive abilities it offers, doing so would be… unpleasant. We wouldn’t be able to show our faces in any burg and… well, it wouldn’t be a good idea all-around.”

“Then…” Dakka started, eyes still focused on the window. “Then what do you suggest?”

“We go to the party, all smiles. Talk to Alya. If she wants to stay then… sorry, Ilya. We can’t do anything about that.”

Ilya blinked several times, the tension in her shoulders lessening. “If she doesn’t?”

“Then we try to help. Hopefully in a way that doesn’t implicate us. With the alternate fortress a bust, for now, we can’t just pop out of there. We do have our contingency plans already in place but… I would prefer if we avoid any trouble. If Alya needs to get out immediately, then we do what we can, of course. If not, then at least she knows that we can hopefully help someday.

“After the party ends, assuming without incident, we head back to the Fortress and proceed with our other plan using Katja’s spellcasters. That should get us additional help to better achieve our goals,” Arkk said, speaking vaguely now that he knew that they were being watched. “I’m sorry, but I think that’s the best option we have—”

Motion outside the window made Arkk tense. The cat-eared intruder snapped her head to one side, clearly startled. She tried to get up and run but black tendrils snapped out, stretching across the window.

Undoing the latch, Arkk flung open the window and waved a hand. Vezta’s body wasn’t visible but her tendrils glowed bright yellow with her eyes. She saw him. Vezta stepped over the side of the window, bringing through a squirming werecat. Arkk reached outside in her wake, grabbed the dagger that had fallen to the ground as he looked up and down the empty alley, and then quickly closed the window once again.

Arkk turned around, frowning down. The werecat looked up at Vezta with fear-filled eyes, breathing heavily through her nose. She couldn’t speak. Not with Vezta’s tendril clamped against her mouth. There were some muffled sounds. Screaming? Begging? Pleading?

Arkk let out a sigh. A hardened inquisitor would have been one thing. The woman on the ground, though it looked like she had seen her fair share of combat, was clearly out of her depth. Vezta had her pinned completely, to the point where she couldn’t move more than a toe. A toe that Arkk could see through a hole in a worn boot. Was it a disguise? An outfit designed to go unnoticed? Or…

He had seen others—mostly beastmen—wearing similarly worn attire throughout the day. He wasn’t too thrilled with hiring all these people who might soon become enemies of the Duke’s men through no fault of their own. Still, while he had accepted the initial three Claymores and a handful of other humans, he found it somewhat difficult to turn away people dressed like that.

Arkk stood over the woman, toying with the dagger she had dropped. It wasn’t a particularly good blade. Cheap metal and an uncomfortable haft. Still, he hoped he looked threatening. If her attire was to deceive him…

“You get one chance to answer. Who sent you to spy on us?”

Her eyes tore off Vezta with effort but he wasn’t sure that she even saw him before looking back to the monster pinning her to the floor. Which made sense. The mildly threatening act he had paled in comparison to the starfield behind Vezta’s eyes. Some amount of noise—actual words, presumably—escaped Vezta’s tendril. Nothing intelligible.

“Vezta, I need to hear what she said. If she screams or shouts for help, you can eat her.”

“Arkk!” Ilya snapped, tone displeased. “Just kill her. Don’t… that.”

Although the werecat’s eyes flicked to Ilya like she was an angel at her initial admonishment, the rest of what Ilya had to say made the cat ears flatten against the woman’s head. The noises from behind Vezta’s tendril died off and she tried, impotently, to shake her head back and forth.

“Vezta?”

Slowly, the tendril peeled back from the woman’s mouth, leaving a long trail of black slime. Which had to be intentional on Vezta’s part. Playing herself up as the scary monster. The woman didn’t scream, though she might have whimpered a bit.

“Who sent you?”

“N-No one.”

“How long were you out there?”

“S-Since you called a pause on the interviews.”

“Why?”

The woman’s eyes flicked from Vezta to Arkk, then to Dakka and Ilya. “Heard you were recruiting. Thought knowing what you were looking for would be an advantage.” She tried to smile. It didn’t work, looking more like a grimace.

Arkk closed his eyes. The stupid recruitment thing.

Dakka started laughing. “Isn’t this for the best?” she said between chuckles. “You prefer recruiting like this, right?”

“Like what, exactly?”

Dakka tapped her chest. “Us, the gorgon, Savren, that werecat we rescued from the slavers, Edvin… even Hale and that carpenter were under duress from the inquisitors. Face it, it’s better like this. And you don’t even have to explain about the inquisitors.” Dakka grinned down at the woman on the floor. “Welcome to the club.”

The cat ears flattened even more.

“Don’t. Nothing is decided yet. I…” Arkk sighed. “How did you hear about this recruitment?”

“Heard from a friend who heard from—”

“Skip to the end, please.”

“Some human at the Primrose mentioned to his friend that Company Al-Mir was more interested in beastmen and demihumans than humans. They were drunk and he… well, mentioned rather loudly, to the entire tavern, that there was a mercenary company willing to hire beastmen. In fact, he has been going on about it for a few days now…”

“Was this other friend a gremlin?”

“Yes,” the werecat answered quickly, not even needing a moment to think.

Arkk squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a deep breath. He had asked Edvin and Lexa to reach out quietly, not announce their recruitment to the whole world. After counting to ten, he let it back out.

“I’m going to do it,” Arkk said. “I’m going to throw him to the wurms.”

 

 

“So that’s it?” Arkk asked, looking out over the wide gardens and open plazas that made up the promontory that jutted out into the ocean. The grounds looked idyllic, the kind of place where fairy-tale princesses would frolic during the day. At night, the white stone walls would provide plentiful security for a peaceful rest.

Clinging to the roof of a building with Ilya at his side wasn’t how he pictured his day going when Ilya said she could get their eyes on the Duke’s manor. He wouldn’t, under pain of death, admit to being afraid of heights. The way his foot kept sliding down the mist-slicked slate tiles of the roof sent butterflies through his stomach. The mist having turned to frost in the chill air didn’t help his traction any. He had one gloved hand firmly gripping the edge of the roof and his other hand wishing it could find purchase.

He had half a mind to grab hold of Ilya’s leg. Under other circumstances, he might have admired the view of the elf pressed down against the roof just above him. The way she clung to the building with surety and grace would have been beautiful if not for the quick spikes of adrenaline that shot through Arkk’s stomach every time he felt himself sliding downward.

Grabbing hold of her wouldn’t have been a good idea, unfortunately. He would just end up dragging her down as well. Vezta waited at the bottom. He had to hope that her reflexes would be enough to catch him if he did fall.

“Are you listening?”

Arkk flicked his eyes from the toned thighs of the woman sharing the roof to her face. “Yes?”

Ilya rolled her eyes. “Better watch it. I might kick you off.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You were thinking about grabbing my ass.”

“Maybe. Could you blame me?”

“No. I’d still kick you off.”

“Harsh but fair, I suppose,” Arkk said with a sigh, trying to play it cool even as his foot slipped off the lower edge of the roof again. “You know, we never get time to ourselves anymore. There is always something needing doing or people around. After we get your mother out of there, we should go hunting again. Just the two of us.”

“Arkk, focus, please.”

“Sorry. Just nervous being up here with such a lovely lady.”

“Lies.”

“Maybe,” Arkk admitted, turning his head to try to find any kind of lip or edge that he could plant his foot against without it just sliding off.

“Anyway, if you’re done acting the love-sick fool…” Ilya’s sharp eyes turned back over the side of the roof. The crazy elf actually let go of the roof with one of her hands to point off into the distance. “I was trying to say that the tower over there was where the magical defenses were. I think, anyway. I don’t know much about magic but the tower glowed and then the harpy couldn’t escape.”

Edging ever so slightly closer to the edge of the roof, Arkk peered around it from his lower vantage point. He could see the tall tower jutting up from the far end of the Duke’s keep. Maybe there were people up there? He could see movement but that could easily be a flag shuffling in the chill gusts of wind.

“There are four people up there. Two look like regular guards, the same as anywhere else along the walls. Two are wearing robes. Spellcasters, I assume.”

“Why robes?”

Ilya managed to shrug without losing her grip on the roof. “Maybe the Duke likes them in robes so he can easily tell apart spellcasters from rank-and-file.”

“And you think there is a ritual circle up there?”

“Something glowed. You’re the magic expert. You tell me.”

“Zullie is the magic expert. I might be able to tell you what it does if I could see it. My eyes aren’t as good as yours. Can you describe it?”

“Can’t see the floor from here. Or anything else that looked like it might have been glowing.”

“Dang.” Much like churches or wherever inquisitors were suspected of being, scrying anywhere near the Duke’s manor failed. They hadn’t been able to get a good, in-depth overview of the place. If they could scry on it, there was no way Ilya would have convinced him to climb up to the top of the roof, enticing view of her backside or not. “Those are probably not the manor’s only defenses. Magically speaking. Zullie said that a lot of work went into its design. Some aspects of the manor’s defenses are studied in the academy but a lot of it is either secret—for security reasons—or were developed by the church.”

“Will it be a problem if there are more defenses?”

“I have no idea. If there is nothing else, shall we get down?”

“I thought you wanted to map out the place.”

“Yes, well, as it turns out, my hands are a bit busy,” Arkk said, adjusting his grip on the edge of the roof. “I’ll just have to remember it for later.”

“From what Hawkwood said, that large wing with the glass ceiling is likely where we’ll be for most of the party.”

“Opposite side of the keep from the tall tower. Not ideal but possibly not a problem. Won’t know until we go in, I suppose. We have no idea what the interior looks like and I really can’t see anything from here anyway.”

“It would help if you weren’t staring at me.”

“Ilya,” Arkk said, putting on his most suave smile. “How do we get back down?”

The elf blinked at the non-sequitur. “Climb?”

“Backwards?”

“No. Head first,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just the reverse of how you got up here. Dangle your legs over the edge and find the notches you used to get up. The brickwork is jagged enough that there are plenty.”

As if to demonstrate, Ilya let go entirely. She slid down the slick roof right until her boots hit the lower edge. Some elven magic must have kicked in because she stopped with her boots dangling just past the rooftop. However, she didn’t stop for long. A slight wiggle in her waist sent her over the edge. Her boots made faint clacks as they struck the wall and, in a graceful display, she was upright clinging to the roof and the wall.

“Just like that. Easy.”

“Easy,” Arkk said. “Maybe you should send Vezta up for me when you get down.”

Ilya was probably going to strain something with how much she was rolling her eyes. “Come on,” she said, using only one hand to hold onto the roof as she planted a hand on his backside. “I’ll guide you. Just let go and—”

Arkk, doing as he was told, let go of the side of the roof. Only for a moment. As soon as he started sliding back, he tried to clamp hold of it again. The frosty roof slipped through his gloves without purchase.

In an instant, Arkk felt his stomach drop out from under him. The rest of him followed.

“Arkk!”

The building they had been using as a vantage point was a three-story building. Tall enough that his uncontrolled tumble would break his neck on impact but not so tall as to offer time to do anything. As Arkk flipped off the roof, he spotted two bright yellow eyes glowing from under the hood of a cloak. Was Vezta going to catch him? Could she?

He didn’t have time to think of the answers.

Arkk spoke the two words he thought might save him in that instant.

“Cranium Internum.”

Arkk slammed into the ground.

Except, it didn’t hurt. It wasn’t even a fast fall. More like he had toppled backward out of a chair onto a soft mat. He still let out a long, feminine groan, more out of the expectation of pain rather than feeling anything. Slamming a hand into his face and dragging it down, he slowly sat up and opened his eyes.

And opened his eyes.

And opened his eyes.

A cascade of visions, each more bizarre and unsettling than the last, assaulted Arkk. The world he beheld through the eyes of this inhuman entity was unlike anything he ever could have imagined.

Just a few moments ago, it had been a cold, overcast day. Entirely ordinary for early winter. The colors were dull and muted, looking drab. There had been no sign of the sun even though it should have been visible over the top of Cliff’s mountains.

Now, the overcast sky was gone, replaced with a shattered black void that stretched eternally. Distant specks of light looked nothing like normal stars. They were eyes like Vezta’s, staring back down at him, watching his every move. Waiting. Waiting for what? They wanted something.

He could feel it.

He could hear it.

Whispers, faint and haunting, called down from the shattered sky. Their words meant nothing to him. Secrets from ages long past or casual conversation around a tavern fire. It could have been either.

Fear coiled in his chest, feeling small and insignificant. He was merely one tiny speck of dust next to the [STARS] above. And yet, amidst that terror and shrinking feeling, an ember of curiosity ignited deep within. This was where Vezta had come from. Distant. So far away that only gods could reach. He could see it.

Arkk. Farmboy-turned-mercenary leader was now witnessing a sight that no other being had witnessed.

Something moved to block his view. Ilya’s face obscured the shattered sky. She looked down with worry and panic, hands clamping down on Arkk’s shoulders. For some reason, Arkk expected her to look different. Maybe something subtle, a distortion to her features, or maybe something obvious like transparent skin revealing blood, bone, and organs. But she was just Ilya. Beautiful with her elven features.

The ground was the ground. The bricks were bricks. It was only the sky above that had changed.

“—happened to Arkk? He fell and… I panicked and…”

Arkk blinked and blinked and blinked and blinked. He could hear her words and her voice but… those unintelligible whispers from the [STARS] were so fascinating…

“Arkk is safe,” his mouth responded of its own accord. “Startled, I think. Master, if you can hear me, it would be wise to end the spell.”

Spell? Spell.

Cranium Internum. He was possessing Vezta. Of course he was. She was the only other in the entire world who saw what he was seeing now. Spell. End spell.

Arkk stumbled back from Vezta’s body, slamming into Ilya and knocking them both to the ground. Ilya, startled, started to shove him off only to realize who he was. She immediately wrapped her arms around him.

“Are you okay? You slipped and… I’m sorry! I should have had a better grip on you or…”

Ilya continued apologizing. Arkk just sat back, head against her soft chest. The awe and shock faded slowly as he stared up at the gray, overcast sky. Eventually, it reached a point where he sucked in a sharp breath. Arkk blinked. Had he been breathing before?

“Arkk?”

“I’m fine,” Arkk said slowly, words feeling strangely unfamiliar in his mouth. He licked his lips and shook his head, forcing himself to blink several more times. “Fine. Sorry for scaring you.”

“Scare me? I almost jumped down after you but then you just vanished.”

“He possessed me,” Vezta said when Arkk didn’t speak right away.

“Possessed?”

“I only used it once before. Testing with Zullie,” Arkk said, closing his eyes as he rested back against Ilya. Shaking out his arms, he started feeling a little more normal. “Not a spell I like to use—or even like the idea of—but it was the only thing that popped into my mind in my panic.”

“I would have caught you.”

Arkk nodded his head. “I figured but wasn’t completely sure…” Trailing off, he looked upward again. A regular, overcast sky hung overhead. “What…” he started, only to find himself unable to finish the question. “Are they still there?”

Ilya, behind him, tilted her head back to follow his gaze. “Are what still there?”

“The [STARS],” Arkk said.

Vezta nodded. “Always.”

“What are they saying?”

A pained look crossed Vezta’s face for a brief moment before she adopted her usual pleasant expression. “I don’t know,” she said, pointing a finger upward. “It’s broken.”

Arkk nodded slowly. That made sense… even if it didn’t. He hadn’t been able to understand them either. Those whispers, now gone, might have been nothing more than his imagination. He was sure that there had been words—even words he understood—but the meaning of the concepts failed to translate. Vezta’s [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE] worked so why wouldn’t that?

Because it was broken.

The shattered sky.

“The Calamity?” Arkk asked, only for Vezta to slowly shake her head.

“No. The sky shattered long before the Calamity. Long before the [PANTHEON] or this world existed. Primordial beings that were the first and will be the last,” she said with a smile. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“But those are them, aren’t they? The [STARS]. The things the inquisitors fear and the things the gorgon could smell on me.”

“True. I do not know what the inquisitors fear for, however. They cannot meaningfully interact with any plane of existence. Even if they knew we were planning on reverting the Calamity, that wouldn’t be enough to fix the shattered skies. As for the gorgon, my kind was typically allied with those from other planes—which, the gorgon do hail from the [UNDERWORLD] originally.”

“Your kind… There are more of you?”

“Were. I feel like I would know if others had survived. I thought the [HEART] of Fortress Al-Mir beating once more would call to them. That none have responded is telling.”

“Sorry,” Arkk said, earning a shrug. “What… how did you get here if interaction is impossible?”

“[PANTHEON]. Specifically, Xel’atriss, Lock and Key.”

“The god of boundaries and barriers?” Arkk said, remembering Vezta’s introduction when they first created the temple room.

“The only being any have seen capable of reaching through the broken skies. She offered experience as opposed to observation. They couldn’t come through, even with the Lock and Key’s power, so they sent us [SERVANTS] in their place.”

Arkk licked his lips, trying one more time to ask the question he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer to. “What are they?”

“Primordial beings. The first and the last. They have no true name. But, as I am a [SERVANT] and was one before Fortress Al-Mir, the most apt term for them would be the [MASTERS].”

That feeling of curiosity and unease melded together at hearing the term pounded through his skull with the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE]. A discordant hum escaped his lips. At his back, even Ilya flinched and her breathing hitched. A feeling of insignificance threatened to crush him until Vezta reached forward, planting a hand on his.

“As I said, I wouldn’t worry. Or think about it. It is what it is and nothing any of us do will change that.”

Arkk shuddered but nodded his head. And to think Vezta’s former master possessed her often. Well, if they stayed within Fortress Al-Mir, he probably wouldn’t have seen the sky all that much. Even still, he had to have seen it. Now that Arkk had seen it, did he want to see it again?

The question brought up a void in Arkk’s mind. He wouldn’t say yes. At the same time, he couldn’t quite bring himself to say no. Perhaps, after a time to get used to the idea, he would decide one way or the other. For now, he just nestled back against Ilya, not making any attempt to disentangle himself from her arms.

Tragically, her head twitched to one side the way it did when her sharp ears caught an interesting sound. “I don’t quite know what is going on… I hear footsteps and voices approaching. They probably heard us shouting and are here to investigate. We don’t want to be caught spying on the Duke’s manor. Besides, you were supposed to meet with those Claymores who wanted to switch companies.”

“But it is so comfortable here,” Arkk said, pressing himself further against Ilya’s chest.

She looked down, frowned, and promptly shoved him off to the side. It was a halfhearted shove at best. Still, it got him off her. He stood slowly, not quite steady on his feet. Ilya grabbed one arm to steady him. At the same time, Vezta grabbed his other.

“Maybe we can snuggle later.”

“In your dreams.”

“I guess that will have to do,” Arkk grumbled.

With that, Ilya took the lead, using her senses to keep them from encountering anyone.

The entire way back to the stayover, Arkk found himself glancing upward every so often.

 

 

 

“Still no sign of the inquisitors?”

Vezta shot Arkk a glare. An actual, genuine glare. That was, perhaps, the first time he had ever seen her in any way upset with him.

He simply raised an eyebrow.

“No, Master. Rest assured that I will inform you the moment I detect any suspicious activity. You do not need to ask me every five steps.”

“Just making sure,” Arkk said.

Twenty-four hours inside Cliff and still no trap sprung. He was fairly confident that the letter from Hawkwood had been genuine now but that didn’t mean that the inquisitors would just sit back and watch them. With every step they took, he felt like suddenly turning around just to catch the inquisitors trying to sneak up on him. A useless gesture while Vezta was at his side. She had a crystal ball in her hand and eyes literally on the back of her head. There was no chance that he would notice something amiss before she did.

That didn’t make the sensation that they were being watched go away.

“Zullie, was there ever any progress on detecting when we’re being magically watched?”

“Was that something I was supposed to do?” Zullie half turned, meeting his eyes as they walked through the halls of the Cliff Magic Academy. “First I’m hearing of it. I’ve had all my efforts focused on the ritual lately. You don’t want me to reprioritize, do you?”

“No. No. Definitely not. I just…” Arkk drew in a breath and let it back out in a clipped sigh. “I think I need more magical researchers. Don’t suppose walking through here has jogged your memory of some other casters who have gotten into trouble with inquisitors in the past, has it?”

“Not particularly. And scrying is a rarity. I imagine most kings and the church have methods of scrying. Maybe old warlocks who have managed to inherit magical artifacts. Hardly anyone else. The Abbey of the Light maintains a monopoly on methods of detection and avoidance. I imagine that is precisely because they don’t want people hiding from their eyes.”

