“Me? Me?”
“Ilya…”
Arkk sat in a high-backed chair, leaning on the armrest. The matching chair next to him, angled so that it wasn’t quite facing him while not facing away, currently held a visibly distressed Ilya. Her fingers were cold beneath his, his grip doing little to wipe the furrows of worry off her face.
“You’ve got to be joking. I can’t… It’s not…”
“It’s either you or Edvin,” Arkk said. His words shocked the frown off Ilya’s face. Her eyebrows crept up her forehead. “A tough decision, but I figured knowing each other for so long meant I should ask you first. But if you’re really against it—”
“Edvin,” Ilya said, her voice utterly flat. “That has to be a joke.”
“Vezta and I discussed several candidates,” Arkk said with an evasive shrug. “His name came up.”
“Came up in the no pile, surely,” Ilya said, shaking her head.
“We considered everyone quite carefully, weighing the positives and negatives…”
“And you narrowed it down to me or Edvin.” Her eyes narrowed. “I should slap you.”
Arkk recoiled at the venom in her tone. He expected a number of reactions from Ilya—shock, surprise, denial. Things had been mostly going as he thought they would. He had not planned for violence. “Can I ask why?” he said, carefully, like he was tiptoeing through an undead-filled graveyard. And not the friendly kind of undead.
“The fact that you have to ask only makes it worse.” She turned aside in her seat, pulling her hand out from under Arkk’s. Folding her arms over her chest, she glared. It took a minute before she huffed and decided to throw Arkk a rope. “Either you’re lying to me or you have me on the same level as Edvin of all people. That’s quite offensive.”
“Oh. Right.” That was reasonable. Arkk didn’t fancy being compared to Edvin much either. “If it makes you feel better, his name did come up, but only for the sake of completeness. The actual second contender is Olatt’an.”
“Mildly more palatable,” she said. After a moment of holding her offended pose, she relaxed her shoulders and let out a small, humorless chuckle. “Don’t suppose you’ll tell me why me?”
“We have an extremely powerful magical artifact just sitting, open and vulnerable. The number of people I can trust with something like that is, understandably, not all that vast. You’re smart. Capable. I’ve known you my whole life. There is nobody I trust more with this kind of power than you.”
Ilya kept her expression neutral. Arkk’s eyes flicked back to her ears. The tips turned a little rosy.
“When you put it like that…”
“So you’ll do it?”
Taking in a breath, Ilya held it and then let it out slowly. Her silver eyes met with Arkk’s. “I don’t know if I like this.”
“Ilya…”
“I’ll do it. I just… We’re farmers. Hunters. Most people in Mystakeen haven’t even heard of Langleey Village. Ever since we got involved with these fortresses—with Vezta—it has been one thing after another. Those things have changed the very landscape, both politically and literally. You’ve dipped into necromancy, ordered the Duke’s death, you’re playing games with a demon.”
“Who would you rather have in charge of these kinds of things? The Duke? The demon-summoning Prince?” Arkk wrinkled his nose. “At least with us, we know we’re not that bad.”
Ilya gave Arkk a look that he couldn’t quite decipher. “When this first began, you asked me to keep you from letting all the power go to your head. I’m not really sure I succeeded with that. Now you want me to take up all that power too.”
Arkk couldn’t help but wince a little. That… was true. He couldn’t deny that as things around them escalated, he had risen to match. “If you don’t want to, Olatt’an—”
“No. No. I don’t think giving power that has turned you into a warlord to someone who used to be known as the Ripthroat is a good idea,” Ilya said with a firm nod of her head. “I understand you don’t have much choice here given the people we know. So I’ll do it. I just want it to be known that I am not happy about it.”
“I understand,” Arkk said. “And thank you. We better get moving.”
“What, now?”
“Yes now. Ancient magical artifact. Vulnerable ancient magical artifact. Maybe another time, we could dally, but there are enemy avatars, demons, and who knows what else all running around.”
“Of course,” Ilya said. She nodded with her jaw clamped shut. “Just thought I’d get a moment to prepare myself.”
