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Arkk hunkered down, peering through the twilight-draped brush.

A small, lonely hill stood amid the dusty plains. Several buildings sat on top. Large wooden warehouse-style homes, built in a ring around a central plaza. Though he only knew that from scrying. His position at the moment didn’t let him see much more than the spiked tops of wooden fences encircling the top of the hill. All down the hill’s sides, narrow wooden rods jutted out of the mound. Their tips had been shaved to points as well. They were placed haphazardly and irregularly, hindering any attempts to navigate up the sides of the hill.

If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought it was nothing more than a particularly protective village.

“That right there is a little place we call Porcupine Hill.”

“Creatively named,” Arkk said.

“Bandits and highwaymen aren’t known for their poets and scholars,” Edvin said with a shrug. “Especially not these bandits. They’re the true power out here in the western Duchy. Even the Duke’s men steer clear of here.”

“And they’re associated with the slavers?”

“Not unless something has changed lately. Their leader can’t stand slavers. Used to be one, I gather.”

“A slaver?”

“A slave.”

“Ah.” Arkk’s eyes scanned over the unwelcoming hill for a long minute before he turned to Edvin. “They know where the slavers are?”

“I sure hope so! I’d rather not find out what you plan to do with me if I’ve inadvertently lied.”

As long as Edvin made an earnest effort, Arkk doubted he would have cause to do anything drastic. Not that he told Edvin that. In the three days since Arkk and the orcs had raided Edvin’s group, the man had done little to endear himself to Arkk. Not for a lack of trying either. In fact, that was part of the problem.

Edvin tried a little too much. Nearly every word the man said was some poorly disguised attempt at ingratiating himself with either Arkk or one of Arkk’s employees. His words didn’t elicit much of a reaction. Except for the few words he had for Ilya, which had earned him that black and blue bruise around his eye. It would have been pitiful if Arkk hadn’t thought he was doing it on purpose.

What was more, it was like the man couldn’t tell the truth if his life depended on it. Which, unless he had seen through Arkk’s less-than-lethal threats, it did. Even if he had seen through those threats, Arkk was still more than willing to hand him over to the local garrison.

All that made Arkk less than thrilled about this whole operation. He had half a mind to sit around and hope that the slavers hit Appletop Village. The only reason he wasn’t doing that was that doing so would likely end up with a large number of dead flopkins before he could intervene. Sometimes, being proactive about a problem was necessary even when that proactivity put him in an unpleasant situation.

“So, we’re just going to walk in through the front door?”

“The hill was designed to make other paths unpalatable.”

“Alright,” Arkk said, standing. He looked back to Dakka and Ilya, both of whom were giving Arkk the flattest looks they could. “Stick together—”

“Woah, hold on. Best to leave the others behind,” Edvin said, further increasing Arkk’s distrust in the man. “They see an army marching up the hill and they’re going to start raining arrows on us before we get close enough to explain what we want. Unless you want a war…”

“Bet the garrisons would pay us for taking this place out too,” Dakka said with a casual shrug.

“Yes,” Edvin said, “but what of the slavers? You might accidentally kill the one who knows about them.”

“This is obviously a trap,” Ilya said, hand resting on her dagger.

“You question my honor, elf?”

“Yes.”

“Oh… Well… Mother always said not to bite the hand that feeds you. Right now, that’s you guys. You can trust that at least.”

Arkk sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “He is probably not wrong, unfortunately. If we head up there as a large group, they’re going to attack before we can get into striking or talking distance.”

“You can’t be serious,” Ilya said.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Ilya just pressed her lips together.

“Dakka,” Arkk said, “you stay here. Stay ready though.” Pulling the crystal ball from his satchel, Arkk tossed it over to Vezta. “If anything happens, I’m sure you can guess what to do.”

Vezta caught the glass ball with a single hand. She looked down at the ball before her golden eyes flicked over to Arkk. “You would not prefer my presence at your side?”

“No offense,” Edvin said before Arkk could speak, “but you’d probably start a war on your own.”

Aside from one of the eyes on Vezta’s shoulder shifting, she gave no indication that she had even heard Edvin speak. Her attention was entirely on Arkk.

“It was definitely a consideration. Unfortunately, you’re the only one who knows how to make the circles.”

“We should have brought Zullie along.”

At the mention of his researcher, Arkk took a quick glimpse into Fortress Al-Mir. Savren and Zullie were both back there for the time being, standing inside the temple-ritual room, seemingly arguing about something. The former kept gesturing toward one of the cardinal spots while Zullie had her arms crossed over her chest, looking unimpressed. It likely related to the changes Zullie suggested needed to be made.