That was not the first time Arkk had heard that something he wanted to do was exclusively within the domain of the church. Avoiding mental magics came to mind. If the church didn’t want counter-scrying knowledge public so that they could scry, it did make him wonder if a similar issue had them blocking mental magics as well. One more reason to avoid the church… Though…

“I don’t suppose you know of any corrupt priests or abbesses who would know such things?”

“Aside from the healer we have on hand for accidents and injuries, the academy doesn’t have much interaction with any member of the church.”

“I wonder how hard it would be to find someone…”

“Corrupt individuals exist in every profession,” Zullie said, frowning. “It’s just a matter of having something to offer that they think is worth risking their position.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He didn’t know that he would find an opportunity to use that tidbit but he would have to keep an ear out for anyone the church wound up angry with. Maybe they would post bounties on former priests.

Dismissing the idea for the time being, he turned to Vezta and opened his mouth.

She glared. “No, Master, the inquisitors are not on our tail at this time.”

Arkk clamped his jaw shut, pursing his lips. “I was just going to ask what you thought about this place?” he said, waving his hands along the corridor.

They had been walking through the Cliff Academy for some time. Not wanting anyone to know of his interest in the place, Zullie had used a spell from Savren that made them look like whoever a viewer most expected to be in any given place. Which was a spell powerful enough that it was no wonder that the church had labeled mind magics as anathema.

Though, Zullie did say that it had some drawbacks. Any spellcaster would be able to tell, entirely passively, that a large amount of magic was being used in their vicinity. Trying to use it to slip into the garrison would likely have them arrested in moments. The academy, already inundated with magic from research and training, made it far more difficult to tell that something was amiss. Even if someone did notice the magic expenditure, it wouldn’t be thought of as anything out of the ordinary here.

After having passed through the populated areas of the academy, Zullie had dropped the spell. It worked by affecting nearby minds so anyone scrying on them would have already known, thus making the effort pointless this far into the academy.

They had made it to the back corridors. The same dusty halls that he and Zullie had used to escape from Agnete just before leaving Cliff the first time around. Now that he was looking at them again, he wasn’t quite so sure of his earlier assessment. Fortress Al-Mir had perfect walls, straight and smooth with fine tiles and the regular glowstone marking the path. Even before he took over, when it had been in a more dilapidated state, it still retained that regularity and ruggedness.

The back tunnels of Cliff Academy wound and wove, twisted and turned. The corridors weren’t all the same width or height. This particular path allowed five orcs to stand shoulder to shoulder. The hallway before, however, barely let him walk alongside Vezta and Zullie. One set of stairs up to a higher level had been narrow and steep, almost like climbing a ladder, while another set of stairs felt more like a gradual ramp. More of an incline than proper stairs.

Glowstones dotted the corridor now and again. Arkk wasn’t surprised to find them all dim and inert. Zullie had grabbed a few bright amber glowstones to light their way through the dim tunnels. The tunnels didn’t feel like they had been constructed through the magic of lesser servants. Rather, it looked like it had been dug out by men with picks. Or dwarves. Wasn’t that who was supposed to have created what was now used as the academy?

It just… didn’t feel like Fortress Al-Mir.

Maybe it shouldn’t. It wasn’t, after all. When Vezta had mentioned other fortresses with other [HEART] artifacts at their core, he had pictured identical clones of Fortress Al-Mir. Was that the case? The only other confirmed fortress he had seen was the one in Darkwood. And that one he hadn’t actually seen. He had been too preoccupied with the defense and, later, his injuries to even scry on it. Had it been a regular labyrinth of connected corridors or had it been a maze of tunnels more akin to an ant colony?

Vezta was looking around now. With her multitude of eyes, she could keep watch of the crystal ball at the same time. Arkk guessed that this human-like gesture was more for his sake than out of an actual need to look around. He appreciated it.

“There are elements that make me scoff and say that this couldn’t have ever been a proper fortress,” Vezta started, speaking slowly as if to gather her thoughts. “I would almost suggest that we turn around and cease wasting our time. But then I’ll spot something familiar. An arch in the ceiling, a tile on the floor, the shape of a doorway,” she said, nodding to an open doorway whose door must have long since fallen.

“So… it is a fortress? Or isn’t it?”

“The [HEART] of a fortress is a gift from the [PANTHEON]. However, which member of the [PANTHEON] primarily offered the gift can influence the appearance and function of the fortress. In a way, this place reminds me of Unknown, the Enigma. A maze of corridors turning in on each other, impossible to tell how far we’ve gone or how far we’ve come. Every landmark we spot is unique and yet has a familiarity that leads us to believe that we’ve passed this point before…”

“That… sounds dangerous,” Arkk said, looking around the corridor once again. Had they already been this way? The dusty hallways hadn’t been disturbed yet. They were leaving a trail of footprints in their wake, so they should be able to escape. But… “Zullie, didn’t you say that sometimes academics would wander back into these tunnels only to never be seen again?”

“Stories,” Zullie said. “Fictional stories. Probably.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Vezta said, continuing forward even as Arkk stopped. “Something wrong?”

“If these tunnels are designed to trap people, is it wise to continue?”

“If,” Vezta said. “I am not wholly convinced that these tunnels weren’t simply dug out by mortal hands. Or perhaps men discovered the tunnels and then dug into them, damaging the original layout or erected walls, changing the size and shape of the corridors. Even if this is a fortress owing favor to Unknown, the Enigma, it is quite clearly inactive and dormant. No actual magic will trap us. We can always follow our trail to escape.”

“We’re sure?”

In lieu of a verbal response, Vezta cocked her head, approached the closest wall, and raised a tendril that split off from her side. A gaping maw of razor-sharp teeth formed, looking much like the mouths of the lesser servants. She plunged it straight into the wall, easily consuming the brick and stone. Pulling back, she looked to Arkk.

“If this is a fortress, it is entirely inactive. Even more so than Fortress Al-Mir was when you first discovered it. Failing every other method of escape, I could dig a tunnel out. There is no danger of us becoming trapped in an enigmatic maze.”

That did offer some relief. There was another problem, unfortunately. “Next question: Are we wandering aimlessly or do you have a way of telling where the Heart might be?”

Vezta looked around again, this time with a deepening frown. “This place is inert. I cannot sense where the [HEART] might be, if there is one.”

“That’s a problem. According to Zullie, these caves encompass nearly the entire mountain. We could be wandering for weeks with no luck. And that’s assuming it is possible to find and not walled off.”

“My feet are already protesting,” Zullie grumbled, moving to lean up against the wall. “I’d rather not pick paths at random.”

“Any ideas?” Arkk asked, looking from the witch to the servant. Neither spoke up, leading to Arkk letting out a small groan. “It’s pitch dark. Scrying won’t work. After they’re finished securing our escape routes, if I order the lesser servants to zig-zag their way through in the hopes that they find something, is there a possibility that they might damage the Heart?”

Vezta chuckled, which was more than enough of an answer. She still added, “Not likely. Though they may cause collapses and other problems elsewhere in the mountain.”

Arkk clicked his tongue. Although Vezta prefaced her statements with ifs, Arkk was a little more confident that this was a fortress, even if it wasn’t like his own. Unfortunately, he was significantly less confident that they would be able to utilize it in an appreciable amount of time.

“Slave Natum,” he intoned, springing forth six fresh lesser servants. The pulsing masses of oily flesh, bulbous eyes, and gaping maws stared up at him, patiently awaiting his commands. He didn’t need to use words to command them but, for the benefit of Vezta and Zullie, he said, “Split up and wander the corridors. Alert me if you find anything. Do not get seen by anyone. If you find a populated area, turn back and try other routes. If you are at risk of discovery…” Arkk pressed his lips together. Vezta had assured him that they could barely think but it still left a sour taste in his mouth when they died. “Self-terminate.”

In an eerie unison, the lesser servants turned away, moving down the corridor. As they passed by doors on the sides of the hall, one or two would split off. In short order, he was alone with Vezta and Zullie once again.

“I don’t expect them to find anything soon,” Arkk said. “But maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“We’re leaving then?” Zullie asked, sounding excited.

“Yes. But keep this in the back of your minds. If you have any ideas on how to find the Heart, assuming there is one. Lower priority than the ritual but it is important to our long-term goals.”

Unfortunately, unless the lesser servants came up with something soon, it didn’t look like they would be able to use this as territory to teleport to if things went poorly in the city. They might be able to escape to it but they would have to go on foot.

Better to use the other lesser servants who were already burrowing tunnels underneath the city.

Dakka swirled a fine glass of ruby-red wine. Going in for a drink, she carefully watched her opponents over the top of its rim. Her eyes shifted from one human to the next. Then the one after. They were harder to read than the undisciplined scum around the Primrose. A result of the training they underwent with their respective mercenary companies, undoubtedly.

Even still, she could see it in their eyes.

Here was the big, dumb orc with loaded pockets, here to play games at the human table.

Wishing that the wine glass was a proper flagon just so that she could set it down with a little more force, Dakka picked up a gold coin and tossed it into the pile at the center of the table.

Her opponents balked. They didn’t do anything so overt as to grimace or groan. The way their fingers moved over their cards and coins told enough.

One bore the white shield with a single black chevron, upward facing, on the breast of his white suit. White Company. Their allies, at least for the moment, though she doubted he would have any qualms over cleaning her out. He bet risky but had the luck to prop himself up. No sign of cheating that she had been able to spot. The gold piece seemed a bit too much for him despite the pot being worth almost five before Dakka’s addition. After thinking for a moment, he folded.

The woman across from Dakka wore a metal brooch pinning a heavy black cloak over her shoulders. The brooch was shaped like an upward-thrusting claymore, surrounded by the wings of a bird… which made it look more like a trident than a proper sword. Dakka didn’t know much about the Order of the Claymores other than that a small contingent of them had been dispatched to Darkwood Burg in search of Gretchen, Viscount Wesley’s daughter. They had helped with the defense later on… which meant that this person, whether or not she had been present herself, likely knew of Vezta and possibly even the teleportation circles that Arkk wanted to keep quiet.

Dakka wasn’t sure what to do with that information. That was something for Arkk to think about. All Dakka knew was that this woman had lost more than anyone else at the table. Dakka still gave her a respectful nod when the woman slid over twin stacks of silver coins.

The last at the table might not have been human. He wore a solid black robe-like suit, complete with gloves, a high neck, and a wide-brimmed hat. Only his head was visible and yet, Dakka couldn’t see a single hair poking out under his hat or on his face. Nor any evidence that hair had ever grown. To make matters a little more suspicious, he wore black lenses with leather shields blocking any peripheral vision. The glass was so dark that Dakka wondered how he could even see his cards.

Maybe some kind of lizard beastman. Whatever he was, he tossed in a gold piece of his own, turning a toothless smile back to Dakka.

“Company Al-Mir, is it?” he said, speaking a little strangely as he kept his lips firmly over his teeth. An odd move that only reinforced Dakka’s suspicion. “Quite the stellar rise to prominence.”

Dakka tapped her knuckles against the table twice before looking up to meet his gaze. Even with the glasses, she could tell that he wasn’t looking at her but at the emblem she wore on her chest. The compass rose backed with an intricate maze. “Boss-man is ambitious,” she said with a shrug.

“Makes quite the use of non-humans. Elves and orcs. Gorgon too, if rumors hold.”

“They are,” Dakka said, watching the table as one final card joined the other four. “Looking for a job?” she asked as she tossed in another ten silvers.

With the man from White Company out already, that left the woman from the Order of the Claymores to hum and haw over whether or not to add to the pot. Although her face was perfectly expressionless, the length of her hesitation spoke volumes.

“I might be. What kind of long-term goals and aspirations does Company Al-Mir hold? What kind of benefits do you offer? Does the leader use you as fodder or does he care?”

“Last question first: I’d say he cares a bit too much.”

“How so?” The question didn’t come from the glasses-wearing possible non-human but from the soldier from White Company.

Dakka glanced over just as a clink of coins joined the pot. After the Claymore tossed her coins in, the non-human instantly threw in a full gold coin. From his earlier betting, Dakka hadn’t expected such a confident display. Her eyes drifted to the last card flipped, trying to figure out how likely it was that he had a better hand than she did.

“He does foolish things on occasion,” she said, using the question to buy her a moment to think. “Shoves an orc out of the way of an attack and takes the hit himself despite our armor and tougher hide. Goes in by himself if he thinks the situation is too dangerous. We’ve taken on several dangerous tasks and only just lost one—to his own idiocy, I might mention. No one else took more than a few nicks and cuts. I think Arkk took it a bit hard. The rest of us…” she shrugged, tossing in twenty silver to match her bet with the man in the hat.

“You didn’t care?” the White Company man asked with a frown.

“Me specifically?” Dakka scoffed. “Rolling his body into a ditch would have been more than he deserved. But he and I had a bit of history. Arkk gave him a full cultural burial.”

“I see,” the hatted man said, watching as the Claymore cautiously matched their bets. “Are conflicts among the rank-and-file common?”

“Get any group of people together and there are going to be some who can’t stand others. That said, we don’t fight much. Outside the pit, of course. Arkk made it clear that he wouldn’t stand for any real fighting early on.”

The hatted man hummed and, nodding to himself, threw in another gold coin. “Benefits?”

“Lodging, food, and equipment are all provided and he knows some healing spell to keep us from suffering from most injuries.” Dakka paused and then grinned. She pulled out a pair of gold coins. “Pay is good enough to keep up with you as well,” she said, tossing them into the pot.

White Company’s soldier laughed at the display. The Claymore, on the other hand, dropped her expressionless act in favor of a heavy scowl. The stack of coins in front of her wasn’t anywhere near enough to match and she knew it.

“He hire humans too?” she asked, slamming her cards against the table. Dakka would have accepted her putting everything into the pot even if she couldn’t match but it seemed like the woman wasn’t interested.

Probably for the best.

“Claymores don’t pay well?” Dakka asked with a grin.

“Apparently not,” she huffed.

“Well,” the hatted man said, looking from the large pot to Dakka. “And goals for the organization?”

“Help some people out. Make money while doing it.”

With a drawn-out hum, the man placed his cards against the table. “I’ll have to consider my options,” he said, standing. Touching his gloved hand to the brim of his hat, he turned and stalked away from the table. Dakka turned in her seat, watching him head over to the entrance to the stayover. A second after he left, Arkk and his entourage entered.

“Something I said?” Dakka asked with a frown, earning nothing but shrugs from the other two at the table.

“Never seen him before.”

“Same.”

“Huh.” Shrugging, Dakka started dragging the large pot of coins over to herself. The Claymore reached out for Dakka’s cards, only to freeze as a heavy hand clamped around her wrist.

“Not even going to show your cards?”

“Then you’ll know if I was bluffing or not,” Dakka said, all smiles as she squared her cards into the deck before anyone could see them. With a wink, she tossed out a gold coin to each of the mercenaries and scraped the rest into her already-loaded pouch. “Get a few drinks on me instead. And that is the boss-man,” she said, thumbing over her shoulder as Arkk passed. “If that was genuine interest in swapping companies, I’m sure he would be happy to hear you out.”

The Claymore looked a little uncomfortable at the comment, though she was happy to keep the offered gold. Her eyes followed Arkk for a long minute until he disappeared up the stairs.

“I’m going to talk to him for a bit. Assuming he has no tasks for me, I’ll be back later, offering anyone a chance to earn some of this back,” she said patting the pouch.

Heading up the stairs after Arkk, she had to wonder what their reactions would be if they knew just how much she had been bluffing. Both about her cards and about the goals of Company Al-Mir. Claiming to want to overthrow a kingdom would be more believable than reverting the Calamity.

 

 

Returning to the City of Cliff did not fill Arkk with the same sense of wonder and awe that had struck him during his first approach to the city. Cliff hadn’t changed. It was still the largest settlement he had ever seen, far larger than any regular burg, with grandiose buildings and a harbor full of ships that looked too big to float. The temple atop the island mountain in the middle of the bay gleamed in the sun of the early evening, just barely out of reach of the shadow of the mountain that gave Cliff its name.

The city hadn’t changed. Arkk had.

He knew things now. He was wholly aware of the shanty town just beyond the harbor where the non-humans of the city were effectively sequestered on their own. He knew the disparity between the Duke’s dwelling and the hovels of his citizens. He knew how useless the Duke’s armies were at securing his land—between allowing groups like Rekk’ar’s and the slavers to exist and effectively abandoning the land around Katja’s bandits to whatever criminal elements decided to move in, Arkk hadn’t the slightest clue why anyone was paying taxes.

Though he had a sneaking suspicion that the Duke’s men would be quite effective at subjugating any village that failed to pay.

Everything Arkk had seen on his travels had only reinforced his opinion that the Duke was a blight on the land and needed to go.

Getting past the guards at the gate had taken a bit more work this time around. Three travelers, lightly armed, weren’t a big deal. This time, Arkk was heading into the city with a retinue of nine orcs plus Dakka, Zullie, Vezta—under a heavy cloak—Agnete—also under a cloak—and Ilya. It wasn’t an army, by any means, but was a little more concerning than blighted fungus.

Which, after all his travels, Arkk still didn’t know what blighted fungus was. Even Zullie just gave him a shrug of her shoulders.

Once he flashed the invitation from the Duke, however, the gate guards changed their tones. To his surprise, the invitation came with more than just entry to the Duke’s manor. Last time, the guard had begrudgingly pointed them in the direction of what had to be the worst stayover in the city. This time, Arkk and the rest of Company Al-Mir got themselves an escort that brought them straight through to a large stayover a stone’s throw away from the garrison. Not the fancy part of the city but far better than the shanty town beyond the harbor.

The Cliff’s Edge.

“I thought we would be staying in the Primrose again,” Ilya said, looking around a large lobby furnished with fine tables and chairs made from healthy brown wood. Several others sat around, talking and eating. Unlike the Moonshine Burg stayover, Arkk hadn’t rented out the entire place just for them. It was already occupied by several individuals. Judging by their attire, the rough yet clean looks most presented, and the weapons dangling from near everyone’s belts, it seemed to be the kind of place where mercenary types gathered. Fitting, Arkk supposed.

Case in point, Arkk recognized insignias from the Order of the Claymores gathered around one table. Apart from their presence at Darkwood Burg, he didn’t know all that much about them other than that most of them were getting on in years. The majority of their members were sourced from soldiers who fought in the war between the Evestani Sultanate and Chernlock thirty years ago. Some looked up, shooting wary looks in his direction. Or, more accurately, in the direction of the orcs.

“Think they’ll be up for some games with coin on the line?” Dakka asked, voice quiet.

“Don’t start any trouble,” Arkk said, looking away. Trouble was the last thing they needed right now.

“Didn’t start trouble last time,” Dakka said, earning a glare from Arkk. “I wasn’t cheating any more than they were.”

Arkk just shook his head. In doing so, he spotted a larger group of men bearing a crest of a white shield with a black chevron. White Company. Hawkwood’s people. Verifying the authenticity of Hawkwood’s letter was among his first tasks here at Cliff—there was still the possibility of it having been forged by the inquisitors without any knowledge of Hawkwood. As long as it was real, he hoped the rest of White Company would keep any cause for rising tensions low in the area.

“Vezta?” Arkk asked as they made their way up to the second floor where the Cliff’s Edge proprietor directed them. Arkk rented out a pair of large rooms. One for the rank-and-file orcs and another for himself and the ‘officers’. With them hopefully recruiting while in the city, he wondered if he should make ranks among the members official or not. Something to decide later. “Any sign of the inquisitors?”

Vezta, holding a pair of crystal balls, each flashing different images, shook her head. “I’ve scanned every room in the building as well as those of neighboring buildings. The scrying hasn’t been blocked yet.

“They could have disabled that,” Zullie said. “Maybe using a more magically intensive method of hiding that doesn’t betray their presence, knowing you would be doing just that.”

“Like the illusion spell you used at the academy last time we were here?”

“Exactly.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, slowly opening the door to the finer of the two rooms he had rented. “We’ve showed up without any warning. We missed the date for Hawkwood’s initial invitation so they wouldn’t even have that going for them. I doubt they managed to scramble together and hide out in the twenty minutes since we arrived.”

“Unless they were scrying on us and knew we were coming. Crystal balls are rare but not unheard of and I wouldn’t put it past the church to have a few.” Zullie stepped into the room, moving warily and eying everything around her. “Let me just… Aku menggunakan akal sehatku untuk mendeteksi aliran sihir yang aneh di sekitarku.” She reached out and grasped hold of an invisible rope, slowly drawing it toward her chest as she turned around. She did stop and shudder upon facing Vezta but quickly shook her head and kept turning around the room. “No magic beyond our own here,” she said, moving back to Arkk. “I’ll check the other room.”

“Thank you,” Arkk said with a nod of his head. Zullie slipped past him while he and the others entered the room properly.