“Vezta and Kia are keeping a close eye on it, so nothing should happen, at least not without my knowing. But better not leave it unclaimed. I’d rather see it destroyed than fall into anyone else’s hands.”
“Understandable. Where—”
Arkk teleported both of them straight to the ritual circle room. “You’ll be able to do that yourself soon.”
“Can’t wait,” she said, not sounding as enthused as Arkk would have expected.
Even ignoring all the other benefits, instantly moving about without having to walk was one of the best features of the fortresses, in his opinion. Which, he presumed, she would learn soon enough.
It took a few hops to make it to the western border of Mystakeen. The tower, inert and unpowered, stood at about half the height of the one in Elmshadow. Its thickness wasn’t anywhere close to the other one either, looking more like a thin, narrow spire compared to the massive hulking tower. The shadowy bricks were far more pronounced with a dark mist wafting off them. Arkk presumed the difference in appearance was because of the servants used to construct the place.
The servants of Fortress Al-Mir liked tangible walls and tiles with maze-like patterns on the floor. The shadowy servants Leda had summoned made bricks closer to their own appearance than any normal construction material. In retrospect, Arkk counted himself lucky that his servants preferred actual brick instead of something that looked like themselves. He could only imagine the difficulties he would have had in recruitment had his fortress looked like a slimy, oily pit of living, pulsating flesh.
Shaking that thought from his mind, Arkk led Ilya up to the base of one of the spire’s legs. There had been one last ritual circle that exited directly inside the tower, but Arkk and Vezta had destroyed it, not wanting anyone unexpected popping inside. While inert, the tower still had reinforcement magic in its bricks. Most beings wouldn’t be able to enter easily.
That, unfortunately, included Arkk. Because Leda had been his subordinate, the tower had been something of a subordinate as well. He had been able to teleport himself around within it as freely as his own territory. Not so anymore.
Reaching the shadowy brickwork of the tower leg, Arkk pulled out a thin black loop of rope. It wasn’t actually rope, but it acted like it. “One of Zullie’s latest creations,” he explained as Ilya started eying it.
Giving it a light flick of the wrist, he flung it up against the side of the tower. The deity of barriers, boundaries, and borders did not have trouble entering the tower. A warping hole opened up in the side. Arkk simply stepped over the slight lip and into the tower.
Ilya took her time, eying the void-like ring in the tower. When she did finally step through, accepting Arkk’s offered hand, she shrank in on herself and clutched at her clothing, as if she didn’t want even a single stray hair to touch the void. Which was fair enough.
Once she was through, Arkk pulled down the rope on the inside of the tower—he hadn’t the slightest idea how it could be both inside and outside at the same time and, frankly, tried not to think about it too much. They made their way up the spire, using the rope to pass through a few closed doors.
The final door, though not quite as unnaturally dark as the Unilluminable Chamber, was almost impossible to see within. Vezta’s glowing yellow eyes were spread throughout the room, occupying the walls, floor, and ceiling. Kia, standing within Vezta’s mass, shifted to a ready stance at the opening of the void-hole. Her afterimages weren’t quite as bright as Vezta’s eyes, but still gave her a faint white silhouette.
“It’s them,” Vezta said, her voice coming from everywhere at once.
“You’re sure?”
“I can confirm Arkk with absolute certainty. Arkk would not be traveling with a false Ilya—he can sense the real her. Ergo, they are real.”
Kia let out a small sigh, straightening her back and lowering her arms.
Just to double-check, Arkk followed the links from him to Vezta, Kia, and Ilya. All were who they appeared to be.
“Getting real tired of this, Arkk,” Kia grumbled. “Please tell me we’re dealing with the demon sooner rather than later.”
“Sooner,” Arkk confirmed. “There are just a few priority tasks to handle first.”
Kia scoffed. “Hard to believe we have higher priorities than a demon.”
“Strange times we live in. Let’s get this done quickly. Ilya?”
The elf looked between Arkk, Kia, and the quickly coalescing Vezta with a frown. Her gaze finally settled on the shadowy orb floating above a pedestal just behind Kia. “What do I need to do?”
“Touch it then pulse magic into it.”
