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.”