Although designed to be an upscale room, the beds left something to be desired. The fabric was worn and the rough wool stuffing poked through at places. It was a far cry better than the Primrose had been or even the Moonshine Burg stayover, but… Arkk had grown used to the creature comforts provided by Fortress Al-Mir. The magically generated beds were perfect in just about any way that mattered.

While the others quickly picked out places to sleep and began unloading some of their travel gear, Agnete steered clear of the beds. She simply laid down a canvas tarp in one corner of the room and sat upright in a meditative pose.

They hadn’t used the teleportation circles to reach Cliff. At least not directly. They had used them to reach a little burg to the north called Charming, from which they rented a large pair of wagons and headed out to Cliff, hopefully disguising the angle of their approach. Maybe it was paranoia. Arkk hadn’t seen any evidence that they had been watched. Still, he didn’t want to lead his enemies right back to the Cursed Forest if he could help it.

Throughout their few-day journey from Charming, Arkk learned that Agnete had to be fairly wary of where she slept. While the area around her was unlikely to erupt into a raging inferno like what they had used against the slavers, it was not uncommon for her to accidentally spark flames in her sleep. The canvas she used, left behind by the inquisitors when they escaped from the false fortress, was treated specially to avoid accidental ignition.

It wasn’t perfect, evidenced by the scattered scorch marks and one edge having charred, but it was better than any kind of regular fabric.

After allowing a short time for everyone to freshen up, Arkk gathered everyone together. “First thing first,” he said, looking around. “Vezta, Zullie, and I will head to the academy. Hopefully, we can finish our investigations before anyone hears of our arrival and—”

Three light knocks at the door made Arkk tense. He was far from the only one. The orcs never liked to be far from their weapons and traveled with their armor on. It took a hasty wave of his hand to keep them from drawing their weapons. Zullie and Ilya moved to the back corner of the room, looking mildly busy while also having a clear view of the doorway. Vezta, without a care in the world, approached the door first. With her heavy cloak covering most of her body, Arkk was hoping she would come across as a particularly unusual demihuman rather than a pre-Calamity monster.

Arkk pulled one of her crystal balls to him and quickly checked the other side of the door. Tense still, Arkk gave Vezta a nod of his head, motioning toward the door.

She opened it in such a way that it was doubtful anyone would see her face. Even once fully opened, Vezta positioned herself just behind the door so that nothing but her shoulder would be seen.

The face that appeared in the open door wasn’t familiar. The white shield and black chevron on his shoulder was. The sword at the man’s hip looked more ornamental than usable. All of which had Arkk relaxing.

“Mister Arkk of Company Al-Mir, I presume?”

Arkk slowly nodded his head. “That’s correct. And you are…”

“Neil, adjutant to Hawkwood. My Lord has heard of your arrival and wishes to meet over a meal in about an hour at the White Company Headquarters.”

“That soon, huh?” Arkk asked, putting on an easy smile that he didn’t quite feel inside. It must have been one of those he had seen down in the lobby. They knew Hawkwood wanted to meet with him and went to tell him. “We missed the dinner he invited us to and he already has another set up?”

“Hawkwood understands that this likely comes as a surprise. It will be a meal between Company Al-Mir and White Company, no one else has been invited. If you are fatigued from your journey, we might be able to put it off. However, things have been busy lately. It was fortuitous that you arrived tonight. He hasn’t had many other evenings unburdened by work.”

“No, no,” Arkk said quickly. He had wanted to check out the possible fortress within the academy as soon as possible, but if putting off a meeting with Hawkwood meant not meeting with him for a significant amount of time, it was best to get that done now. “I wanted to catch up with Hawkwood as well and apologize for missing out on his initial invitation. An hour you said? And just myself?”

The adjutant slowly looked over the room. His facial expression, hidden partially behind a bushy mustache, didn’t change but Arkk did note his eyes lingering on the orcs. “The table has open seats for six.”

“Alright. We’ll be there.”

“I will deliver the good news to Hawkwood at once.” With a slight dip of his head, he turned and walked down the hallway. Vezta slowly closed the door behind him.

“Right,” Arkk said, looking back over his team. “New plan. Zullie, Agnete, you go and try to get those books you were after. Preferably without anyone finding out that anyone is interested in them, least of all us.”

Zullie shot a wary look at Agnete, the latter of whom simply nodded her head, before nodding as well. “Right this moment?”

Arkk shook his head. “Wait until we have left. Try to slip out without being seen.”

“Easy,” Zullie said.

“Myself, Ilya, Dakka, and Vezta will go to this meal—”

“Vezta?” Ilya asked, surprised. “Is that wise? No offense.”

“She is a demihuman with a skin condition,” Arkk said with a shrug. “Nothing more. I didn’t bring her along only to keep her hidden away. Hawkwood is at least a friendly face.”

“Unless he betrayed us to the inquisitors,” Ilya grumbled.

“Unless that. If that has happened, we’ll be enacting plan two. Just like we talked about,” Arkk said, meeting everyone’s eyes. “I’m hoping we’re still friends, however. That will let us gauge his reactions and decide how much we need to hide her from others.”

As Arkk spoke, he glanced over to Vezta. She nodded slowly. They had already discussed most of that on the way and during planning sessions but it was always good to reinforce the lessons. Watching her expressions over the journey, especially while their group had been questioned at the gate, had been interesting. He wondered if she was nervous about being this surrounded by possible enemies or if she wasn’t wanting to meet with other people.

She didn’t protest. Arkk turned back to the group at large.

“The rest of you, head down to the lobby and mingle. Be polite. Try to get a positive rapport with everyone—especially White Company—and also distract them, if you can, to help Zullie and Agnete slip out. Nothing disruptive. Buy everyone a round of drinks or something. I’ll reimburse you.”

Orjja and Farr’am flashed wide grins, which quickly spread across the other orcs. He figured they would be pleased with that.

“Our friends should already be here,” Arkk said, looking back to Zullie. “At the Primrose. If you think you need an extra hand carrying books, they are your best bet.”

“They,” Zullie said, rolling her eyes. “You mean the shorter of the two.”

“Well… Yes. Best to keep someone around Little Sharpened Blade and make sure he keeps out of trouble.”

“I don’t think we’ll need help,” Zullie said, tone flat. Between that spell she had been using to pack up her books on their initial departure from Cliff and Agnete’s help, she was probably right.

“It’s just an option. Orjja, later tonight or tomorrow morning, see if you can slip away. Find our friends at the Primrose and let them know that we won’t be joining them there.” Arkk paused a moment, waiting to see if anyone had input. No one spoke, leaving him to look to the three who were heading to Hawkwood’s place. “Let’s get ready.”

“Arkk! Welcome back to Cliff. How was the journey? Reports had you out in Moonshine Burg. Surprised you made such good time back.”

The ox-like man that was Hawkwood stood from his place at the dining table. Or… Arkk was pretty sure it was supposed to be a dining table. Stacks of papers surrounded Hawkwood in a semicircle, some only a few papers thick while others were stacked up to the length of his hands. The tips of Hawkwood’s fingers were stained in ink. Was everyone deep into paperwork at this time of year or just Hawkwood and Baron Doble?

“I can’t complain. I’m sorry about missing your invitation to meet with the other mercenaries. Moonshine Burg is quite far and we weren’t able to finish our business there in time. The sudden snowfall around Cliff in the last few days didn’t help.”

“I understand,” Hawkwood said with a heavy nod of his head. “The job comes first. There will be time to meet others later.”

Arkk relaxed somewhat. That was confirmation that the letter had come from Hawkwood. And unless Hawkwood was quite the actor, it didn’t seem like the inquisitors would be waiting in the wings. They had already scried through the entire place and hadn’t found anything amiss. Again, Arkk figured it was far too early for the inquisitors to have made their move unless they had been watching Arkk’s approach for a few days.

“You look… worn out,” Arkk said, not sure if he should call attention to it. “Everything alright?”

Hawkwood had a flat face and a large, pointed nose that didn’t quite sit straight on his face. Arkk imagined it had been broken many times. However, the last time Arkk saw the man, he had been clean-shaven. Now, a haggard beard had been allowed to grow and the man had dark circles around his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping well.

For a moment, Hawkwood smiled and looked like he was about to say one thing. That smile faltered and he slowly shook his head. “Tensions are high with Evestani at the moment,” he said with a sigh. “If it weren’t winter, we would likely be in the middle of a war. As it stands, I need to get my men into tip-top shape by spring just in case the tensions remain high. I hope the winter cools some heads but… Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. It… was one of the reasons for my invitation to meet with the other mercenary leaders. Yours isn’t a large company but it has been effective in what tasks you’ve taken on.

“But I didn’t invite you here to discuss such woes,” he said before Arkk could speak. “At least not tonight. There will be time later. For now, come, sit, eat. Or eat soon, the meal will start before long now that you’ve arrived. Ilya and Dakka, was it? Welcome. Good to see you again. And…”

“Vezta,” Arkk provided. “My… chief assistant.”

Hawkwood hummed, leaning to one side to better see underneath the hood of Vezta’s cloak. His eyes widened before he schooled his expression. “This is the one who accompanied you to Silver City?”

Arkk’s eyebrows popped up in surprise. “How…”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to imply that I’ve been spying on you.” Hawkwood started clearing away the papers in front of him, stacking them at alternating angles so that he could easily unstack them later. “White Company is a large organization with at least a few members making homes in almost every major burg. Mostly as recruiters. It is quite easy to get reports on such matters, especially when those matters make as large a splash as you’ve been managing.”

“Should have had you wear a cloak back then,” Arkk grumbled, mostly to himself, as he took the seat opposite Hawkwood.

“She was also spotted in Darkwood Burg and, recently, in Moonshine Burg.” Hawkwood motioned back toward the door. “There is a rack if you would like to remove the heavy cloak. The hearth should keep us warm enough despite the chill air outside.”

“She has a skin condition,” Arkk said as Ilya took a seat to his right.

That earned him a flat look from Hawkwood.

Sighing, Arkk gave a nod to Vezta, who headed over to the rack and took off her cloak. While within Fortress Al-Mir, Vezta often used a mass of… herself in place of legs, she did have the ability to form legs. Which she had done now. Her appearance was still beyond unusual, between her unusual tone of skin, an oily and liquidy appearance that extended to her ‘clothes’, and bright yellow eyes that looked like stars against black space. Arkk still hoped that proper legs pushed her more into the realm of unusual demihuman and outside the realm of pre-Calamity monster.

Hawkwood stared. To his credit, it looked like he was trying not to. It wasn’t until Vezta took a seat to Arkk’s left that he blinked. “Huh,” was all he said.

Arkk wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He decided not to comment—drawing attention to Vezta would just draw attention to her other-ness—leaving the only noise in the room that which came from Dakka as she took her seat on the opposite side of Vezta.

The table felt unbalanced with the four of them on one side and Hawkwood alone on the other. The adjutant had brought them to the room but hadn’t joined them inside. There weren’t any other guards or members of White Company around either.

“I had a question,” Arkk said, drawing attention back to himself.

“Oh?” Hawkwood forced his eyes on Arkk.

“The Duke is having a party soon. Is he… often in the habit of inviting mercenary companies to his parties?”

Hawkwood’s bushy eyebrows twitched upward for a brief moment. “I should say so. The Duke likes to show off. He invites merchants, mercenaries, nobles, lords, barons, even the King, though I dare say that I have never seen the King at any event I’ve attended.”

“You go often?”

“Quite so. Unfortunately. White Company is large and directly contracted by the Duke for national defense. We’re hardly the only mercenary company who attends but I would be surprised if other companies manage invitations to every single party.” He let out a shuddering sigh. “Even if I wish otherwise. Why do you ask?”

Arkk reached into his jacket. Time for another test. “What do you make of this?” he asked, placing the forged invitation from the Duke down on the table. If Hawkwood immediately spotted it as a fake then at least they wouldn’t waste their time trying to get into the party.

Hawkwood hummed, reaching for the letter. He squinted at it for a short moment before turning to the stack of papers he had shoved aside. Standing and leaning around the papers, he spotted what he was looking for. He donned the pair of half-moon glasses and quickly skimmed over the letter.

“Congratulations,” Hawkwood said, lowering the letter. “I recall you mentioned wanting to go to one of these parties. Don’t know whatever for, but it looks like your efforts have paid off. I bet it was Silver City. The Duke was quite ecstatic upon finding out that the gorgon had been dealt with.”

Arkk tried his best not to look guilty. He put on a smile and accepted the letter back. “Sorry about that. I just wanted to confirm that the Duke’s invitation to Company Al-Mir was… well, genuine.”

“Should it not be?” Hawkwood asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“I… just wasn’t sure that the Duke often invited random mercenary companies to his estate for parties.”

“You wouldn’t be incorrect. Especially not a random and brand-new mercenary company. But I have done my part to sing your praises. Not that you needed me to do much. I say, how did you manage to clear out a den of gorgon from the Silver City mines?”

“I just offered them alternate employment opportunities, contingent on them turning the miners back to normal.”

Hawkwood barked out a laugh, clapping his hands together. It didn’t last long. He took one look over the table before quirking both eyebrows up his forehead. “Oh dear, you’re serious?”

“Eight gorgon work for Company Al-Mir at the moment. Paid just as much as anyone else.”

Dakka snorted. At the table’s attention turning toward her, she shifted uncomfortably. “I’m pretty sure they’re more interested in good food over coin.”

“True. Rats made up most of their diet while in those mines,” Arkk said with a shrug. “They helped out quite a bit in annihilating a group of slavers around Moonshine Burg. Surprised your recruiters didn’t mention their presence there.”

“I didn’t ask for precise details. Like I said, it wasn’t my intention to spy.”

“Guess we did a better job at hiding them than you,” Arkk said, looking at Vezta.

A knock at the door stalled any further conversation. A pair of servants dressed in fine black and white attire entered. They promptly began setting out places around the table. A large mat went underneath a dizzying array of silver utensils. Three forks, three knives, and three spoons, each a different size. Crystal glassware came down next. The largest was filled with water but, popping the corks on a few bottles, the servants filled the others with fine wines. Finally, the servants placed down a plate in front of each of them.

The plates had only one item on them. A lumpy red… lump of something with two green leaves arrayed as if it were a berry. Whatever it was, it was cold enough to chill the plate. Arkk expected a little more—the lumpy substance could fit entirely in the palm of his hand—but the servants bowed out and left them with just the single plate.

Dakka looked utterly flabbergasted, prodding the forks like they were live snakes. Ilya wasn’t fairing any better. Vezta, as usual, had a prim and proper ghost of a smile on her lips but she left her hands in her lap and did not move toward the meal. Arkk felt like it was his turn to pop a curious eyebrow in Hawkwood’s direction.

The man, watching their expressions, burst out into a hearty round of laughter.

“Um…”

“What luck you came today!” Hawkwood said as his laughter died down. “Especially with your invitation to the Duke’s party.”

“Is this our meal?”

“One plate out of eleven or so.” He chuckled. “I had the same expression when I first saw this.” He shook his head. “I thought I might surprise you with this but now it is training for the party. A custom from the Evestani Sultanate that the Duke has adopted. They call this an Amuse-Bouche.”

“And there are eleven of these?” Dakka asked, deciding to forego the utensils entirely as she picked up the lump of red with her fingers. It looked even smaller in her hand, not having been sized proportionally to her.

“Just one Amuse-Bouche. Then an appetizer. Then a second appetizer. Seafood or soup, pasta, some small portion of meat followed by a palate cleanser. We’ll then get a salad and a main course followed by two different dessert plates. And the Duke would not take kindly to anyone picking up food with their fingers. Unless, of course, that specific plate was meant to be consumed by hand.”

Dakka dropped the lump back down on the plate. Having melted somewhat from her body heat, it splattered a bit. She promptly licked her fingers, hummed a mild note of approval, and wiped her fingers off on the placemat.

“Avoid everything you just did as well,” Hawkwood said with a wide grin.

Ilya looked at Dakka with a frown before looking to Hawkwood. “Some forewarning would have been appreciated,” she said as diplomatically as possible.

“This is your forewarning! Give me a hearty roast and a pile of potatoes to shovel in my mouth any day and you’ll see me happy and full. I wouldn’t care if you lick it off your plate. But at the party in front of the Duke? This took a little bit to get used to. Lucky you, you’ve got me to show you the ropes,” he said with a wide grin as he picked up one of the many utensils on the table. Arkk had a feeling that the moment his men notified him of Arkk’s presence, he had rounded up the cooks to make this meal solely for his own amusement. Which was reassuring more than anything else that his letter hadn’t been an inquisitorial plot. “This is a salad fork…”

 

 

“It is a trap,” Rekk’ar said, lowering the invitation to the Hawkwood’s dinner down to the meeting table. “Obviously.”

“I concur,” Olatt’an said.

“The fact that your missives were delivered by a Swiftwing harpy should have been evidence enough of that,” Zullie said, adjusting her rectangular glasses. “They’re reserved for use by the Duke only, for correspondence with important people. The King or the Ecclesiarch. Not random mercenary leaders.”

“Forgive me, Master. I also find it suspicious that you fend off the inquisitors and then suddenly receive an invitation to their last known location.”

Arkk tapped his finger against the table a few times. None of them were saying anything that he hadn’t already thought.

“You aren’t seriously considering going?” Rekk’ar asked, tone somewhat resigned.

“I am. Not just for a meeting with Hawkwood—assuming this isn’t a trap. Right now, Company Al-Mir is not in any way sanctioned. I’m not either. I don’t know how long that will last and there are other reasons to visit Cliff. Doing so would be much easier as a free man.”

“What reasons?” Rekk’ar leaned forward, hand clapping flat against the table. “What could be worth stepping into the inquisitor’s net?”

“Two things. First,” Arkk paused, glancing at Vezta. “I want us to investigate the magic academy.”

Vezta tilted her head to one side, violet-hued hair dangling over her shoulder. “Master, I believe I have informed you that I am incapable of casting traditional magic.”

“Not for the magic. If you remember, I thought the academy might be another fortress. I’d like confirmation.”

“Ah. Understood.”

Arkk nodded his head. Little more needed to be said. If it was another fortress and it was possible to claim it, that would change things drastically. It would bring Cliff under his sphere of influence, allowing him free teleportation as well as a foothold that would be difficult to oust him from. Having a fortress in the center of the city of his enemies was less than ideal but the possible benefits would be great.

“Secondly,” he started, glancing at Ilya at his side. Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew a piece of fine parchment, folded over three times. Placing it down on the table, he pulled back and waited.

“What’s that?” Ilya asked.

“Invitations to the Duke’s next party. We can bring four people in.”

Ilya’s eyes went wide as she snatched up the invitation. At the same time, Rekk’ar let out a loud huff.

“Now they’re just being obvious.”

“Too obvious,” Olatt’an said with a frown. “Or… the Duke did not send you this invitation, did he?”

Arkk shook his head. “Originally, it was addressed to Baron Doble of Moonshine Burg. I… felt sorry for how much paperwork the man had and decided to lend a helping hand in reducing that work.”

“You stole this?” Ilya snapped, eyes narrowing as she glared up at him. “But… it has your name on it.”

“It does. Although grudgingly, Lexa pointed me in the direction of Edvin for help with that. Whatever other problems people have with him, he seems to be a competent forger.”

“Whatever other problems?” Edvin said, aghast as he spoke for the first time this meeting. “What people have problems with me?”

“Anyone who has met you?” Lexa said with a joyless smile.

“You can’t think this will actually work,” Ilya said, rubbing her temple. “Believe me, nobody wants to get into the Duke’s manor more than me. A chance to talk to my…” Shaking her head, Ilya held up the invitation. “The Duke isn’t going to let someone in who he doesn’t remember sending an invitation to just because they have one.”

“I don’t think the Duke sent these invitations out,” Arkk said, pointing out the differences between the handwriting of the Duke Levi Woldair’s signature and the rest of the letter. “Besides that, I highly doubt the Duke will be manning the door. It will be some servant. Probably also not the person who wrote the invitations.”

“Then what? We get in and just act like we belong?”

“Exactly! We’re not there to engage with the Duke. We’re there to speak with Alya. Get her out of there or just hire her so that we might get her out sometime in the future.”

Ilya’s open mouth shut with a slight clack as her eyes drifted back to the letter. She was mulling it over now. The possibility of meeting with her mother would entice her. In ten minutes, she would be arguing to go as well.

Arkk… although things had been different upon first finding Fortress Al-Mir, wasn’t sure how much he actually wanted to meet with Alya. There were just things about the situation with her that didn’t quite add up. Especially not after hearing what Ilya had to say regarding her little spying campaign on the Duke’s manor during their last visit to the city.