“That’s it?” Ilya said.
“That’s it.”
Ilya stepped forward. Her strides were smaller than normal, nervous. She wiped the palms of her hands on her pants. “Just thought claiming an ancient magical artifact would be a little more complicated.”
With one last look to Arkk, who gave her a reassuring nod of his head, she reached out and planted her hand against the shadowy orb. She sucked in a sharp breath, winced, and pulled her hand back just as a heavy thump echoed in the room.
When she opened her eyes, a bright red light spread throughout the room.
The armored walker roared to life as a pulse of magic surged through its metal core. It stood tall and menacing, the top end scraping against the foundry’s ceiling. Armor plates, mismatched and patchwork made from scraps leftover from Perr’ok’s latest efforts in equipping the employees of Company Al-Mir, were bolted and riveted to the skeletal frame. Long arms tipped with spinning, jagged metal wheels could swing with the force of twenty orcs.
Standing at the armored control station, looking out at the large foundry’s test area through a thin slit, Perr’ok grasped a lever. Jerking it past several ratcheting positions in the panel made the right leg shift up and forward. It came down with a heavy clanking of metal against stone, jostling Perr’ok around. The lever automatically moved back to a neutral position, ready to move forward or backward as he needed the leg to move. First, the left leg.
Grasping the left lever, Perr’ok pushed it forward.
The left leg lifted, jerked, and locked into place. The entire walker tilted, throwing Perr’ok against the side wall. Caught on the lifted leg, it didn’t tip over this time. That was an improvement.
Grasping the lever again, the orc blacksmith tried to extend the leg back out, righting it. Instead, the armored walker sputtered. With a shuddering cough, blackened smoke flooded through the foundry.
One of the assistant blacksmiths planted a hand on an array near the wall. A gust of wind started up, filling the foundry with fresh air while carrying all the magic-burned smoke out through the flue. Perr’ok grasped for the latch, holding his breath inside the walker’s smoke-filled control station. It stuck and jammed, but a boot to the latch popped the hatch open. He hopped out, gasping for a breath of fresh air as the smoke leaking from the machine whisked off toward the flue.
“That’s that,” he said once he caught his breath. He snatched a grimy rag from a rack and tried to wipe his face, only to smear the soot around even more.
He glanced up.
It had been a few weeks since he last saw Agnete. She was wearing less than she used to. Gone was the long black coat that all inquisitors seemed to favor. In its place, she wore a thin white bit of fabric that left her arms fully visible. It must have been a specially made piece of cloth since it hadn’t burst into flames yet. Just looking at her made sweat bead on Perr’ok’s forehead and she said she was running cool.
The molten metal running along her blackened arms like veins was new as well. A lot of the heat probably came from that.
“ᚹᚨᛋ ᛁᛏ ᛋᚢᛈᛈᛟᛋᛖᛞ ᛏᛟ ᛞᛟ ᛏᚺᚨᛏ?”
His eyes flicked over to the… creature at Agnete’s side. Who, apparently. Like a metal statue of Agnete come to life. He had heard about constructs. Ancient beings made from metal or stone instead of flesh and bone. All the stories about them dated back hundreds of years. If Perr’ok wasn’t staring at one right now, he would have thought they were myth.
It seemed instead that they were pre-Calamity.
And Agnete had found one while off in the Anvil.
Perr’ok wasn’t sure he liked the thing. It was hard to tell where Who was looking at any given moment. Its—Her, he had been corrected— Her face wasn’t really a face at all. There were odd blinking lights around it that might have been eyes, spinning gears and cogs, and a grated vent that might have been a mouth. He was partially sure that the voice had come from there.
While he couldn’t understand what Who said just now, it seemed like Agnete could. Agnete quickly shook her head, waving down at Who the way a parent might try to quiet a talkative child.
“Do you know what the issue is?” Agnete asked.
“Right leg works fine,” Perr’ok said, frowning. He didn’t like not having a proper answer. “The original we hauled back was too corroded in the left leg, so we copied the right exactly figuring that would work. But the left leg always seizes. Had that witch down here the other week, she said the magical array should be fine, it’s just that the seizing overloads it, making all that smoke. If the leg didn’t seize, there wouldn’t be any smoke.”