Hoping that wasn’t going to become a major problem before he returned, Arkk shook his head. “Too late now. Don’t worry. I can hold my own long enough.” Turning, Arkk started, “Ilya—”

“You aren’t going in there alone.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Edvin said, straightening his back.

“No, you’re coming with me,” Arkk said. “I need someone watching Edvin.”

The highwayman deflated somewhat but Arkk’s response mollified Ilya. She gave a curt nod of her head before fixing her silver eyes on Edvin. “One wrong move…” she said, fingers curling tighter around her dagger.

Edvin just held up his hands, backing away slowly. “Clingy, isn’t she?” he mumbled.

Arkk wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or if he meant for Arkk to hear. Either way, Arkk didn’t bother responding. He looked over the group and, after a moment’s thought, nodded his head. “Zharja, you come as well.”

One of the four gorgon present slithered forward, nodding her head as she moved. In the closing darkness, her dark scales made her almost invisible.

While this whole trip had been instigated for the benefit of the inquisitors, Arkk was accomplishing several minor tasks with it. And, with the defeat of the slavers, a major task as well. Of the smaller issues, Arkk was most pleased with the gorgon. They weren’t exactly integrating with the orcs but Arkk wasn’t expecting them to. He just wanted to make sure that they got used to being near one another, to avoid any incidents and, hopefully, to help alleviate some of Rekk’ar’s concerns.

Rekk’ar wasn’t present but if some of the orcs here spoke about their experiences, that would help.

So far, the gorgon being around had been quite a success. They helped out with raiding Edvin’s hideout and Arkk had heard no complaints from any party.

Except for Edvin, of course, who was currently eying Zharja with undisguised wariness. “Are you sure that is a good idea? I’ve heard things about gorgon and their eyes.”

“Then you sshouldn’t sstare sso much,” Zharja said with an intimidating hiss. “Or my eyess might be the lasst thing you ssee.”

“Alright, alright,” Arkk said. “Save your energy for a fight, if there is one.”

“There might be once they see that,” Edvin said, shuddering as he turned his gaze away. “Hope I’m enough to calm them down.”

“They know you?”

“Everyone out here pays tribute to Porcupine Hill. They know me. We go way back. I was here just last—”

“Save the stories,” Arkk said. “We’re going.”

Arkk wasn’t as worried as he thought he should be. A few months ago and he would never have imagined himself willingly walking into a bandit encampment. A few months ago and he had hardly left his village. Now, he had Ilya at one side, a gorgon at his other, and he had some kind of ancient, pre-Calamity monster ready to teleport in with a horde of orcs if things looked like they were going south.

What a strange turn his life had taken. How long had it been since he found the fortress? He stumbled across it about a month before harvest. So shy of four months since then? Practically overnight he had gone from a nobody peasant to a wealthy commander of a fairly competent mercenary force.

Idly, Arkk rubbed at the back of his neck, wondering if Hawkwood would recognize him as the peasant he was or if he had changed enough from then to appear as a peer.

“Now, I know you mercenary types like to beat your heads into brick walls until the walls give way but this situation is going to take a delicate touch. I’m not claiming that we’re all bloodthirsty barbarians but we are familiar with violence. If you don’t want to die, follow my lead. Let me do most of the talking, hey?”

Arkk shared a look with Ilya.

They were being led into a trap. The minion bond formed by Fortress Al-Mir might keep his employees from stabbing him in the back but it didn’t overwrite their free will. Edvin could plot and plan against Arkk all he wanted. He just wouldn’t be able to take the final action without putting forth a bit of effort into breaking that bond.

According to Vezta. It wasn’t something Arkk had experienced. Yet.

Getting other people to do the work for him? Letting this group of bandits surround them and take action on their own?

That seemed entirely possible.

“Sure,” Arkk said, still not that worried. Between his lightning bolts, Ilya’s bow, and Zharja’s abilities as a gorgon, he was confident in holding off an ambush long enough for Vezta to arrive.

Taking a glimpse of Vezta, he found her drawing out several ritual circles in the ground. They were incomplete—she didn’t know exactly where the destination would be—but they were all but ready to send the whole army of orcs in at once.

“That’s close enough!”

Arkk stopped, as did the rest of his group, at the voice from the wall. He couldn’t quite make out the figure poking his head over the top of the spiked palisade in the darkness but he could see their silhouette in the light from the full moon. Were it not for the moon, he doubted he would have been able to see anyone at all.