He was more interested in the academy. The possibility of a fortress being there was… too great to ignore. He didn’t exactly know how having a second [HEART] would work but it had to be better than just one, vulnerable, stationary [HEART]. A backup for if things went wrong. Its location left much to be desired but he already wanted to get rid of the Duke simply for his crimes against the people of the Duchy. Either it would be a good staging ground for an assault or it could be claimed afterward, after making the city safe.

Although… he had no idea how to go about getting rid of the Duke without making enemies of the entire kingdom. That bit of the plan might not be possible in the near future. Not with how much of a failure their recruitment attempts had gone in Moonshine Burg.

“Recruitment at Moonshine was a failure,” Arkk said, looking around the table. In the month and a half they spent at the burg, they had gained Edvin, Lexa, and three more orcs who, as far as Arkk could tell, thought that Company Al-Mir was an orc-run company. “We need more people.”

“You intend to do that at Cliff?” Rekk’ar asked, shaking his head. “Jump into a trap and then what? Ask the locals to get you out?”

“Not exactly.” Arkk turned back to Edvin and Lexa. “When I was there last time, I noticed a significant number of demihumans and beastmen who weren’t… exactly well off. Some could fight.” He thought back to the group that had harassed Dakka. He hadn’t personally seen them fight and her review of their capabilities hadn’t been a glowing one. Still, people could be trained. “I doubt any are all too thrilled with living in the Duke’s shadow. A new place to live with proper food and pay would be something many would consider, right?”

“Uh…” Edvin glanced to his side, frowning at Lexa before looking to his other side where Khan was wrapped around a warm rock, only half paying attention to the meeting. “Why are you looking at me?”

“Because you and Lexa are going to be my recruiters.”

“Wait. Wait a moment. Hold on. I don’t know about this. My mother always said not to get between an inquisitor and the ones they’re after. She also said never to walk into obvious traps. ‘Edvin, my little pointed sword, don’t you plant your foot in the waiting maw of a beast,’ she said. You didn’t forget that this is a trap, right? Because this is the most obvious trap I’ve ever seen and I have seen a few.”

“Don’t worry. Nobody will know that you’re working with us. You’re new. Brand new. Nobody will know you’re part of Company Al-Mir. And that is the whole point.”

“That’s only going to last until we start handing out flyers for recruiting.”

“Edvin, please,” Arkk said, moving around the table. He clapped a hand on Edvin’s shoulder, smiling. “You’re cleverer than that.”

“I am?” The man cleared his throat and then nodded to himself. “I mean. Yes. I am. But why not explain your thoughts for the orcs? They don’t look like they’ve quite caught on to your equally clever plan.”

Rekk’ar curled his lip, growling from the back of his throat.

“You aren’t going to be shouting Company Al-Mir’s praises. You’re going to be spreading rumors. ‘Oh, Lexa? Fancy meeting you here at this incredibly crowded tavern. Heard about that new free company?’”

Lexa blinked as Arkk turned to her but she quickly grinned. “‘The one with loads of gold they’re paying people with?’”

“‘That’s the one! Heard they’re recruiting. I’d apply myself but seems like they’re interested in demihumans and beastmen.’”

“‘Oh… I don’t know about that. Probably will come up with excuses not to pay us.’”

“’Not true! Practically the entire company is made up of non-humans. Their second in command is even an elf. A beautiful elf at that with the most shapely—”

“Arkk…” Ilya said, tone flat.

“‘A gold coin per month is the going rate for recruits,’” Arkk continued ignoring Ilya. “‘And free living space and food!’”

Lexa’s eyes danced as she looked back and forth between Ilya and Arkk. Her grin showed off just a few more teeth before she managed to get a hold of herself. “‘Wow! A whole gold coin? Where do I sign up?’”

Arkk let the placid smile drop from his face as he looked down at Edvin. “Well?”

Rekk’ar snorted, drawing the attention of the table. “You should quit the mercenary business and take up a career in the arts.”

“Really?” Edvin said with a serious frown. “I was going to say not to quit his day job. Mind if I… adjust some of that dialog?”

“Have at it,” Arkk said, releasing the man’s shoulder as he continued to make his way around the meeting table. “Zullie…”

“Ah. No,” Zullie said. “Nope. If you’re forming a wandering theater troupe, I quit.”

Arkk shook his head with a small chuckle. Crossing his arms, he looked down at her. This was the main reason he wanted to go to Cliff. Alya… was more of a side project. Important to Ilya, of course, and thus important to Arkk as well. But…

The Cliff Magical Academy, even beyond the possible fortress it held, had things he both wanted and likely needed.

“Zullie, how close are you and Savren to finishing the modifications on the ritual?”

Zullie’s lips squished together, making her look like someone who ate a particularly rancid piece of fruit. “If he wasn’t such—”

“No complaints, just timeframe.”

She drew in a deep breath through her nose. “A few weeks? Maybe months if he keeps… He keeps trying to insert minor nodes that I am pretty sure will destabilize a planar array but that he claims will recycle magic. There is some merit to the idea, doubly so given we’re not exactly sure about your magical output—”

Arkk held up a hand, stalling the witch before she could launch into a full dissertation. A few weeks was too long for the Duke’s party or Hawkwood’s invitation. He would have to proceed without any support from alternate planes of existence.

Or rather, he would have to proceed to ensure the ritual was a success.

“When we left Cliff the first time around,” Arkk said, “we left in a hurry, leaving behind some of your books. Would grabbing those help? Or any other material at the Cliff Academy?”

Zullie’s eyes shifted over to Edvin for just a moment before flicking back to Arkk. “I’m not sure that I’m all that interested in getting in the way of the inquisitors either. Especially because they know me. I know I said I have experience dodging them but this is a bit of a different level than what I’ve seen in the past.”

“I won’t be able to figure out what you might need on my own,” Arkk said just as a thought occurred to him. “But Savren was able to disguise himself as a gorgon for an extended period. Could that be used just to look like someone else?”

“You want to take him with you? Oh please! I’d get so much more work done.”

“No! No… I don’t think I could stand the snide sneering and snippy snarks. He would be dead before we leave the fortress. But you are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

“Brilliant enough to learn his spells?”

Zullie’s eyes found the ceiling where they stayed for a long few seconds before slowly dropping back down. “There are a few tomes that might be worth investigating. Restricted stuff, not books from my office. We could double-check our work with anathema. The few surviving scraps of ancient spellcasters who actually practiced planar magics… Yes… That might be valuable enough to risk it.”

Those were the words Arkk wanted to hear. “Excellent. Having definitive resources on hand will hopefully prevent you two from changing the designs at the last minute again.”

“The original designs would have worked,” Zullie huffed, crossing her arms. “Just a little too well.”

Arkk just shook his head, already moving on. “Khan.”

The gorgon looked up, glaze receding from his eyes. He opened his mouth in a yawn wide enough to swallow Lexa whole, showing off his fangs and tongue at the same time. While Arkk somewhat expected those present to stay awake for the duration of the meetings, he honestly didn’t know what contribution Khan could make. He was here mostly as a courtesy, keeping the gorgon looped into the goings on of Fortress Al-Mir.

“Unfortunately, based on my previous visit to the city, they tolerate non-humans more than accept them. In your case, I’m not sure you would get that much. I’m afraid you won’t be going.”

“Undersstood,” Khan said. “Zharja might be dissappointed. No other will care.”

Arkk nodded and moved around the table to the next seat over. Another member of the table who had yet to speak. She was the reason Khan had a warm rock that was putting him to sleep. “Agnete, how much danger is there in you visiting Cliff?”

The purifier hummed, black lips parting toward the end of the tone. “Our excursion to the slaver encampment was… different than usual. Flames call to me and I cannot reject that call. Yet, I cannot quite explain the oddity of it. There was next to no desire to incinerate anyone beyond the slavers. It was a… curious experience. I believe I will have no trouble remaining in control.”

Arkk stared a long moment, wondering how close they had all been to suffering a fiery demise. He felt disturbingly aware of the sudden shift in the room’s air. Everyone, including Khan, stared. “I meant… danger from the inquisitors.”

“Ah.” A gloved finger scratched a scarred chin. “My appearance is distinct. The others will become aware of me as soon as we arrive. If they have not acquired an additional Binding Agent, they will likely leave me alone. Depending on the threat they have ascribed to you and the horror,” Agnete said with a nod toward him and Vezta, “they may well steer clear entirely or decide we are too great a prize to pass up. I cannot guess either way.”

“I see… I think… I’ll have you come, if you don’t mind.”

“My duties?”

“Toss fire at the inquisitors if they do anything other than have a nice chat.”

“Understood.”

Rekk’ar drew in a heavy breath, groaning as he shifted where he sat. “So we are doing this. I don’t know why I bother.”

“I hope you will continue to bother,” Arkk said, offering the orc a smile. “The time I take your advice will likely be the time it saves my life.”

The orc rolled his eyes. “My point exactly,” he said, though Arkk was pleased to note a lack of hostility in his mildly resigned tone.

“I would like a list of the least notorious of the orcs who are willing to venture to the city. Make sure they know the possible dangers—though with Vezta and I present, I imagine they will be ignored in favor of us. I’ll need the list soon as I intend for our tailor to make up uniforms for all of us.”

“I’ll set Dakka on it.”

“This is a trap,” Olatt’an said, the final member of the table. “You have not forgotten that, correct.”

“I have not. But, as I said, this is likely our last chance to walk into the city as free people. We might not be walking out of the city as free people…”

“You won’t be walking out of the city at all if the inquisitors have their way.”

Arkk nodded his head. “True.”

“When springing a trap, it is generally best to have a way out.”

“Also true. I presume the inquisitors will be focused on me, Vezta, and Agnete,” he said, nodding to each as he continued to make his way back around the table. “We can handle ourselves for the most part.” Taking a seat in his chair, he looked over the assembled group. His trusted advisors and Edvin. “I have a few ideas but I would like to hear from all of you. First, Agnete, if you wouldn’t mind going over everything you know of methods the inquisitors use to incarcerate captives…”

 

 

Nyala peered around the edge of one of the many doors within Fortress Al-Mir. Something big was going on. Something she didn’t want to miss. The two months she had spent with that miserable Master taught her a few things. Maybe things more important than anything she had learned while still at Hallow Hill.

Knowing what was going on was important. Vitally so. Being able to anticipate the Master’s mood and plans for the day let her adjust herself to be exactly what he had wanted to see. Knowing saved her from several beatings that others hadn’t been so lucky to avoid. Not all of them, unfortunately, but enough that she had managed to get away with bruises whereas the others came away with scars or clipped ears.

Fortress Al-Mir was different. She knew that now. Ever since that outing a few weeks ago when she had stolen the knife from the market. Somehow, even with his back turned, he knew the instant she laid her fingers on the blade. She had thought she was going to die then and there. There would have been nothing she could have done about it. Yet, instead, he had given her his dagger just so that he could return the knife she stole to its proper owner.

He even said that she could leave if she wanted. Go home to Hallow Hill.

She couldn’t go back. Hallow Hill was a secret. Those who left weren’t allowed back. Even though she hadn’t wanted to leave, she figured she wouldn’t be welcome leading people back to the Hill. Not that she could if she wanted to. She didn’t know where it was. The people who had taken her away had thrown her into a cage with a sack over her head, dragging her away. She couldn’t even retrace her steps.

Until she figured out what she was supposed to do—what she was going to do—Nyala didn’t have anywhere else to go. That didn’t mean she was going to sit around in her room like a child. Knowing was important even if the people here weren’t going to beat her. Especially when something so big was happening.

There were people here now. Many people. At least a hundred, though with them moving around in the large room, Nyala wasn’t able to count exactly. Most looked young. As young as she was, if not younger. There wasn’t a single person in the room who looked too old. Not even middle-aged.

Beyond their ages, Nyala couldn’t help but notice the state the newcomers were in. Everyone looked half-starved and quite a few sported fading marks, minor scars, and missing bits of hair. Not that odd, all things considered. Travel was dangerous and hard work could leave bruises on the careless. Yet there was one thing that Nyala’s sharp eyes picked out above all else.

Without exception, every one of the newcomers had thick rings of black and blue bruises around their wrists.

That was familiar. With one hand clenching tight to the sheath of her dagger, Nyala’s other hand rubbed her wrists, feeling the phantom pain of heavy shackles weighing her down.

Narrowing her eyes, Nyala focused on the faces, trying to discern why there were slaves here and whether or not she should finally try to flee. She hadn’t been able to find any exits during her stealthy explorations of this place but there were plenty of doors that wouldn’t open for her. However, looking over the crowd, she started to feel the tension in the back of her neck relax.

She knew what expressions slaves wore. The downtrodden, hopelessness of being taken from a village that had either been destroyed or that they would never see again. She had seen it herself on more faces than she could count. Probably her own face as well.

Instead, among this group within Fortress Al-Mir, there was an undercurrent of hope. It wasn’t exactly joy. Plenty, especially the youngest among the group, still looked frightened as they watched with weary eyes. They weren’t slaves. At least not anymore.

They were like her.

Which was something that might have been more obvious if she looked at their actions rather than their appearance.

The more familiar orcs were moving about the room along with that monster that made Nyala shudder every time their gazes met—a disturbingly common occurrence given she had eyes everywhere on her body. They moved through the room, setting up large tents spread about. It was a bit strange to put tents indoors. She didn’t know why they didn’t just build rooms. She had seen those smaller monsters digging this place out over the past week, using some kind of magic to make tiles and brick walls that would have sparked envy in any builder back at Hallow Hill.

The older newcomers were helping the orcs and that monster, putting up tents themselves as well as bringing in low cots for sleeping, chairs, and even some tools like the kind a carpenter would use. Maybe they were planning on building more permanent dwellings.

“What are you doing out here?”

Nyala yelped, jolting as she whirled around. It wasn’t easy to sneak up on an elf, not with their hearing, yet she must have let herself get too distracted with the newcomers. Spinning around, clutching her blade tight with one hand on the hilt and the other on the sheath, she found herself faced with someone her height. At first, she thought it was a human child. Elves typically grew at a much slower rate compared to humans until their middle-late teenage years, at which point they would have a sharp growth spurt and put on several heads of height over a year. Nyala had yet to hit that spurt so someone her height could be even a few years younger than she was.

She quickly noticed a few things wrong with that assumption. This person had pointed ears, though not long like an elf. She had a round head with thin, slightly wavy pupils. Her bright red hair defied gravity as it stuck up, making her look taller than she actually was.

“You’re a gremlin.”

The gremlin smiled, showing off sharp teeth. “How come you’re not with the others?”

“Others?” Nyala blinked, stiffening as she realized she was standing fully within the doorway. More than a few of the newcomers were looking in her direction. Crushing her lips into a thin line, Nyala turned away and started walking in the opposite direction from the gremlin.

“Hey, wait! I don’t think you’re supposed to be walking around on your own.”

“I’m fine,” Nyala snapped back, breaking into a hurried jog.

“Arkk said he wanted you all together until he had a chance to speak with everyone. I don’t think you’re supposed to be walking around with this knife either. It’s dangerous, you know?”

Nyala blinked. This knife? Glancing down to her hands, she lurched to a stop when she realized both were empty. Spinning around, she glared at the gremlin. The demihuman stopped a few paces back, holding the dagger in one hand as she examined the blade.

“Not the best blade I’ve seen. The edge is a bit dull and the tip is chipped. It has seen some use. I would guess mostly at cutting thick hide but there are a few notches here that look more like damage from metal against metal. A hunting dagger used in combat? That’s my guess.”

“Give it back.”

The gremlin snapped the blade back into the sheath. Looking at Nyala for a moment, she grabbed the edge of her long jacket. It was a brown leather thing that looked worn beyond reasonable use. From the waist down, it was less a jacket and more long ribbons of leather that hung down just below the gremlin’s knees. However, that wasn’t an intentional design choice. The ribbons looked torn and ripped, likely over a great deal of time. Pinched between her fingers, the gremlin pulled open her jacket.

Nyala’s eyes boggled at the display underneath. She wore a matching leather corset that wrapped around her middle. On it, a dozen needle-sized shafts of sharp metal lined her corset, making her into a facsimile of a metal skeleton. A long bandolier hung from shoulder to hip, covered with thicker blades. The entirety of the inside of her jacket looked made up of nothing but knives arranged back and forth in rows.

“I think I’ll keep hold of it until I have a chance to talk to Arkk,” she said, moving to slip the dagger somewhere among the mess of other blades. “Why don’t you come back—”

Nyala lunged at the gremlin. That was her dagger. Arkk had given it to her so that she could defend herself. It rankled how easily it had been taken from her but she wasn’t about to sit around and let the gremlin keep it. He promised her lessons. She would never get those lessons if he thought she was so useless that she couldn’t even keep hold of his gift.

The lunge caught the gremlin off guard. They both went to the floor, Nyala on top with the gremlin twisting underneath. She grasped at the dagger, fully prepared to wrench it out of the gremlin’s grip, only for the gremlin to let go with hardly a fight. Nyala didn’t let her surprise get the best of her. Springing off the floor, she backed away, not taking her eyes off the gremlin.

“I’m all for a roll-around as much as the next woman but you’ve got to give me some warning,” she said, straightening her jacket and corset as she got to her feet. “You almost skewered yourself. And not on anything fun.”

Nyala didn’t say anything back to the gremlin. She took a step back, drawing the dagger and pointing its tip toward her enemy. Only to get the gremlin rolling her eyes.

“You’re holding it all wrong.” The gremlin produced a blade from somewhere inside her jacket. She spun it around her finger twice before gripping the hilt. The way she grabbed it was backward. If her arm were out with her thumb up, the blade would be pointed at the ground. “Like this,” she said, taking a step forward.

Nyala took a step back. She didn’t turn and flee from the much more experienced gremlin. The gremlin could probably have flung one of those daggers right at her if she wanted to hurt her. More importantly, Nyala’s sharp ears picked up on a set of familiar footsteps approaching from the large room with all the newcomers.

“Someone your size needs all the power you can scrape together,” the gremlin continued, oblivious. “You’re more likely to pierce light armor with a heavy downward slam than any wimpy jab or slash the way you’re holding it. If you—”

“What is going on out here?”

The smile on the gremlin’s face froze. She turned around, using the movement to hide the dagger back under her jacket, and faced an irritated Ilya. “I saw this one sneaking about,” she said. “I tried to bring her back but she got a knife from somewhere and I thought she needed a few pointers.”

“Lexa… Nyala is not one of our recent arrivals,” Ilya said, lips tight. “I hope you weren’t threatening her.”

“No! Of course not. I’m a thief, not a monster,” the gremlin said, turning to Nyala with an expression that pleaded for affirmation.

At the movement, Ilya’s eyes flicked up, pointedly looking at the dagger in Nyala’s hands. “What did Arkk say when he gave that to you?”

Nyala flinched, slipping it back into its sheath. “Not to use it on anyone at the fortress.”

“Then why is it out? Was Lexa threatening you?”

That pleading expression on the gremlin boiled over into silent, panicked begging. The gremlin hadn’t threatened her… Not if she really thought that one of the newcomers was running around with a knife. She could still say so and Ilya would surely believe her story over the gremlin’s… Which the gremlin knew, judging by her expression.

“Arkk also said I could seek lessons from someone if he couldn’t find the time. I saw how many daggers she had and figured she knew how to use them, so I asked.”

“Like I said, I was just giving out a few pointers,” the gremlin said, quick to latch onto the provided excuse.

Ilya looked between them. It was the same expression Nyala had seen on her mother’s face when she had been caught fighting with her brother only for both of them to claim that nothing was happening. Nyala smothered the painful feeling in her stomach that welled up at the thought of Hallow Hill and quickly moved forward.

“Lexa promised to teach me how to fight.”

The gremlin raised an eyebrow but didn’t offer any corrections to the statement, merely shrugging and nodding her head.

With a slight shake of her head and a faint sigh, Ilya turned. “I see,” she said, not sounding too happy about the prospect. “Worry about that later. There are a lot of new people here and a lot of them are scared or uncertain. Your experiences here could help reassure them. It would also be good for you and Yavin to meet them. Why not fetch him and meet us back here? It would be good for Lexa to meet him too so that there aren’t any other misunderstandings.”

Lexa let out a lame chuckle, running her fingers through her red hair.

Nyala stared at her for a moment before turning away to head back to her room. She didn’t know if she would get lessons from the gremlin. She didn’t know if she wanted lessons from the gremlin. A part of her hoped so. Or hoped that the newcomers would need a lot of attention.

Anything that would help distract her from thoughts of her lost home.