“ᚺᛖ ᚲᛟᛈᛁᛖᛞ ᛖᛉᚨᚲᛏᛚᛃ? ᛞᛁᛞ ᚺᛖ ᚠᚨᛁᛚ ᛏᛟ ᛗᛁᚱᚱᛟᚱ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛚᛖᚷ? ᛁᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛗᛖᚲᚺᚨᚾᛁᛋᛗ ᚹᚨᛋᚾ’ᛏ ᛞᛖᛋᛁᚷᚾᛖᛞ ᚠᛟᚱ ᛟᛗᚾᛁ-ᛞᛁᚱᛖᚲᛏᛁᛟᚾᚨᛚ ᛗᛟᚹᛖᛗᛖᚾᛏ, ᛁᛏ ᚹᛟᚢᛚᛞ ᚠᚨᛁᛚ ᚢᚾᛚᛖᛋᛋ ᛗᛁᚱᚱᛟᚱᛖᛞ. ᛏᚺᛖᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛗᛁᚱᚱᛟᚱ ᚾᛖᛖᛞᛋ ᛏᛟ ᛒᛖ ᛁᚾᚹᛖᚱᛏᛖᛞ—”
“Agnete. Who.” Arkk appeared just off to the side, teleporting straight in. His glowing red eyes swept over the foundry. “Perr’ok,” he added as his gaze crossed the blacksmith. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Have you finished your other business?”
Arkk nodded his head. “I have,” he said. “Sorry for taking so long. I trust getting reacquainted with things here hasn’t been a problem?”
Agnete quickly shook her head. “Just as I remember,” she said with a faint smile.
Perr’ok wasn’t sure if she was all that enthused with being back. She had told everyone stories of the Anvil before asking to see the armored walkers. The Anvil sounded… intense. And useful. He couldn’t quite conceptualize it all, but he guessed the Anvil had been akin to a painter with a palette containing every color the eye could see. Now she was back here, a master painter being handed a bit of mud and being told to make a masterpiece.
“I was helping Perr’ok with some issues he was having.”
“Ah yes,” Arkk said, looking at the walker now. “We’ve got ten of these prototypes, but they… ah… don’t exactly work.” Although he was hesitant in his words—not trying to offend Perr’ok, even giving him an appreciative glance—Perr’ok couldn’t help but wince. “If we could get a full production going, that could only help things.”
“Who has some ideas,” Agnete said, nodding to her construct companion. She turned half to the side. “Would you see if you can’t find the root of the issue while I speak with Arkk?”
The construct seemed to tense up. Her fingers split apart, from five to ten to twenty, clattering lightly as they moved in a nervous manner. “ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᛃᛟᚢ ᛒᛖ ᛋᚨᚠᛖ?” she asked, deep, steam-filled voice unusually quiet.
“Of course,” Agnete said. “You have nothing to worry about here.”
The construct’s head swiveled. Perr’ok got the impression she was giving Arkk more than just a questioning glance. Her analysis continued for a few moments, watching as Agnete walked to Arkk before they both teleported out of the foundry. Only then did the construct turn to him.
“ᛈerrᛟk?”
Perr’ok flinched, then quickly nodded his head. It wasn’t exactly his name. It was close enough. “Yes, ma’am.”
The construct nodded her head, turned away from him, and stepped closer to the walker. One of her arms split apart, opening to reveal several tools within. A tool moved along rails, brought to the end of her arm in place of her hand. A thin beam of hot metal sliced out, sheering off some of the metal paneling on the underside of the walker. Her other arm split into two, each with fingers on the ends. Her split hand caught the bulky metal plate as she sliced it off, gently placing it on the ground without even looking to her side.
“Leᛏ us see whaᛏ we have ᛏo work on here…”
Perr’ok nodded slowly, frowning at the construct. If it could speak like normal, it should have done so from the start. With a small shake of his head, he stepped closer to watch as the construct started picking apart the left-leg gearbox.