Movement drew his eyes along the wall. More silhouettes stood atop. These were archers, readying bows and arrows.

That did give Arkk some pause. He took a step closer to Zharja and pulled Ilya with him. He had long since memorized Zullie’s spell for stopping projectiles and had spent some time practicing it, making sure he could speak both quickly and without his tongue tying into a knot. He still wasn’t sure that he would be able to get the entire incantation out before an arrow crossed the short distance between them but having it on the tip of his tongue was better than nothing.

“Well, Edvin? You wanted us to leave the talking to you.”

“Uh… right.” The man cleared his throat. “Oh great wall captain of Porcupine Hill, I have come—”

“Oh Light,” someone atop the wall groaned, loud enough to be distinctly audible to everyone. “It’s Edvin.”

Arkk raised an eyebrow. “That’s actually your name?”

Edvin glanced back just long enough to shoot Arkk a withering look before returning his attention to the wall. “Yes, it is I! I have returned with a solution to—”

“You were told what would happen if you came back,” someone else shouted down.

“Oh come now, I apologized for the tomb business.”

“He led my brother to his death in the marshes!”

“That was an accident no one could have predicted and I resent—”

“Throw him to the wurms!” one shouted, receiving a few echoing cheers from others on the wall.

Edvin flinched, taking a step back. He shifted like he was going to look at Arkk again but held himself before he moved, straightening his shoulders.

“Thought these were your friends,” Ilya hissed.

Arkk nodded his agreement. His suspicions of this being a trap were slowly yet steadily diminishing. That didn’t necessarily mean that these bandits wouldn’t attack them. It just meant that they would attack him and Edvin.

“Did I say friends?” He shook his head. “We just need to talk to their leader, they won’t do anything without…”

Torchlight on the wall made Edvin trail off. Two new faces appeared over the top of the palisade wall. One, an older man carrying the torch. The other was a younger woman with darker skin and black tattoos on her face and bare arms, giving her the appearance of a striped animal. She glared down with the torchlight flickering in her eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

“Edvin…”

“Katja! It’s so good—”

“Throw him to the wurms.”

“Kat! No, Kat! We’re here to help!”

“Help?” The woman tilted her head upward, sneering down at Edvin. “Every word you speak brings death and disaster.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“You have violated your exile. There is one punishment.”

“I’m not here with schemes or tall tales or maps pointing toward buried treasure,” Edvin said, speaking as fast as he could. “I’m here with solutions. I know those newcomers haven’t been playing by your rules and my fine companions here want their heads on a pike!”

For the first time since approaching the wall, Arkk felt attention shift toward him. Deciding that Edvin was more of a liability at this point than an asset, Arkk stepped forward.

“I’m Arkk, leader of Company Al-Mir. We have a personal interest in annihilating this group of slavers. Edvin claimed you would be able to point us in their direction.”

Katja’s eyes shifted in the torchlight, looking back to Edvin. “You bring mercenaries to our doorstep?”

“I told you to leave the talking to me,” Edvin hissed.

“That wasn’t getting us anywhere,” Arkk whispered back.

Hanging his head, Edvin sighed before looking back up to the wall. “Didn’t have much choice. They kind of utterly destroyed Marv’s group.”

“Marv is gone?”

“Delivered his head to Moonshine Burg’s garrison just yesterday.”

“Other survivors?”

“You’re looking at him!”

Katja’s face lit up. It was hard to tell in the poor light of the torch but Arkk thought she looked pleased. That lasted but a moment before she scowled down at Edvin once more. “You should have died with your brothers.”

“Brothers is a bit more familial than—”

“Shut up,” Katja hissed before turning back to Arkk. “You, mercenary, have made a poor decision—several, likely, if you have been following Edvin’s advice.”

“So it seems,” Arkk said, “though that doesn’t change our reason for being here. Tell us where the slavers are.”

The woman stared for a long moment before dropping her arms to her sides. Arkk tensed. If the call to attack went out, it would come from her. However, she didn’t give a signal to the others on the wall. Clasping her hands together behind her back, she started pacing along the wall, speaking as she moved.

“Demanding for your position. Do you not see who holds the power here? Even with a gorgon at your side, you cannot survive all of us.”

Arkk shrugged. Vezta had finalized the teleportation circles. Each orc had its own, meaning they would all teleport in at the same time. No delay as they passed through one by one. If Arkk were to guess, he would assume that Vezta aimed the teleportation circles directly behind each of the bandits.