“It seems… the consul have… uh… canceled on the day’s meeting,” the nervous attendant said, shifting awkwardly before remembering something. “Your Highness,” he quickly added.

Duke Levi Woldair didn’t outwardly show his irritation in the attendant’s mannerisms or lack of decorum. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne. The repetitive thumping of each finger against the near-black wood was more than enough to make the attendant flinch over and over again.

“Cancelled.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“It doesn’t surprise me that those barbarians have such pathetic manners.” The Duke stood from his throne and began walking back and forth in front of it, one hand tucked against his back while the other held tight to the ermine cloak draped over his shoulders. “They barge into our domain, demand an audience, and then renege? Did they offer any excuses or request an alternate meeting time?”

“I… don’t think they are interested in any further meetings.”

The Duke stopped and slowly turned his head. “You don’t think?”

“When the escort arrived at the consulate, they found it abandoned. Your Highness.”

“Abandoned? Was it an attack?” the Duke asked with a hint of nervousness entering his tone.

The attendant shook his head, looking like he wished it was. “No. Just deserted. From piecing together reports of those in the neighborhood… it seems as if the consul and their retinue departed Cliff in the middle of the night. About a week ago.”

The Duke froze, locking in place with an expression that would frighten a battle-hardened orc. He took a step forward, pointing at the attendant. “You—” He didn’t get any further before a lithe set of fingers gently graced his elbow. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. “Get out,” the Duke said, voice soft. “Out!” he said, louder. “All of you.”

No one needed telling twice. The guards, attendants, and advisors all vanished, slipping out of the long throne room through the nearest exits. When the last door slammed shut, the Duke sank back onto his throne, cupping his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Why? Why now? Things were going so well. The banquets, the lavish gifts… Relations with the Evestani Sultanate have never been better. I was set to marry the Sultan’s second daughter!” His fist slammed down onto his thigh. “Then the ambassadors departed. Communications turned hostile. Troops started amassing on the border, demanding entry. The special consul they sent in won’t even meet with me to tell me why. What changed? Was it something I did?”

Alya licked her lips, not sure what the best response would be. With her hand on his shoulder, they had been well on their way to forging a lasting peace between two nations that had been at war time and time again throughout her lifetime. Just when the end had come within sight, with the Princess and the Duke’s marriage only needing a date for the ceremony… this happened. “You treated them with dignity and respect. You offered a wealth of gifts… peace…” she said, trailing off, entirely at a loss of how to salvage the situation.

“And they have thrown that peace in my face,” the Duke said, thumping his head back against the high wall of the throne. “Winter is starting. They won’t march an army this time of year. Their soldiers would die of frostbitten limbs before crossing half of the Duchy.”

“Then… perhaps there is still time. We have a few months to figure out—”

“Is there a point?” the Duke snapped, angry eyes meeting her silver eyes. “They have proved themselves the barbarians we knew they were. Unable to carry on a meaningful dialog when whatever happened upset them so much.”

“The point is to avoid another war…”

“I feel we have crossed that bridge,” the Duke said, shaking his head. “We have three months of winter. Not to guess at the motivations of their childish sultan and bow down to his temperamental whims, but to prepare.”

“If we could just speak with Princess—”

“And how do you propose we do that?” the Duke asked, shaking his head. “She is deep within the Sultanate, likely locked up by her mad father for daring to consort with me.”

“Her father endorsed the marriage!”

“Her father is the one gathering an army on our border!” The Duke stood, flourishing his ermine cloak as he stepped away from the throne. He paused and turned his head. “We tried,” he said. “We failed. Perhaps our nation’s children will have a better chance. For now, we cannot afford to continue as we have been. We have to prepare or they will never get that chance.”

Alya leaned back against the wall where she had been standing just to the side of the Duke’s throne, watching the short man approach the main entryway with a forlorn look on her face.

“Fetch the messenger harpies,” he barked as he threw open the door. “And someone get White Company here as soon as possible.”

The strength in her legs faltered, leading to her slumping down onto the throne. She put a hand to her forehead, wondering much the same questions the Duke had asked. Why now? What happened in the last four months that threw away all their hard work and effort over the last fifteen years?

 

 

When Arkk witnessed the destruction left behind by the fire tornado, he thought it might have been a bit much. A little overkill. The ground around where the main tent had been was a smooth, glassy surface sprinkled with globs of metal that might have once been weapons. There was effectively nothing left of it.

The three smaller circles didn’t have quite the same level of destruction. They should have been smaller fire tornados but the area where the circles had been looked more like they had exploded than burned. The thought of having screwed up the ritual circles made him grimace a bit. He thought he was getting better but something hadn’t gone as intended despite the effectiveness of the destruction wrought.

Crouching down beside the body of Kazz’ak, Arkk found himself wondering if the fire tornado hadn’t been enough. He could have gone with different methods. Originally, especially after spying the higher-quality weapons, he had thought to simply ward off the area with protective spells to save them for either use or sale later on. In the end, he decided to go large and flashy with a tornado of flames for the sole purpose of intimidation. An awe-inspiring, overwhelming force designed to shock as many of the slavers into submission as possible, preferably before they realized that there were only twenty orcs present.

In fairness, it had mostly worked. The other orcs were currently clamping the slavers’ own manacles around the wrists of the sixty or so who had surrendered plus some who hadn’t surrendered but had been too wounded to continue the fight. Arkk took a bit of vindictive pleasure in knowing that their tools were being used against them. Still, Kazz’ak’s body marred that satisfaction.

Kazz’ak wasn’t the only casualty but he was the only fatality. The Flesh Weaving spell had helped get most of the others if not better then intact. It couldn’t do anything for a dead man.

“It’s his own damned fault.” Rekk’ar spat—not on the body, just off to the side. The anger in his voice, for once, wasn’t directed toward Arkk. “Ran off, treating this like a raid against farmers, not against other raiders.”

“I’m sorry,” Arkk said. “I…”

“Bah. He was always causing trouble. I warned him that his trouble would catch up to him. Idiot.”

Despite Rekk’ar firmly laying the blame at Kazz’ak’s feet, Arkk couldn’t shake the sensation of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Even if it wasn’t his fault, Arkk still felt that he could have done something. Found him faster to heal him before he died of his wounds, supported him before he wound up injured, or just instilled better discipline in the orcs to keep him from having run off in the first place. It was compounded by the fact that, through his link with his employees, Arkk knew where they were at all times and could even tell if they were in trouble. In the heat of combat with the slavers, practically everyone had been in trouble, wounded, or otherwise in need at some point.

He had simply failed to notice that one person needed assistance more than anyone else.

It was true that Kazz’ak had caused more than his fair share of trouble. Arkk would have twenty names on his list of favorite orcs before Kazz’ak. Yet, the orc was still one of theirs. Part of Fortress Al-Mir. Losing him…

Arkk clenched his fist, trying not to let his anger show lest Rekk’ar think it was directed at him. He took a breath. “Are there customs that should be observed?” he asked, soft tone feeling forced. It was probably something he should have asked following the barrows incident—there had been a number of dead orcs then as well—but those had been enemies and raiders. Kazz’ak was theirs and deserved better than to be left behind in some forgotten tomb.

The anger in Rekk’ar’s features slowly waned as a thoughtful expression moved to fill the vacancy. “Kazz’ak has no children. His mother is not among our group and I wouldn’t know where to begin searching for her. It would be best to bury or burn his body with his weapon over his chest.”

“Mother? She would take his belongings after his children?”

“We honor our mothers,” Rekk’ar said. “My mother was named Jarra. In honor of the one who carried me, I carry a portion of her name on mine.”

“The ’ar?” Arkk asked, receiving a nod in return. “Dakka, Orjja, and the other women don’t follow that.”

“Women are expected to carry children of their own. They don’t need to carry their parents as well.” Rekk’ar shrugged. “It’s all nonsense. Even I think so. But it is tradition and most orcs—at least those raised among orcs—will follow it.”

“I see. What about your father?”

“Men are independent. Expected to have their own things and not need the charity of others. Women aren’t helpless by any means but they do lose time carrying us. If a child dies, that time is returned in the form of their gear, property, or other valuables.” Rekk’ar paused, lips twitching into a frown as a thought occurred to him. “Of course, we’re raiders, now mercenaries. There is a little less respect among us. I would say looting the body is a custom as well.”

“No,” Arkk said, voice firm looking back down to Kazz’ak. “We’re not so destitute that we need to salvage from our dead.”

Rekk’ar gave Arkk a curt nod of his head. “I’ll have some of the others wrap him in one of these tent tarps.”

“We’ll bury him outside Moonshine Burg. I’d suggest the fortress but we’re trying to keep our above-ground presence minimal. Not to mention the possibility of accidentally digging into a grave…”

“Unpleasant.”

“And disrespectful,” Arkk said, turning away from Kazz’ak’s body. He looked out over the utterly ruined encampment in the morning light.

None of the tents were still standing. Most had been knocked down as a result of the spell he had cast. In the time since, the orcs had gone around, piling up the tents off to the corner of the compound to make sure no stragglers were hiding underneath. Bodies littered the ground, sporting a variety of wounds. Some arrow, some blade, others had been electrocuted or burned—either by Agnete or the tornado.

The eighty-one survivors, currently kneeling with their faces pressed to one of the walls, weren’t entirely unharmed. Arkk had been a whole lot less interested in healing their wounds compared to those of his employees. He had only fixed the most life-threatening wounds. Particularly those inflicted by Lyssa. The werecat, as far as he could tell, hadn’t killed anyone. She had mauled them, ripping their faces and skin to shreds or lashing them with the chains still around her wrist before moving on to her next targets.

There were a few crumbled stone statues scattered around as well. Even a few up near the wall where the others kneeled. There had been a brief moment when those who surrendered realized that there weren’t that many individuals among Company Al-Mir. Some had tried to get the rest to rise against them. A hundred against twenty.

Seeing those instigators turned to stone and then shattered with a light shove stalled most thoughts of overthrowing them. Doubly so now that most of the slavers were in shackles and the rest soon would be.

Looking away from the slavers, Arkk turned his attention to those enslaved. Ilya, Dakka, Agnete, and Lexa were slowly freeing those who had been captive inside the larger buildings. There were beastmen, humans, and demihumans alike. Beaten down, weakened, and even completely starved in some cases. Olatt’an was distributing some of the food stores here.

Arkk eyed a few of the elves, wondering if they knew anything about the mythical Hallow Hill that Nyala had mentioned. The young elf didn’t know anything about it—or wasn’t willing to divulge what information she did have. She wouldn’t even tell him what kind of trees grew around the place. There was some kind of law about not discussing the place with outsiders.

Would one of the elves here know of it? Would they tell him about it?

He made a note to ask. Not now. It could wait. It could wait a long while, even. Let them get back on their feet, rest, eat, and recover.

Arkk wasn’t sure what to do with all the people. There were a lot. Both slavers and slaves. The slavers would go back to Moonshine Burg. The local garrison could deal with them there. He figured that most would be put to death. Less because it was the law and more because winter was settling in. Feeding an extra eighty unexpected mouths throughout winter was simply impossible, even for a larger burg. Their criminal status meant they were expendable.

The freed slaves, on the other hand, were a more complex issue. The burgs couldn’t just kill them even though they posed a similar problem. Winter food stores, especially with the Duke’s taxes, couldn’t sustain so many additional people.

Some of the slaves had been taken from roads—travelers that passed through the wrong place at the wrong time. Most of those could probably go back to their villages or homes. Others, however, suffered the same thing that happened to the elves Ilya had been looking for. The slavers took who they could and killed the rest. There wasn’t a place to return to. They had nothing. No belongings, no family, no home.

Arkk hadn’t thought about it before launching this raid. It wasn’t until he started thinking about how the slavers would be handled that he figured the same problem applied to the slaves as well.

He would have to wait and see what Moonshine Burg’s garrison had to say on the matter. Maybe they would try to split them up, scatter them to every village in the area. Having grown up in a small village, Arkk well knew that even a handful of unexpected mouths to feed could put an awful strain on the stores. It was entirely likely for the locals to find themselves less compassionate and more resentful of being saddled with others. Even in his most recent visit to Langleey, they had commented on a lack of food and they actually had less mouths to feed than normal.

There was a solution. A simple one, in fact.

Fortress Al-Mir’s food production could be expanded easily. It would take an expenditure of gold but even with the construction of the temple and the renovations he was going to have to make to it because of Savren and Zullie’s redesign, the gold required for food production was almost insignificant. He was already digging out space to better control the area around the Cursed Forest. Some of that space could be used for them. Even if they didn’t join Fortress Al-Mir, thus locking them out of the living space magic, they would at least have a warm place to live with a roof over their heads.

Was it ideal? Not really. They would all head back to Moonshine first. Anyone who could be offloaded back to their original villages would be. After seeing who and how many were left, Arkk could make a more informed decision.

In the meantime, he had to transport everyone back to the burg. There were far too many to efficiently use teleportation circles and he didn’t want outsiders to know of them anyway. Turning again, Arkk allowed a small smile as he spotted the tall stacks of cages on the massive carts. If they could get those rhinos back, transportation would be much easier. Maybe not pleasant, especially for the slavers, but that was more than they deserved.

“Lexa,” Arkk called out, drawing the attention of the short gremlin.

After patting a younger elf on the back, she bounded over, leaving the former slave to Ilya. “Something you needed, boss?”

“Take one of the horses. Head back to Porcupine Hill.”

Lexa drew back. “You’re firing me?”

Arkk shook his head. “Not unless you want to go. No. Rather, I’d like you to tell Katja that we’ve succeeded. In addition, I would like to meet with Katja.”

“To take her head? I got ya. Shame but—”

“No,” Arkk said, stopping her before she could continue. “I checked at the burg. There aren’t any bounties on her head. Or any mention of Porcupine Hill, for that matter.”

Which was a bit suspicious, in Arkk’s opinion. Katja, according to Edvin, was a powerful figure in the area. Enough so that the Duke’s men left her alone. Still, Arkk would have figured that there would at least be a notice of Kat’s Bandits for mercenary groups, even if it was only a formality. Edvin’s former group had a fairly sizable bounty prior to Arkk collecting it.

What had Baron Doble said? He made some deals with the local bandits to keep their activities at a reasonable level.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Lexa said with a shrug. “Hardly raid anything these days. Just take in tribute from the other groups around. The times we do raid… well, it’s just business.”

“Business. Raiding people?”

“Oh certainly. Maybe it is business our customers aren’t too happy to receive but we try our best anyway,” she said, grinning with her sharp teeth. Looking at the expression on Arkk’s face, her grin slipped. “Don’t know what nonsense Edvin has been filling your ears with. I know Marv was an utter bastard who didn’t leave many survivors but Kat always said that kind of thing was bad for business. Best leave travelers alive so that they’ll travel again, thus bringing more business to our territory. Sure, we might slit a few throats—who doesn’t?—especially of those who fight to the death.” Leaning forward, Lexa put the back of her hand to the side of her mouth in a conspiratorial whisper. “Then again, Coin-Bags who order their guards to fight to the last usually get stabbed by their own men before we can even get close. They hand over their goods and we let them go in exchange.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just saying…” Lexa said with a shrug. “If you’re ever interested in making some extra coin on a slow mercenary day, I know all the tips and tactics.”

Arkk… honestly didn’t know what to say to the gremlin. Or rather, he did. “No, Lexa.” It was just that he was flabbergasted that she would come out and say all that. Here they were, sending off slavers to the garrisons and she was suggesting they engage in a little highway robbery?

He could only shake his head at that.

“Suit yourself,” Lexa said, starting to turn away. She paused and turned back. “Wait, what was I supposed to do again?”

“You didn’t let me finish. This is related to the matter you overheard. I’d like to purchase the services of some spellcasters.”

Lexa put on a pout. “More than me?”

“A couple.”

“Kat isn’t going to be happy about losing me, let alone other spellcasters.”

“First, I don’t want to hire a bunch more bandits. This is a temporary affair. Loan us some spellcasters for a few days, help with the ritual, and then head back with a sack of money. And… maybe don’t tell her that she lost you,” Arkk said with a small frown. “At least not while surrounded inside Porcupine Hill.”

“Nothing is hotter than a man who cares,” Lexa said, making doe-eyes up at him.

Arkk just rolled his eyes. “I’m sure some of the others would be more receptive to your advances.”

“Ah, but sleeping with the boss usually comes with advantages that the rank and file lack, even if they aren’t lacking,” she said with a wink.

“I… don’t think you’re supposed to say that part.”

“What can I say? I’m an honest thief.”

“Uh… huh. Right. Do you think Katja will agree?”

Shrugging off a flicker of a pout, Lexa said, “No idea. Don’t think anyone has offered this kind of arrangement before. No harm in asking, right?”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

Processing the prisoners and the freed slaves was taking a lot longer than even Arkk had expected.

After confirming the veracity of his claims, the Moonshine Burg garrison had delivered a modest bounty to the stayover. It wasn’t much, at least not compared to the coffers of Fortress Al-Mir, but it was substantial enough to make his crew happy after dividing it up among them. They had spent the last five days partying, tossing it all away on food, drink, intimate company, weapons, even some furniture that they wanted to take back home. As long as they weren’t getting into trouble, Arkk was happy to let them run amok.

The gorgon and Agnete, less interested in partying, had already gone back. The former had been away from their heated rocks for too long while the latter simply said that she had matters to think on.

Arkk probably could have returned as well, leaving Ilya in charge of what needed to be done in this burg. However, upon returning with the captives and freed slaves, he had pulled those in charge of the garrison aside and let them know that he could provide lodging through the winter for anyone who didn’t have anywhere else to return to. As the leader of Company Al-Mir, he felt it was important to be seen and noted as an active participant in providing aid. The last thing he wanted was to take everyone back to the fortress only for them to feel like they were being kept prisoner once again in some underground dungeon.

As for the slavers…

A hooded man on the wooden platform down below pulled a lever. Five trapdoors opened as one and Edvin started making choking sounds. The man rubbed at his throat, squirming as he stood next to Arkk, watching the display in the courtyard below with undisguised disquiet.

“I think… I should rethink my opinions on beheading,” Edvin said. “A nice clean chop to the throat sounds a lot nicer—and quicker—than that. That guy’s neck didn’t even break. Look at him kicking and squirming… I think I’m going to be sick.”

Arkk… didn’t necessarily disagree. He wasn’t very happy to watch either. The only reason he was here at all was that he felt some responsibility for having been the one to bring them here. He had known that this was coming, even before they had been loaded up on their prison carts. He didn’t disagree with the actions being carried out down on the gallows. That didn’t make it easier to watch.

“Weren’t you in a murderous band of highwaymen?” Arkk asked, mostly as a distraction. He had brought Edvin here specifically to clear his name. If at all possible, Arkk didn’t want more people with wanted posters in his employ. The goodwill they had garnered here was enough to get the burg to rescind the bounty on Edvin’s head.

Given that the man hadn’t run off in the middle of the fight, Arkk figured it was an adequate reward. If only he could do the same for Rekk’ar and Olatt’an. Unfortunately, they were wanted by practically the entire Duchy, not just one burg out on the outskirts.

“Well, yes. I wasn’t a highwayman though. Just the man who could get things that other people couldn’t. We didn’t use nooses either. As my mother always said, these burgs are so uncivilized.”

“It could be worse,” a new voice cut in.

Arkk stiffened, looking to the balcony door. A woman strode across the platform, wearing a slim black and red outfit. She had a sword affixed to either hip and a long red cloak draped over her shoulders like a cape. Her face wasn’t immediately familiar to Arkk. The black, animalistic stripe tattoos on the dark skin of her bare arms and face clued him into her identity.

Katja. The Bandit Lord of Porcupine Hill.

While she was only slightly shorter than Arkk, the hulking man at her side made her look even smaller. He had graying hair and a withered look to his face but more muscles than half the orcs in Arkk’s employ. Muscles he showed off with a lack of a shirt.

Arkk almost missed Lexa at Katja’s other side, the short gremlin gave him a waist-high wave of her hand and a nervous grin.

“If I had my way, the wurms would be chasing you across the desert,” Katja continued, ignorant or ignoring of the look Arkk was giving her. What was a bandit lord doing walking around so openly in the middle of a burg?

“Ah… well…” Edvin shifted where he stood.

“I see you failed to take my advice,” Katja said, turning her amber eyes onto Arkk.

Arkk had to resist the urge to rub the back of his neck. His suit, a black coat not too dissimilar to that which the inquisitors wore, was the nicest thing he had. Yet he still couldn’t shake Hawkwood’s words about him not quite fitting in. Facing someone so well dressed—and so full of confidence in waltzing right into a garrison—had him feeling inadequate once again.

“Technically,” Arkk said, drawing in a breath to buy a moment to calm himself down, “Edvin fulfilled his end of our agreement. I can’t just toss him into a pit for no reason.”

“I’m sure he will give adequate cause before long.” Her eyes flicked over the balcony, looking down on the garrison courtyard with a cool expression on her face. “Those are the slavers?”

“We captured just under half of what was at the outpost. Those five represent the first of those the garrison has decided to execute for their crimes.”

“Half,” Katja said, glancing down to Lexa for a brief moment. “There were two hundred according to reports. The rest escaped?”

“Dead. Died in combat.”

“Casualties on your end?”

“Just one.”

Katja’s eyebrows slowly crept up her forehead. That impressed her. Though she didn’t give away much in her expression, there was a slight tension. Nervous? “I see,” she said. A single blink and all signs of nervousness vanished. “I underestimated you. I expected a fight, deaths, and hopefully some damage to their outpost. Enough for my men to slip in and finish the job.”

“Company Al-Mir is good at what it does.”

“Indeed. And now Company Al-Mir wishes to make deals with bandits?”

Arkk took a moment to look around. He and Edvin hadn’t been the only ones up on this balcony. The baron of Moonshine Burg stood apart, leaning over the balcony’s railing next to the captain of this garrison. Several guards were stationed around as well. None offered significant reaction to Katja’s initial approach and none reacted now that she had mentioned her… profession.

Company Al-Mir being able to take on the slavers made her uncomfortable. Her brazen appearance in the middle of a large burg had him nervous in turn. He had expected Lexa to come back with a date and a time to meet at Porcupine Hill. Not this.

“I understand you have spellcasters in your employ,” Arkk said, not bothering to drop his volume. Trying to do so wouldn’t help if they put any effort into listening in and it would only make him look more suspicious. “I’m working on a contract that will require a few more than I have in my employ.”

“I loaned you Lexa because your aims served my goal. This does not.”

“I am prepared to compensate them for their time.”

“Compensate me for their time, you mean.”

Arkk pressed his lips together before nodding his head. “Of course.”

Katja flashed her pearly white teeth. “Then we can discuss business.”

The Baron of Moonshine Burg gave Arkk a small smile as he poured amber liquid into a pair of short glasses. He slid one through a narrow canyon made from stacks of papers on his desk, leaving it in front of Arkk. The other, he picked up and downed in its entirety before Arkk even had a chance to reach for his.

“I like when things are peaceful,” the Baron said, immediately pouring himself another drink.

Baron Doble. So far, they hadn’t interacted much besides Arkk’s initial meeting with the man. Arkk had dealt with the head of the garrison for all bounty-related topics. Now, he had been asked to join the Baron for a quick discussion.

Arkk wasn’t quite sure where this discussion was going. To be polite, he picked up the offered glass and took a small sip. It burned a bit with that same smokey taste. Not an easy drink to down at all. “Peace is nice,” he hedged.

Doble didn’t drink his fresh glass, holding it at the level of his chest instead. “But?”

“No buts. I would prefer it if things were peaceful. Company Al-Mir tries to do its part to keep the peace where we operate.”

The Baron let out a tittering laugh, filled with sarcasm. “A mercenary preferring peace?” he said with another laugh. “I know your type. You feed off the troubles of others. If the world were peaceful, you wouldn’t exist.”

“I doubt the world can be peaceful as long as people exist,” Arkk said with a sorry frown. “Someone is always going to hate someone.”

With the slavers done for, he was planning on heading back to Fortress Al-Mir to figure out what needed to be done with the ritual and maybe see if he could figure out any other high-profile jobs that would draw the eye of the inquisitors. Preferably jobs far, far away from Moonshine Burg, Kajta, and the Pious of the Golden Order. Then there was Hawkwood’s invitation to consider.

“If anything, I hope we’ve made your corner of the Duchy a little more peaceful,” Arkk said instead of arguing, eyes roaming over the man’s desk. What were all those papers for anyway? It looked like a lot of reports from forward scouts. Moonshine Burg was right on the border with the Evestani Sultanate. He had mentioned troubles last time but Arkk hadn’t paid too much attention.

Having felt the stares of those from the Golden Order, Arkk was a little more concerned.

“I suppose I should thank you for that,” Doble admitted, grudgingly. “The larger burgs up north couldn’t handle them. Then they moved down here. They weren’t playing nice.”

“Like Katja plays nice?” Arkk asked, lifting his eyes from one stack of papers. He was curious about why the bandit was allowed to wander around so freely.

Doble let out a withering sigh. “I don’t know how they did it wherever you crawled out from,” he said before pausing to take in about half his drink. “Here, we have more concerns than just local matters. The ’Stani’s like to poke us now and again. Plant their flags on our rightful territory until they get pushed back. We’ve too much to deal with keeping them away from the villages under our domain to worry about more internal matters. My deal with Katja keeps things peaceful.”

“Highwaymen and marauders are peaceful?”

“She is supposed to keep the various bandit tribes in line.”

“Like Marv’s group of bandits.”

The Baron nodded his head, frowning. “It isn’t a perfect system. That issue was one Katja and I were planning on dealing with. She was certain they were testing waters, trying to decide if it was possible to usurp her leadership. You simply provided a more immediate solution.”

“I see…”

“Rest assured, it isn’t a deal that I enjoyed making,” the Baron said, pouring a third glass of alcohol. “As long as they aren’t causing too much trouble, we look the other way. We have to look the other way despite this deal, so it is advantageous towards us.”

Arkk hummed, looking down again. As his eyes roamed over another stack of papers, a wax seal caught his eye. Although broken open so that the Baron could read the letter within, the striped heraldry of the Duke stood out. Part of the letter was sticking out from the stack it was in as well. He couldn’t read the entire thing with it half shoved into the stack. What he could read made his eyes widen.

Duke Levi Woldair cordially invites Baron Sten Doble to— Contained within, you will find four inv— Wishes you good travels and—

Arkk’s eyes snapped up. The Baron, between glasses again, had said something. Arkk wasn’t quite sure what. Instead, he frowned and made a show of approaching the window. “Is the Evestani Sultanate really that aggressive that you have to constantly worry?”

“They poke and they prod. Testing the men on the front lines. No real skirmishes break out but there is a tension that no one denies,” the Baron answered, thankfully moving on from whatever he had said while Arkk was distracted. “Last few years haven’t been so bad. I gather the Duke had been making headways toward peace. Proper peace. Still, the old guard that got pushed back in the last war are bitter about being fended off. Wouldn’t surprise me to find a legion gone rogue if they spotted a weakness. It got particularly bad about three months ago. I’m hoping the winter cools them off. Don’t get much snow out here but it does get cold enough for an army to lose their toes to frostbite.”

Arkk let out a small shiver. While the ambient temperature had dropped over the last few weeks, the shiver came from memories of the few cases of frostbite he had seen around the village in years past. Fingers or toes completely blackened to the point where they had sometimes cracked and fallen off. Old Pucy’s entire hand had been lost after falling drunk out in the cold. His nose, ears, and feet hadn’t been any better. Then, in barely a week, his arm had swelled with rotten flesh. He hadn’t survived.

“Well,” Arkk said. “If your… deal works for you, I don’t particularly care. There isn’t a bounty on Katja’s head. None of my business.”

“Of course not,” the Baron said with a mild glower. Did he want someone to take out Katja? Arkk honestly couldn’t tell.

“Company Al-Mir will be departing someday soon and we don’t currently have plans to return. However, if you do have more trouble with slavers, feel free to send a missive. Not sure where we’ll be heading but I can bet that Hawkwood of White Company in Cliff will be keeping an ear out.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Nothing else keeping us here. Unless you had another job that pays well enough to occupy our time?”

“No. No. I just…” The Baron let out a sigh, setting his glass on the desk. Arkk’s eyes flicked to the Duke’s letter before snapping back to Doble. “That is a relief.”

“Was our presence so terrible?”

“When you so handily exterminated that first group, I admit to growing concerned. I’ve heard of mercenary groups that will effectively oust burg leadership in favor of themselves. With you making deals with Katja, I grew concerned that you and she were plotting something.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, shooting a glance down at his glass. For a moment, he worried that the Baron had decided to poison him in his paranoia. Arkk dismissed the notion. The Baron had been drinking from the same source and there had been nothing in the glass beforehand. Even still, Arkk felt that the one small sip he had taken was more than enough. He set the glass down.

“I meant what I said to her earlier. I need spellcasters and she can provide.”

“Could have been code,” Baron Doble said, taking a seat. “I hardly believe even a foolish bandit would plot against me within earshot. I was worried I’d have to make deals…” Shaking his head, he looked up to Arkk. “Never mind. So long as Company Al-Mir clears out within the week, we’ll have no problems between us.”

“I’ll have my employees packing before nightfall.”

The Baron nodded his head before motioning toward the door. Arkk watched a moment as the man picked up a paper from one of the stacks.

Leaving the man and his potential poison, Arkk hurried out of the room. He made his way out of the keep, avoiding any further discussions with anyone. At least until he reached the main gate. There, he found someone leaning against the wall, waiting for him.

Lexa flashed him a sharp-toothed grin. “He hand over a big sack of coin?”

“The garrison already paid us,” Arkk said, looking down at the gremlin.

Her smile vanished. “Thought you were bullying concessions. Kat always said he was a pushover.”

“Don’t speak so loud right in front of the keep,” Arkk said, shooting a look at the gate guards. Placing a firm hand on Lexa’s shoulder, he led her a short distance away. She quickly brushed him off.

“I’m not a child.”

“You’re a thief. I like you in my sight.”

“I’m your thief. Remember? I wouldn’t steal from my employer.”

Arkk doubted her words completely. Still, he smiled and said, “True. As long as my coin is good, right? Speaking of, how would you like to earn another bonus for a task suited toward your skills?”

Lexa’s eyes positively gleamed as she stood a little straighter. “Something out there you can’t buy with your pockets of gold?”

“Just a letter I’d like to read, actually,” Arkk said, looking back to the Moonshine Burg keep. “Let’s find somewhere a little more private and I’ll tell you what I need you to do…”

 

 

When Arkk had been told that the slavers were held up in an old military outpost, he had expected some kind of fortress. Like the garrison at Cliff, with tall stone walls and observation turrets at the corners, or even like the bandit encampment and its imposing spiked defenses and tall wooden walls. Instead, he was greeted with a squat brick wall that he could probably see over just by jumping—Ilya and the orcs wouldn’t have a problem in the slightest. The wall wasn’t even thick. Shoving his shoulder against it a few times might not make it move but gather up three orcs and put them in roughly the same spot? They would knock it over in a few seconds.

Although the wall was unimpressive, it was a large compound. In the war, it must have been used as a staging point. A whole army could fit inside those thin walls. Given the wide open area lacking in buildings, they likely would have been expected to use tents. That was what the slavers were doing now, in any case. There were a few actual structures, all of which had been built into the walls. It was within those that most of the slaves were being kept.

Scrying on the camp for the previous day got them some information. There were about one hundred and fifty slavers present, all outfitted for combat. They had about an equal number of slaves crammed into the buildings. Most were occupying floor space but there were a number chained to the walls—presumably troublemakers.

Out in front of the outpost, which sat on a fairly flat plain covered in a light dusting of snow, was something Arkk had never seen before. Four great beasts, each towering over the rest of the outpost. Their massive bodies, covered in thick, rough hide, looked like they could crush an orc and barely notice what they stepped on. Even from his vantage point well away from the outpost, Arkk could feel their steps as they meandered about their makeshift pasture. More imposing were the large spiked horns that jutted up from their snouts.

Despite their awe-inspiring appearance, they didn’t look like they were used in combat. The pasture was right next to four equally massive carts. He wasn’t quite sure how big they were—the size of the beasts nearby was playing havoc on his sense of scale—but each of those carts contained twelve rectangular metal cages. Judging by their profession, those cages were probably the size of humans, if not orcs.

“Rhinos,” Olatt’an said, unprompted. “I’ve encountered the beasts before. They look frightening, but they are surprisingly docile. Unless you provoke them. In that case, you’re going to have a bad time.”

“I bet,” Arkk said, lowering the crystal ball to look across the plain with his own eyes. Despite the size of the beasts, they weren’t quite as easy to spot. Their black hides blended in with the night too well. “They’re why we’re approaching from the opposite side. It’s just that feeling the ground as they move… Avoid them if possible.”

“And if it isn’t possible?” Rekk’ar asked.

Olatt’an snorted. “Run.”

“Can the gorgon stone them?” Arkk asked, looking to Zharja.

The black-scaled gorgon let out a long, thoughtful hiss before slowly shaking her head. “Their eyess are on sseperate ssidess of their headss.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yess,” she said, offering no elaboration.

“As I said, they’re not aggressive beasts. Make noise and they’ll likely scatter,” Olatt’an said. “The ones you have to watch out for are the slavers whipping them into a frenzy.”

“Right. Lexa,” Arkk said. “Change of plans. You’re going to protect the rhinos. Take out anyone who looks like they’re trying to get them fighting us. Can you manage?”

“Sounds easier than what you wanted me doing before,” the gremlin said with her sharp-toothed grin.

“Good.”

“Mind if I head out? Bit of a trek to the opposite side of the outpost with these short legs of mine.”

Arkk nodded his head. “If things seem calm or you take out everyone heading to the rhinos, go back to the original plan, if possible. Otherwise, just cause as much havoc as you can.”

“Righty-oh,” Lexa said, tapping her fingers to her brow in a sloppy salute. Turning, she hurried off into the night, making even less noise than Ilya as she ran.

Arkk watched her go for a moment, frowning.

“Can we trust that one?”

Arkk shrugged at Rekk’ar’s question. “She accepted a coin, so she is a proper employee.” This meant that Arkk could watch her no matter where she was, though that was a secret he was still keeping from everyone except Vezta. “If she does turn traitor, I imagine it will be as a spy for Katja later on. Katja wants these slavers gone. I doubt we have to worry about her sabotaging us right now.”

“I’ll be keeping an eye on her.”

“You keep an eye on a lot of people,” Arkk quipped. “Running out of eyes?”

“And you’re too trusting. Even with one eye on others, I’ve still gone one to watch where I’m going. If you take a knife in your back, that’s your only back.”

Arkk pressed his lips into a thin line, staring at the green-skinned orc for a long moment. It took a moment to parse that analogy and he wasn’t sure that it was any good. Even if it was, it didn’t exactly apply to him. The power of Fortress Al-Mir let him observe his employees from anywhere at any time, effectively granting him an infinite number of eyes. Even that wasn’t necessary given that the Heart should alert him if anyone tried to betray him, much as it had warned him that a prisoner bond broke. Technically, he hadn’t tested that feature yet.

Yet…

Looking over Rekk’ar’s shoulder, Arkk found Edvin gesticulating wildly as he chatted with a nearby orc. From the way he was acting, the highwayman was regaling the orc with a tale of intense battle. Probably a very tall tale.

Well, there was a first time for everything.

Testing that betrayal warning was half his reason for keeping Edvin around at this point. Nobody had a positive word to say about the man and Arkk felt betrayal was inevitable, just as soon as Edvin felt he could get away without being chased down. Perhaps during a bout of intense combat.

Which was fine. The man had no important role to play this evening. As long as he didn’t try to literally stab Arkk in his back during his flight from their organization, Arkk was content to use him as a test.

Movement drew Arkk’s eyes away from the potential deserter, back toward the outpost. Ilya, long silver hair tied up in a small bun to keep it out of the way during the fight, came running up to their encampment. She gave Arkk a sharp nod of her head, fingers tightening around the grip of her black bow.

“The watch has been taken out,” Ilya said.

“No one noticed?”

“Not yet.”

“Good,” Arkk said, standing and turning.

Twenty orcs stared back. Almost every orc from the fortress. Six gorgon stood among them—the four he had originally brought along with two more he had invited over just to make sure everything went smoothly. Vezta wasn’t present. Neither were Savren or Zullie. After discussing the strategy with his advisors, they judged their presence unnecessary. Arkk would rather have them working on making the adjustments to the ritual anyway. It seemed like it was going to take longer than expected so the more time they had to work on it, the better.

Agnete hung close to him, the heat she put off strangely comfortable in the chill night air. She hadn’t said much and didn’t look like she was going to say much. Somewhat like Edvin, this was a test for her. Arkk had the little ice marble safe in his pocket, just in case, but was hoping he wouldn’t need to use it.

There was one additional member of their group tonight. One who had only been made an employee this morning. Standing hunched over just apart from the rest, a werecat with mangy orange fur had her lips parted in a permanent snarl. Although her face was mostly humanoid, her sharp teeth and heavy breathing had the orcs nearby shooting wary glances in her direction. That wasn’t helped by the way the moonlight gleamed off her orange eyes, making them glow bright despite the lack of any other light source.

She wasn’t fully healed. The end of her tail and one arm were wrapped up in white linen. The arm that wasn’t bandaged had a thick chain dangling from her wrist. Thus far, she had resisted any attempts at having it removed. Her body was far thinner than Arkk had seen among the few werecats around Cliff City, making him think that she still needed to eat a lot more.

She didn’t talk much. At least she wasn’t trying to attack them. Arkk had a small doubt in the back of his mind that Savren’s mind magics had a permanent effect but the warlock insisted that he had only calmed her. Prying out her name, Lyssa, had taken some effort which did serve to reassure Arkk. The only thing she wanted, as far as Arkk could tell, was a chance for revenge.

As long as her feral fury was aimed at his enemies, Arkk was happy to facilitate that revenge.

“Everyone knows their roles,” Arkk said, looking over the orc-dominated group. “I’d give a rallying speech but you don’t want that, do you? Watch each other. Help each other. Come back alive. That’s all I’ll say.

“Olatt’an. Get your group in position. Rekk’ar, Zharja. Get moving. Dakka, Agnete, with me. Everyone, wait for my signal.”

Orders given, the three groups split off from one another. They weren’t going far, but they had a plan. Olatt’an was in charge of a handful of orcs who wielded crossbows, Ilya as well. Rekk’ar commanded the majority of the orcs this time instead of Dakka, solely to make sure that he had an important role. The gorgon followed Zharja—Arkk felt that having one of their own give them commands was for the best—but they were mixed in with Rekk’ar’s group along with both Edvin and Lyssa.

Arkk with Dakka and Agnete as bodyguards were on their own for the moment.

Each corner of the compound, while lacking tall brick turrets, did have elevated wooden platforms that allowed guards to keep watch on their surroundings. With Ilya having taken out all the guards on watch on this side of the compound, Arkk had little to fear from simply walking right up to the wall. It was even more pathetic up close. How long ago had it been abandoned? Thirty years or so? Some parts of the crumbling wall looked like they had been patched up recently. Even still, it was in a sorry state. Maybe the slavers didn’t intend to stick around. Maybe they just hadn’t gotten to it yet. In Arkk’s opinion, securing the outpost would have been among the first tasks he would have ordered unless something truly vital was needed. Like food.

Given how many people were inside the walls, maybe securing a source of food was a dire problem.

Whatever the case, the decrepit architecture worked to his advantage tonight. Over the years, the windswept plains had piled up dirt at the base of the wall, giving him even easier access than he would otherwise have. It took no effort for him or Agnete to vault over the top. He was a little worried that Dakka, being much larger than they were, would break the wall and cause a bunch of noise when she followed. She did stumble a bit but a steadying hand from Arkk kept the noise to a minimum.

Neither said a word. Arkk remained silent as well. Not now, not this close to their opponents. They simply nodded and moved.

The inner compound was a field of tents. Varying sizes of canvas-covered dwellings covered the empty… was it a courtyard? Given the lack of buildings, except for the two built into the one wall, this must have been how it had been used during the war. A hastily constructed outpost to serve as a waystation or logistical stopping point. Not a permanent dwelling or fortification.

Arkk had memorized the route he planned to take during the day’s scrying. He slipped between a few smaller tents, took a circuitous route around the array of barracks tents, and finally stopped at one of the larger tents toward the center of the compound. He held open the flap and let Dakka duck inside. Tossing a glance around, making sure nobody had seen them, he followed.

Dakka had explained a little bit about how she and the other orcs operated while raiding. Everyone had their own gear and weapons, mostly looted, and never parted with their belongings. They each maintained their blades and armor to the best of their abilities. Sometimes, heavier damage might require going to someone who knew more, but it was best to have something valuable to trade. Otherwise, anytime they did part with their gear, they were at risk of having stuff stolen by the others. Though she had admitted that maybe that was something unique to her situation, being the runt of the group.

Here, among the slavers, the situation seemed different. In this large tent, several wooden racks contained a vast plethora of weapons and armor. Chains, whips, swords, pikes, bows, quivers and arrows, and plenty more besides. Arkk was sure there would be plenty of weapons among the sleeping slavers but if they could deny this communal armory, that might result in a whole lot more people surrendering. The more who surrendered, the less likely something would go wrong.

Pulling out a moderately sized metal rod, Arkk started dragging it through the dirt. It wasn’t the most complex of arrays. The tracking spell was probably at a higher level. Still, it was something he wouldn’t have been able to create before Zullie’s lessons. It wasn’t something he had just copied from a book. Rather, he had specifically designed this ritual just for tonight. That alone made this a bit more special.

Especially with what he was about to do next.

Agnete simply watched. Although magically powerful, she didn’t actually know much about magic. Her flames were more akin to beastman magic. Rather than require incantations or complex designs to use, her flames were more instinctive. And limited. No matter how hard she tried, she wouldn’t be able to conjure a lightning bolt. As such, her curiosity over the pattern he was drawing was understandable.

After dragging a line from the circle at the center of the tent to each of its corners, he quickly approached the front flap. Dakka, who had been peering outside from a thin crack, gave him a nod of her head. He couldn’t see her face, hidden underneath her imposing black helmet, but the nod was enough.

Darting outside, he quickly ran to one of the exterior corners and started dragging the line out to another tent. This tent held more weaponry, some of a much higher quality than the others. He figured the leaders of the slavers would keep the best gear for themselves—and, importantly, on their persons—but getting rid of this would help.

It was a bit of a shame that he couldn’t take them for himself. He didn’t need the weapons and armor, not right now, but while Company Al-Mir had started as a front for getting into one of the Duke’s parties, the idea of running a mercenary company had grown on him. Arkk actually felt like he was doing good out in the Duchy, unlike some other elements he could name. Sure, he still planned to get rid of the Duke if he could and then there were the complications of tying his company to the fortress—not to mention Vezta and the Calamity stuff—but the thought of expanding Company Al-Mir into a proper mercenary force did appeal to him and weapons would help with that.

It was a bit disappointing that they had such little luck in recruiting from Moonshine Burg. Most who were capable of mercenary work were already employed with the garrison and didn’t have much interest in traveling. A few, Arkk had turned away simply because they looked more like accountants than proper fighters.

Finishing the ritual circle at the smaller tent, Arkk returned to the main armory tent and dragged out two more lines to either side of the largest barracks tent. He worked in silence, taking even more care here to not wake anyone on the other side of the thin canvas wall. This part of the job did have him feeling a little conflicted. He wouldn’t describe any fight he had been in as glamorous or honorable. Those were words for bards and stories. Still, fighting someone in proper combat was a far cry from what he was doing. Then again, thinking about the state of Lyssa or those slaves over in the buildings across the compound offered some solace.

Arkk started back toward the armory tent for the final line when a footstep that wasn’t his or Dakka’s ground against the earth.

“Hey! What are—”

Turning, Arkk made it just in time to watch a headless body thump against the ground. The decapitated head, flung from the blade of Dakka’s axe, slid along the ground until it caught on the canvas of a nearby tent.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Arkk didn’t even breathe. As he listened to his surroundings, he did a quick check-up on all the others through their employee links. Olatt’an and the others in the ranged squad were perched atop the actual buildings, ready to support those on the ground while also keeping slavers from going after the slaves in retaliation or for hostages. Rekk’ar, Zharja, and the others were over the wall at the end of the compound, just awaiting his signal. Lexa was in the process of wiping blood from a short dagger on the body of a man who had his throat slit. Some kind of magical haze surrounded her. It wouldn’t render her invisible but combined with the dark of the night, she might as well have been.

In the tents in Arkk’s immediate vicinity, he could hear rustling. Stirring. Whether it was the man’s words or his body hitting the ground, Arkk doubted they would have long before the entire camp was on high alert.

“Hurry,” he hissed, taking off in a run toward the large tent. Far less concerned with stealth and far more concerned with speed, he dug the metal rod into the ground and continued running, marking a trail behind him. Dakka, wearing armor, was much louder than he was. It wouldn’t matter much in a few moments.

Reaching a safe distance, Arkk quickly swept the metal rod around in a hasty circle. He inscribed symbols into the dirt out in the open, not far from the same wall he had climbed over to enter the compound. Already, shouts of alarm were going up in the distance. Torchlight started flickering against the edges of the tent canopies.

Finishing the last sigil, Arkk flung the metal rod aside and stepped into the circle. Taking a deep breath, he flooded his magic into the ring.

A bright violet light lit up around his feet, infusing all the markings he had just drawn before darting off along the line he had dragged in the direction of the armory tent. He couldn’t see it but he knew it was doing the same thing there. The light would spread through the large circle before it darted off to the three other circles he had drawn. And then…

The ground shook and a brilliant red-yellow column of twisting fire erupted in the center of the camp. A rush of wind followed the light, blowing tents over as it passed. Even Arkk, expecting this result, found himself knocked backward. He hit Dakka’s breastplate, letting out a grunt of mild pain. The orc, larger and sturdier, did not stumble or stagger. She simply clamped a hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he had done for her at the wall.

“Beautiful,” Agnete whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at the tornado of fire.

Arkk shot her a look before shaking his head. “Let’s meet up with—Electro Deus!” A bolt of lightning slammed into a man who had climbed out from under one of the toppled tents nearby. “Let’s get to Rekk’ar.”

“I… am allowed to purify anyone who gets in our way, am I not?” Agnete asked in a wispy cadence. She reached a hand toward the tornado, siphoning off a thin stream of fire, twisting it in the wrong direction of the spinning column of flames. It wrapped around her hands and arms, burning away her long cloak’s sleeves.

Arkk, nervously wondering if he should have used a different spell to take out the armory, slowly slipped a hand into his pocket. The icy touch of the marble brought some reassurance that he would be able to handle the situation if the purifier went berserk. “Just don’t harm our own or the slaves.”

“I… often lose control in the presence of intense fire… but…” It took obvious effort to tear her eyes from the flames in her hands. Those glowing embers slid into place, locking onto Arkk’s bright red eyes. “Something is different this time.”

She flicked her wrist, sending a stream of flames in a lazy arc at a screaming man wielding a spiked cudgel. His screams turned from anger to pain. The fires gained a bluish hue and the heat intensified. The man crumbled as he burned, cries cutting off abruptly.

Arkk grimaced at the likely painful death. Even Dakka shifted in obvious discomfort. Agnete simply flicked her wide eyes over to the body before flicking them back to Arkk.

“I shall endeavor to keep control.”

Resisting the urge to lick his heat-dried lips, Arkk nodded his head. “See that you do.”

“And I thought the gorgon were unnerving,” Dakka muttered barely loud enough for Arkk to hear. “You ever think about blinking once in a while?”

Arkk nudged the orc with his elbow. He hit hard armor but Dakka would still have felt it. Agnete didn’t seem to have heard anyway. Or, if she had, she wasn’t paying the quip any mind. Her eyes were scanning the collapsed tents, looking for any other threats. Any others for her purifying flames.

Taking a breath, Arkk nodded his head. “Let’s move.”

 

 

 

“You received some letters. Came in by Swiftwing Harpies.”

Arkk barely stepped out of the newly fashioned teleportation circle inside the Moonshine camp before being practically assaulted by Ilya waving a set of neatly folded letters in front of his face. One letter had an obvious seal stamped into wax while the other only had a glob keeping it closed. Taking them, he frowned down at both for just a moment before tucking them into his inner jacket pocket.

“That’s good. It means people know we’re here.”

He didn’t have time to examine them. Arkk had to step out of the teleportation circle and further into the large tent set up outside Moonshine Burg. The ritual circle pulsed and Agnete appeared within its confines. The temperature of the tent immediately shifted from a chill winter’s morning to a hot summer afternoon, making Arkk, Dakka, and several of the other gathered orcs break out in sweat.

Rekk’ar, already present having come through the teleportation circle before Arkk, just crossed his arms. He was finally out of that sling. It was thanks to him that Ilya and the others had gathered.

While at Fortress Al-Mir, Arkk made a sudden realization. Rekk’ar had left the fortress only once since first being hired. That one time had been a temporary departure when Arkk called for reinforcements at Darkwood, defending the town from the other Keeper. There was always some problem going on but Rekk’ar spent his time at the fortress, making sure to keep everything in line. It was high time that he got out to fight and war and just get a breath of fresh air. Maybe it would make him less cranky. With Vezta staying back at the fortress with the two warlocks and their research—and the fortress being nearly empty—Arkk was hoping this little excursion would help alleviate some of Rekk’ar’s concerns in addition to getting him out and moving about.

Agnete, on the other hand, was here solely because she wanted to be here. Arkk hadn’t offered. She had asked. She wanted to see how Arkk ran things, what kind of person he was outside their limited prior interactions, and how the others in his employ acted. Arkk didn’t have much of a reason to keep her in the fortress. With her abilities, it would only make their upcoming task all the easier to accomplish.

“Come along,” Arkk said, moving from the large tent across their small camp on the open plains and to a smaller tent with several cots set inside.

Arkk looked around the new tent, locking eyes with Edvin and the gremlin at his side. Lexa. The only non-employee in the area.

Gremlins stood shorter than most other races. Half the height of an average human left the gremlin utterly dwarfed by all the orcs filing inside, though her spiked mass of bright red hair helped to make her look a little less short than she actually was. That probably wasn’t the only reason she looked distinctly uncomfortable. Being the only fully-fledged bandit among a group of mercenaries had her clearly on guard. Not that there was much she would be able to do if Arkk did suddenly decide to throw her to the local garrison.

Looking away from the two, Arkk found Ilya’s silver eyes. “Report,” he said. “Did you find the slavers?”

Ilya shot a glance in Lexa’s direction as well, nodding at the same time. “We managed to track them down two days ago. They are about two days out from here, making their home in an abandoned outpost from the last war as Lexa indicated.”

“Would it be too much to ask for the Duchy to hold onto its territory?” Arkk asked with a sigh. “I suppose this isn’t the first time we’re cleaning up the Duchy’s mess. Were you able to scry on this outpost?”

Grimacing, Ilya nodded her head. “It… It isn’t pretty. The outpost has an entire dungeon set up. Probably for holding onto prisoners from the war but… now… it’s holding onto slaves. They have these massive carts drawn by massive horned creatures. Each cart has stacks upon stacks of large metal cages. I think they take them around to the places they raid, fill them up then drag them back here. Some of the slaves are treated better than others—probably the ones they want to sell for looks rather than labor—but it is a mess all around.”

“How many slavers?”

“There are about two-hundred cots in their barracks.”

“Two hundred?” Arkk repeated with a frown. That… was a fair amount. They only had eighteen orcs now that Rekk’ar and a few of the others who had been at the fortress were with them. Plus himself, Ilya, four gorgon, and Agnete. And Edvin, he supposed, though he wasn’t going to expect much from the highwayman.

He had fought off about that many goblins when he first met Vezta. That had been an entirely different situation, with them all rushing toward him—meaning only a limited number could engage with him at any given time—and him not having to worry much about innocents getting in the way. Here, they had slaves who would turn into hostages the moment things took a dive for the slavers.

For a few moments, he considered returning to the fortress to retrieve Vezta, Zullie, and Savren. Maybe the other gorgon as well. Looking to his side, where Agnete had taken up a position a little too close for comfort, he shook his head. Himself, Ilya, four gorgon, and Agnete were probably enough to take on eighty entrenched slavers on their own. Sure, most of that might have been Agnete, but still…

“Dakka,” Arkk said, looking at the orc. She stiffened under his gaze, back straightening. “You’ve been informed of the situation?”

“I was watching them scry it, Sir.”

“Good. Take Rekk’ar and Agnete, get them fully up to speed on what is going on and start coming up with strategies. Vezta and our warlocks are available if we feel it is necessary. I’ll join you shortly.”

Dakka’s eyes shifted over to Rekk’ar. There was a certain pride to her gaze as her lips curled into a smile. “Yes, Sir,” she said.

“The rest of you, get everything ready to move. Jorr’or, check our food and medical supplies. Make sure we have some extra of both, enough to help anyone we rescue. You have full authority to take as much gold into town as is required to procure the necessary supplies.”

The orc who had acted as quartermaster on this excursion nodded his head before turning to the flaps of the tent. Everyone else filed out in short order, leaving just Arkk and Ilya behind in the large barracks-like tent. It wasn’t the best home base, but they didn’t have anywhere else unless they wanted to take another hop to the stayover. Although more effective than walking, moving people one at a time through the teleportation circle wasn’t a very effective means of travel or he might have suggested they return to Fortress Al-Mir every night. It was just easier to rent out the entire stayover and use this camp.

“Vezta didn’t come back with you?” Ilya asked as they took a seat on one of the nearby cots.

“There were some problems with Zullie and Savren. Wanted to make sure they didn’t end up killing each other, so she’s mediating.”

“Problems?”

“Disagreements over changes to the ritual circle. As interested as I am, I didn’t ask. Too much other stuff going on. After setting Vezta to loom over their shoulders, they actually started cooperating instead of just arguing about it. I sat in on a few of their sessions but…” Arkk hung his head. “It’s complicated. I wish I had more time to fully learn everything but I’ve got to run around plotting assaults on slavers.”

Lips pressed together, Ilya reached out, resting a hand on Arkk’s knee. “This is important too. Just think of all the people we’re helping. And all the people who won’t have to worry about being raided in the future because these slime will be dead.”

“I know,” Arkk said. “I’m not saying it isn’t important or we’ll leave those people.” Shaking his head, Arkk focused. “With the inquisitors lurking in places we can’t scry, I just was hoping we could find some spellcasters out here. Sadly, I doubt many, if any, of the slaves will be casters.”

“What about—”

“I can cast spells.”

Arkk blinked and looked over Ilya’s shoulder. Lexa leaned up against the central pole holding up the tent. The short gremlin hadn’t left with the others and Arkk hadn’t even noticed. He was so used to looking up that he had entirely forgotten to look down, despite having singled her out earlier. It didn’t help that she had half-hidden behind the large pole, barely visible from his position.

Discussing sensitive things without fully securing the area…

“You can cast spells?” Arkk asked, trying to maintain a neutral tone of voice.

“Nothing flashy,” the gremlin said, grinning with sharp teeth. “A few tricks here or there. Distract a mark or make me harder to notice. It worked on you. Useful, right?”

Arkk narrowed his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t simply overlooked the gremlin. “And you’re offering your services.”

“Consider this my demonstration of ability.” Shoving off the pole, Lexa walked around it and stopped in front of Arkk. “I’m a thief. Best in the business. At least around these parts. I can slip through cracks most others wouldn’t even notice, I can hide in plain sight, and I can nick valuables right out from under people’s noses.” Pulling a hand from behind her back, she waved two familiar letters back and forth.

Arkk stiffened, reaching into his jacket even as Ilya’s arm shot out. She snatched all the letters from the gremlin’s small hand. Not that the gremlin even tried to withhold them. Lexa just flashed her sharp teeth again.

“When did you—”

“Magic,” Lexa said, wiggling her fingers. “Not going to say more than that unless you hire me.”

“Bad first impression,” Ilya snapped. “What else have you stolen?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. I did snoop around,” she admitted. “Peeked into a few bags here or there. Spotted some interesting magic circles in the guarded tent… Left everything right where I found it.”

Arkk stiffened at the mention of the teleportation circle. That was one of his biggest advantages and not something he wanted to give up. Especially not to bandits.

“Sure you did.” Ilya’s disbelief came through as clear in her tone as it was written on her face, patting herself down to check that she wasn’t missing anything else.

Arkk held up a hand. “And you’ve, what, tired of your thieving career? Want to turn over a new leaf?” If she wasn’t offering to work for him now… He wasn’t quite sure what he would have done. Secrecy was security and security was paramount.

“Never. My skills are handy no matter the situation. Handier than a bunch of ex-raiders, anyway. Now I hear you’re in the market for spellcasters too? That just makes me more valuable.” She laughed a sharp, high-pitched laugh. “Don’t get me wrong. I love what I do. Kat’s Bandits are a nice family—Kat is sexy and perfectly happy to share herself with anyone who pleases her—but after snooping around here and seeing how much coin you’ve got to throw around? Well, if I knew how well being a mercenary paid, I’d have joined a company years ago.”

Of all the topics he had discussed with Hawkwood during his visit to Cliff City, pay had not been among them. He honestly doubted that most other free companies could afford to give a gold coin to each employee every month. Fortress Al-Mir put him in a league of his own when it came to what he could offer his workers.

“You can’t just—”

Holding up a hand, Arkk stalled Ilya’s retort. “What assurances would I have that you aren’t going to take the coin and run back to your outlaw friends?”

“We’re not hiring another criminal, are we?” Ilya asked before Lexa could say anything.

Arkk shrugged. “We already knew we weren’t going to find any spellcasters in good standing. That pretty much leaves only criminals.”

“If I’m working for a free company, I’m not a criminal, now am I?” the gremlin grinned. “As for assurances… the only assurance out there is gold. As long as the gold keeps coming and nobody offers me a better deal, I’m yours. For whatever. You. Want.” Lexa hooked a finger over the front of her bodice and lightly pulled, showing off just enough skin to be enticing without showing off everything.

Arkk locked his eyes with her hazel slit pupils and frowned. “I’m not in the habit of abusing my employees like that.”

“It isn’t abuse if—”

“I also prefer women who are taller than me.”

Ilya, who had been glaring at Lexa, shifted her glare over to Arkk before moving back to the gremlin. She stared back and forth like she wasn’t sure who was more deserving of her ire. When Arkk flashed her a smile and winked, she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Ah,” Lexa said, looking between the two as she slumped her shoulders. “Kind of rude to put it like that but maybe I can change your mind later. I’m more after the gold anyway.”

Reaching into his pocket, Arkk withdrew a single gold coin. Holding it up, he watched as Lexa’s eyes went wide, following its motions like a cat ready to pounce on a rat.

“I’ll hire you,” Arkk said, moving the coin back and forth. “A gold coin a month, plus bonuses for combat or other situations that require your skills or presence. While employed, you don’t steal from regular people or anyone else under my employ.”

Although her eyes kept following the gold coin, her head turned slightly toward Arkk. “No one? What defines ‘regular people’? What about rich idiots begging to have some of their wealth redistributed? The tax collector, maybe? Does it count as stealing if they’re dead?”

“No murdering people either,” Arkk said, narrowing his eyes.

“I didn’t mean that. Just suppose I’m walking around, minding my own business, when I stumble across an old mausoleum filled with all kinds of shiny things…”

“Look. I just don’t want you acting like a thug. I’m still trying to build up Company Al-Mir’s reputation. If you do anything to tear that down, we’re going to have a problem. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

With a slight sigh, Arkk held out the coin. It vanished from his fingers in the blink of an eye and disappeared down the front of her shirt—she must have had a pocket sewn in there—not via magic, just the quick reflexes of the gremlin. While Lexa didn’t seem to notice, Arkk felt the minion bond form between them.

“Don’t worry,” Lexa said, eyes back on him while she showed off her sharp-toothed grin. “You won’t regret this.”

“I hope not. Now get prepared to head out with the others.”

“You can order me around however you want,” she said, turning on her heel.

Arkk watched her go, making sure she didn’t slip off to spy on them a second time. She must have known that he was watching because she started swinging her hips in what Arkk had to hope was an exaggerated manner. It couldn’t be comfortable to walk like that all the time.

“Lexa,” Arkk called out before she made it to the tent flaps, a thought occurring to him.

She paused and turned, raising a bright red eyebrow.

“Are there other spellcasters among Kat’s Bandits?”

“Oh yeah. Kat herself is one. Then there’s Roland, Hestia, Marg, and maybe a few others? Not sure how good they are. None of us have any professional training. Just the books we… liberated from our customers.”

“I see…”

“You want a full list? Every spell they know—or every spell I know they know, anyway.”

“Later, perhaps.”

“Sure thing.” With one last sashay, Lexa slipped out of the room.

Arkk hummed to himself, mind churning as he considered possible future interactions with Katja and her crew. With these slavers being a thorn in Katja’s side, taking them out should engender some feelings of gratitude. He wasn’t sure that they would all be as willing to jump ship—especially not the leader—but if he could borrow a few spellcasters for however long the ritual would require…

“You aren’t seriously thinking about hiring them all, are you? I can’t believe how many criminals we have working with us.”

“If they’re working for us, they aren’t causing problems for villages and travelers.”

“That’s the same logic we used on the orcs and Savren and the gorgon and now these thieves. I’m not sure how much I like that argument.”

“It’s all gone well so far,” Arkk said with a shake of his head. “We’ll talk it over later. I doubt they’ll all even want to join up. For now, I’m curious about these.”

Holding up the letters Ilya had handed him, he broke the wax seal on the one without a signet stamped into it. It was the thickest of the two, containing a great many pages. Sketches and diagrams of buildings and murals. The front letter, after Arkk skimmed it, filled him in on what it was all about.

“Ah. That expedition we helped with. This is the historian getting back to me.”

“Back to you?”

“I waived half their pay in exchange for details on the ruins they were heading to. I thought it might have been another fortress like Al-Mir. Judging by this giant pit, I might have been right, though it fits with Vezta’s description of a dead fortress. Interesting but not all that exciting. I’ll look over his other notes later.”

The next letter, stamped with the upward chevron seal of White Company, was a letter from Hawkwood. This one wasn’t a particularly long letter but the content had Arkk sitting forward in his seat.

“It seems like we have made a splash among those who pay attention to mercenaries. Hawkwood is congratulating us for saving Silver City and ridding Savren’s magic from Hope. He’s mentioned us around and…” Arkk pressed his lips together. “Seems like he wants to invite us to a small dinner in Cliff, accompanied by several other mercenary company commanders.”

Ilya crossed her arms, closing her eyes. “Is that all?”

Arkk flipped the letter over, checking the backside, before shrugging. “Looks like it.”

“It’s a trap. The inquisitors got to him. Or the entire letter is forged.”

Arkk drummed his fingers on his knee. The thought had occurred to him but… “I don’t want to believe that.”

“What else could it be?”

“Just what it says. I’ve had several correspondences with Hawkwood since we met for the first time. He mentioned things like this before. All the company leaders are friends, though some consider other companies to be friendly rivals. It’s… not out of the ordinary to be invited along with them.” Arkk paused then looked Ilya in her silver eyes. “We have been making a name for ourselves.”

“Even if the inquisitors have nothing to do with it, they are still there. You can’t seriously be considering going. They won’t just ignore you.”

“They might,” Arkk said, knowing damn well they wouldn’t. “I asked John to visit Stone Hearth and Smilesville while I was back at the fortress. Neither place has any bounty, notice, or other declaration of interest regarding me, Company Al-Mir, or even the Cursed Forest.”

“Because they’re trying to draw you in with this letter!” Ilya snapped standing up. “Arkk. Ask any of the others. Rekk’ar. Olatt’an. Vezta. Zullie. Savren. Dakka. Edvin. They’ll all tell you this is a trap.”

Arkk closed his eyes, nodding his head. He did not doubt that. He wasn’t even disagreeing. He didn’t think… He hoped that Hawkwood hadn’t tried to trap him. That didn’t mean that the inquisitors wouldn’t hear about his arrival and try to do something then.

Still… This could well be the last chance they had to visit Cliff without being labeled as heretics or traitors. The last chance they would have to get Alya out of the Duke’s manor while still able to freely move about the city. If he brought up that point, Ilya might change her mind.

He wasn’t sure if he should or not. She might insist they go, which Arkk wasn’t sure he wanted. Or she might not, feeling she would have to abandon her mother. Arkk didn’t want that either. It wouldn’t be a good feeling.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Arkk said, folding the letter and sliding it back into his pocket. He would have to think it over. “It doesn’t matter now. We’ve got this counter-slaver operation to deal with.”

Ilya stared a moment before letting out a small breath, blowing a loose lock of her silver hair aside. “Twenty-five versus two-hundred, can we do it?”

“To be honest, unless these slavers have a secret inquisitor up their sleeve with an ice marble, I think Agnete could handle them entirely on her own.”

“Without incinerating the slaves?”

Arkk pressed his lips into a thin smile, lightly touching the round lump in his pocket just to make sure that hadn’t gone missing. “That’s why the rest of us are going.”

 

 

Tracking down the slavers was taking longer than Arkk had hoped for. The land outside Moonshine Burg was vast and empty. Old outposts dotted the plains, most long abandoned, relics of the old war.

Arkk stared down at Lexa, a gremlin who barely stood tall enough to reach his waist, with a frown on his face. On loan from the leader of the bandits, she wasn’t a proper employee. That had Arkk a little on edge in her presence. The way she looked at him, large eyes roaming over his shoulders and arms, had him a little more on edge. He didn’t get the feeling that she was likely to stab him in the back from the way she stared, more like… she was interested in him.

“So these things are so handy. Is it true they can see anywhere?” she asked, peering into a blank crystal ball. “Anywhere?”

“Yes,” Arkk lied. He didn’t want the weakness of churches or whatever the inquisitors had done to themselves to become widely spread information.

“Like… inside the quarters of your boss?” Lexa grinned, sharp teeth on display as she ran a hand through her spiked mass of bright red hair. “How do I get me one of these?”

“I doubt Katja would appreciate that.”

“Nonsense. She invites me in at least once a fortnight.”

Arkk shook his head. “Just find the slavers. That’s what you’re here for. Nothing else.”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. The guy Kat captured wasn’t too specific about which of the old outposts they’re squatting in. When she told me to guide you around, I thought we’d be walking to check each one. Not kicking back and relaxing with a garrison-provided map of their old outposts and this sweet ball.”

“This is the second time you’ve mentioned capturing one of the slavers,” Arkk said, sharing a pitying look with Ilya. The elf was going to be the one making sure Lexa stayed on task, backed up by Dakka and two other orcs. He did not envy them. “Why don’t we try interrogating him?”

“Oh sure!” she said with a dark grin. “It’s been a few weeks but I’m sure a competent necromancer would be able to ask a few questions. Might be tough getting his remains back from the wurms though.”

Arkk shook his head slowly. “Never mind. Is there anything else you need besides the map and crystal ball?”

Her grin turned sly as her eyes roamed up and down Arkk. “Wouldn’t mind you sticking a little close by. Maybe a few more orc guards too,” she said, casting a lecherous glance around the small room of the tent they had set up a distance outside Moonshine Burg.

Neither she nor Edvin were allowed inside the city proper. Only Edvin was wanted by the garrison, Arkk had checked, but he didn’t want to risk being associated with her either.

Arkk stared a moment before flicking his eyes up to Ilya, meeting an utterly ferocious glare. He had known her long enough that he could figure out some of what she was thinking. Right now, it was something along the lines of ‘Please don’t leave me alone with this gremlin. I’d rather have Edvin here! Or even the Duke! Arkk! Please! Don’t go!’. With a silent apology, Arkk turned and stepped out of the tent without another word.

Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, Arkk shook his head. It would be fine. Probably. Dakka was there to make sure no one got hurt. The fact that the orc had been trying to suppress chuckles didn’t mean that she wouldn’t do her job.

With that operation underway and no immediate tasks from the local baron to see to, Arkk figured it was high time to attend to one thing he had been neglecting thus far.

“Worried, Master?”

Arkk glanced up to find Vezta approaching, steps demure as she maneuvered around a pair of gorgon who were enjoying the heat of the sun despite the cold air. All they needed was a small wall around them to keep the direct breeze off their scales.

Vezta came to a stop in front of him, the heels of her boots clicking against the floor. She cocked her head to one side, looking at him before deliberately flicking her eyes over his shoulder at the closed tent flaps.

“I don’t want to hear a word about recent hires,” Arkk said, moving away from the tent so that the occupants wouldn’t hear. “I didn’t even hire the gremlin.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Vezta said, a thin smile spreading across her face.

“But… speaking of new hires… I want you to meet Agnete properly.”

The smile on Vezta’s face froze in place. “I am not sure I am enthused with that idea any more than I am enthused with her presence at Fortress Al-Mir.” She looked down at her arm. Or the spot where her arm should have been. It did look better than it had immediately after the inquisitors injured her but still wasn’t back to normal. “The magic she wields is given by a god. The damage it can do to me, on a personal level, is concerning.”

Arkk nodded his head. “I am aware. Which is why we should do this under controlled circumstances with me—and that ice marble—present.” He took in a breath, letting it back out slowly. “I stopped by the Fortress the other day ago and checked up on things around there. Mostly her. She expressed interest in learning more about the Burning Forge. Most of her time has been spent inside the forge, molding little bits of metal into small sculptures.”

“And you wish for me to speak with her.”

“You know more than I do,” Arkk said with a shrug. “Better to get this over with sooner rather than later. If she does attack you… Well, I’m fairly certain that ice marble will kill her rather quickly, judging by how she acted in its presence the first time.”

“And you wish to do this now?”

Arkk nodded his head. “It is going to take some time for them to find the slavers. We’ve got until then.”

“If you think it is best,” Vezta said, her tone polite if slightly strained.

“I do. I think it is more than for the best. Agnete should be able to take the final spot in our ritual but… kind of need her willing. If she takes up an interest in the Pantheon, I feel like that is a good avenue to get her to agree despite any misgivings she might have over ‘forbidden’ magics.”

“When put like that, I can see the reasoning. Very well, Master. Back to the stayover?”

Arkk nodded his head. They had set up a teleportation circle inside the stayover, figuring it was less suspicious to have people disappear from within rather than heading out a half a day’s walk away from the burg to an unsheltered area where anyone with eyes could watch them disappear. Today, however, that meant they had to walk back into town.

Walking through the streets of Moonshine Burg with Vezta at his side had become something of a regular occurrence. He wanted to be sure that the inquisitors were aware of him and hadn’t tried hiding because of that. Still, people stopped what they were doing to stare. Even after weeks of being inside the burg, walking through the market caused a commotion.

It always started slow. Someone would notice Vezta and nudge someone they were standing near. Their actions would attract others who then attracted more. In a few moments, it felt like the entire market stopped what they were doing to stare. At least word had spread enough to avoid panicked people rushing to the guards. It still felt a bit… eerie.

Worst of all were a small number of the ones from Evestani. On the border of the two nations, Moonshine had accrued several residents from Evestani. Most were perfectly normal people who stopped and stared like everyone else. Yet there was a small subset with extravagant golden tattoos around the crowns of their heads who didn’t so much as stare as they glowered.

Pious of the Golden Order, according to a few locals who Arkk had asked. As far as Arkk could tell, the Golden Order was equivalent to the Abbey of the Light except native to Evestani. Given the relation, Arkk wasn’t too surprised by their more hostile interest in Vezta compared to the average citizen.

They were one of the main reasons Arkk wanted to finish up with this slaver business and then move away. Perhaps to one of the principalities, both of which were on the opposite side of the Duchy and thus as far from Evestani as possible. He already had one religious organization hounding him. Adding a second seemed like a bad idea.

Today especially felt unusual. It felt like there were more pious than usual. What was worse was the way they didn’t look like they had been participating in the usual market activities. They weren’t standing in lines, manning shops, peddling wares, or even proselytizing. It was almost like they had been sitting around, waiting. Now they all stared at him as one, heads turning all at the same time.

Yes. The sooner they could get out of Moonshine Burg, the better.

Reaching the Canyon’s End stayover, Arkk had to smile. Partially in relief at being out of the public eye, partially because of the feel of the stayover. The entire place had effectively been taken over by Company Al-Mir. Orcs sat at each of the tables. Some drinking and eating, others playing a variety of games, gambling what coin they hadn’t spent in the burg with each other. Only the occasional traveling merchants stopped by and often not for long.

Getting out of the fortress had done them some good, Arkk reflected. From what Dakka, Olatt’an, and Rekk’ar had mentioned among each other and his observations, there had been some amount of disconcertion regarding the handling of the inquisitors. Sending them into fights they could win, a place where they could spend coin, and just generally getting some fresh air had done wonders for morale.

To the best of his knowledge, there hadn’t been any altercations in the town involving the orcs either. That, especially, reassured Arkk that he had, in some way, rehabilitated the former raiders.

Up the stairs and beyond a door guarded by the other two gorgon, Arkk stepped into a complex ritual circle drawn on the ground. A touch of magic and Arkk found himself a day’s walk away from Moonshine Burg, nestled between a pair of craggy rocks. Two steps forward and he was in another ritual circle. It took several more hops—Moonshine Burg was by far the furthest he had ever been from Langleey—but he eventually found himself in one of the decrepit corridors of the trashed false fortress. From there, he simply used his abilities as Keeper of the Heart to transport himself into Fortress Al-Mir proper.

He took in a deep breath and let it out in a content sigh.

Home.

As he mentioned to Vezta, it had only been a few days. Still, knowing that the fortress was, in some way, literally him… he couldn’t help feeling that he didn’t belong far away from it.

Vezta, pulled from the false fortress, appeared at his side a few moments later.

“Savren and Zullie were arguing about something the other day,” he said. “Why not see if it is something you can resolve while I go and speak with Agnete… make sure she doesn’t incinerate you on sight.”

Vezta bowed. “Most magnificently magnanimous, my Master.”

Arkk leveled a glare at Vezta, not bothering to give her the satisfaction of commentary before sending her off toward the library.

People had been doing that more and more lately. Usually whenever Savren came up in conversation. He hoped it was just people mocking him but… perhaps he needed to take Zullie aside and ensure that Savren’s curse wasn’t spreading. Or that Savren wasn’t trying to spread his curse around as he had with the flawed ritual in Hope Village.

Arkk didn’t think he was doing the latter. Able to examine the entirety of the traversable areas of the fortress in only a few seconds, he couldn’t find any ritual circle like the one he had destroyed. It wasn’t possible to dig through the reinforced walls or floors either, leaving no possibility that Savren had somehow hidden a curse-spreading ritual somewhere out of sight. Still…

Shaking his head, making a note for later, Arkk moved himself in front of Agnete’s quarters.

Like most doors in Fortress Al-Mir, this door had been refurbished from one of the original doors left behind. Even now, he wasn’t quite sure about all the rules in this place. Gold could form entire rooms including furnishings or raw materials but not other things, like doors, which required skilled labor to produce from those raw materials. Yet the lesser servants could repair many existing things, like doors and floors and walls, all without consuming gold or raw materials. They just performed some magical dancing and everything came out brand new. There were limitations. Once something was destroyed beyond a reasonable point of repair, it would have to be replaced entirely.

That meant he only had a limited number of doors to move around before he would have to occupy blacksmith time with making new ones. If he wanted wooden doors, he would have to recruit John’s assistance as well. So far, that hadn’t been an issue.

So far…

The metal frame of Agnete’s door sagged and drooped, barely managing to hold in the wooden boards. The wood wasn’t really wood so much either. Rather, it had turned to a brittle, black charcoal. The lesser servant was trying to perform its magic. That was probably the only reason the door was still intact but it looked like a losing battle.

“Do the best you can,” Arkk said to the poor bundle of pulsating black slime, mouths, and eyes.

He would have to see about getting the door replaced. Maybe Savren or Zullie could figure out a way of making the doors magically resistant to heat.

In the meantime, Arkk retrieved a thick leather glove from the smithy and gently knocked on the door.

The wooden panels crumbled under his touch. Even with as light a knock as he could manage, the panel he touched fell apart. The one next to it fell as well, then the next one over. The chain reaction spread through the door until it was nothing but a cloud of ashy dust. The warped bits of metal clattered to the floor around his feet. Hot, dry air rushed out, enveloping him.

The lesser servant looked up at him. It wasn’t human. It didn’t have a human face let alone the ability to make anything resembling a recognizable expression. He still felt the withering look it gave him, like he had just wasted all its efforts at keeping the door intact.

“Sorry,” Arkk said.

“It was my fault.”

Glancing up, Arkk found Agnete standing at the back of the room, just beyond the cracked throne, staring into a large mirror that hadn’t been present the last time Arkk visited her room. She looked… calmer than when Arkk last saw her. Her muscled back wasn’t as tense as before.

Arkk, blinking, realized he could see her muscled back. “Sorry,” Arkk said again. “I didn’t mean to just barge in. The door—”

“I noticed its state the other day,” Agnete said, turning. She knelt down next to the large throne and popped open a large stone chest that matched with the cracked and molten throne. Withdrawing a long black overcoat, she threw it on and began buttoning up the front. “Since then, I have been trying to rein myself in. This place is freedom unlike any I have experienced—slight elevation in ambient temperature would have the inquisitors upset with me—but I suppose there is cause for restraint even now.”

“That’s good. I’m honestly not sure how to handle you. I would rather not be comparable to the likes of Darius Vrox but at the same time, I would prefer the fortress intact.” Arkk reached out with the glove, snapping a piece of the frame off the wall with little effort. He tossed it to the lesser servant, who formed a mouth in just the right spot and swallowed it whole. “I’ll see about getting a more durable door put in instead. A solid metal one.”

Turning back to Agnete, Arkk stumbled in place. Her face was turned toward the door now. The glowing lines on her face and bright embers in the depths of her pupils made his heart skip a beat. It was no wonder people ran from him when he made his eyes glow if that was what greeted them. But Agnete wasn’t staring at him. Her eyes were on the lesser servant, watching with intent as it consumed the remainder of the door.

“The horror from beyond the stars…”

“Vezta would be upset to hear that.”

Glowing eyes flicked over to Arkk as Agnete raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Vezta is my… assistant? She calls herself a servant. This is just a lesser servant. Vezta is the pre-Calamity monster that you inquisitors have been so upset about.” Arkk knelt to pat the lesser servant on its… itself. “She looks more human though. In fact, she is an almost duplicate of the little tailor servant you met when you first arrived.”

“It bit me.”

Arkk let out a small chuckle, thinking back. He had been watching when that happened. If he remembered right, Agnete had been poking and prodding the lesser servant. Probably trying to figure out what it was.

“They’ve been avoiding me,” Agnete said, interrupting Arkk’s reminiscing. “I’ve felt them around but every time I turn my head, they’re gone. These are the horrors from beyond the stars? But it is… cute. Not how Greesom described them at all.”

Arkk snapped his head over to Agnete, both eyebrows climbing up his forehead. While he had long since gotten used to them, calling them cute was a bit much. And this was the first time she was seeing them. Everyone else had strong words to say about them, even if they also got used to them eventually.

Ilya still didn’t like them.

“Why do the inquisitors call them horrors from beyond the stars? Vezta has quite a negative view on that term.”

“Horror?”

“No. The beyond the stars part. I think she would prefer horror from the stars.” Arkk shrugged. “I don’t really get it either but the distinction seems important to her. How did the inquisitors come by the name?”

Agnete slowly shook her head. “I told you when you offered me your false choice, I have never been privy to the operations of the inquisitors. I believe you put it best when you said that I was little more than an attack dog on a leash.”

“Ah—”

“However, I can make guesses. We are dispatched by Oracles. I know little about them other than their supposed prophetic visions, which are what direct the inquisitors as a whole. I understand that a vision directed the inquisitors to me in my youth.” She paused, eyes losing focus for a long moment before she shook her head, sending her wild dark hair thrashing around her. “My only real experience with such visions comes from Greesom. He could receive lesser revelation. Vague and imprecise, interpreting it nonetheless brought us to several incidents.”

“That… sounds familiar. I think Vrox mentioned these oracles to me before.”

“I am not sure what transpired. We were on another assignment, investigating an issue in the Kingdom’s southern desert when we received urgent orders to head up to the Duchy. Immediately. We abandoned our then-current assignment without resolution and relocated to find you.”

“And Vezta…”

“Judging by the urgency, it is unlikely the inquisitors will give up. With my presence, they may elevate this issue to a full crisis and send more than just a single inquisitor, a chronicler, and a purifier.”

Arkk nodded, leaning up against the doorframe. “Yeah. I figured something like that would happen. I’m hoping I’ve thrown them off the track a bit. I told Vrox that I would be abandoning the area they found me in. Then, this last week or so, I and Vezta have been very visible on the far side of the Duchy, making sure everyone has seen us moving around. I’ve even asked Vezta to unleash some of her tentacles as we walked around some of the larger burgs, just to get rumors flying around.”

“That may work for a time. Greesom’s visions are vague and difficult to understand. They pointed us in the right direction but then we had to rely on information gathering from villagers and other local avenues. But I doubt your efforts will be a permanent solution.”

“Yeah. I figured that as well.”

“I will fight,” Agnete said, squaring her shoulders as she stared at Arkk. “Or I will die. Unfortunately, I am not the only purifier among the ranks of the inquisitors. The Binder you took from Vrox is not the only one. My efforts against them will be limited.”

“I’m hoping to have a more permanent solution. Or… at least more help. I’m preparing a large ritual,” Arkk started, taking the opportunity to shift the topic back to one of his original purposes in coming here. “One that, while forbidden magics, I’m sure, will hopefully be a first step in changing the world for the better. In addition, it might let you find out more about the Burning Forge and… what made you you. Would you like to hear about it?”

Agnete stared for a long moment before dipping her head in a brief nod.