He had half a mind to signal Vezta right now. A simple hand movement behind his back would have her here in an instant. The only thing staying his hand was how little he wanted to advertise Al-Mir’s ability to utilize those circles. Both Zullie and Vezta said that such teleportation could be warded against. The Duke’s manor had magical protections that would likely work against him and the inquisitors had already taken to blocking his scrying. He didn’t want more magical defenses springing up.

This was another of the main reasons why only Edvin had survived their raid on the raiders. Anyone who saw the teleportation circles used in such offensive mannerisms would have to die or join him.

He wasn’t necessarily opposed to wiping out another contingent of bandits here but it was a much larger place with the possibility of secret escape routes and alternative means of getting away. Unless he was sure, he would rather not start something.

So he just smiled, nodded his head, and let the striped bandit leader continue, giving her a moment of power, even if it was illusory.

“On the other hand, it is true. These newcomers have become a thorn in my side. We were preparing our own… response to the situation. A little tit-for-tat. Though with Marv gone…” She trailed off, turning from her pacing to face Arkk once again. “Yes. If you’re willing to soften them up for us, who I am I refuse that?”

“Then you’ll point us in the right direction?”

“Horrik!” Katja barked, turning her head to the older man at her side. “Fetch Lexa. She can lead them.”

“Aye.”

Nodding, Katja turned to Arkk, glanced at Edvin, and then back to Arkk. “A little free advice: Drop him down the deepest hole you can find at the first available opportunity. You can thank me later.”

“Noted,” Arkk said, smiling.

They had a guide of some sort. One who could lead them to the slavers. He could see the anticipation on Ilya’s face without even turning his head.

Soon.

 

 

“Master,” Vezta said, sliding her body to one side to dodge the oncoming axe strike of a random brigand. She didn’t need to retaliate. One of the orcs planted a pike in his back. “I don’t mean to question your decisions,” she continued as if nothing had happened, “but is this the wisest usage of our time?”

“That depends,” Arkk said, arms clasped behind his back. Zharja snaked forward, coiling up around one of their attackers. Restrained in her coils, arms pinned at his side, he couldn’t do anything about the increase in pressure as the gorgon crushed him to death. Arkk turned away with a grimace as he focused on the rest of the battlefield. “Can you think of anything better to do at the moment than take out a band of highwaymen?

“I would like to keep Moonshine Burg happy while we’re hanging around,” Arkk continued, watching as an orc took a glaive to her armored shoulder, ignored the weapon entirely, and used a mace to cave in her attacker’s face. “Besides that, criminals know criminals… right? Someone should be able to point us in the direction of our actual target here.”

Vezta peered around, frowning at the carnage. “If anyone survives.”

That was a point. Arkk should probably have mentioned something earlier about taking some prisoners. This was the first time that the orcs had been able to go all-out, heedless of any consequences, since joining Fortress Al-Mir. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that they were taking to the task with gusto, but…

A bellowed cry of battle, echoed by several of the orcs, drew his attention to Dakka. The shortest orc was in the thick of the melee. Her spiked shield perforated one poor man before she dropped it entirely, grabbing her axe with both hands to slam the edge down over another brigand’s skull. With her imposing black armor, he couldn’t see her face. Arkk wasn’t sure that this was the kind of fun that he should be encouraging. That said, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving group.

He had seen more than enough evidence of pillaging and looting inside this cave, here out in the canyon beyond Appletop Village. Combined with the Baron of Moonshine Burg’s statement that they had been more violent than could be allowed as of late, Arkk didn’t have too much sympathy for the highwaymen.

Arkk’s eyes swept over a set of shattered statues, noting the eerie red glow that his gaze cast.

This little outing was advantageous for several reasons. Not the least of which was that he had learned a little more about how gorgons worked. He could and should have just asked Zharja. Despite Savren decrying her as disobedient, Arkk found her to be quite friendly. At least in comparison to the rest of the gorgon, who were all rather closed-off.

Gorgon petrification was not a widespread effect nor could it be done in rapid succession. It was magic, much like any other spell, that required focus, concentration, and effort. The four gorgon who had come with him on this little team-building exercise had each been able to turn one brigand to stone. After that, they began fighting with their other abilities—their coils and, in one particularly gruesome case, their acidic venom—before they resumed petrifying anyone else.

Good to know for the future.

“Should we not be recruiting at the moment?” Vezta asked, lightly pressing a finger against one intact statue, sending it to the ground where it broke into pieces. “We still need spellcasters for the ritual.”

Perhaps some of these highwaymen could have been convinced to join him as the orcs had but…

Arkk didn’t want to staff Company Al-Mir entirely with criminals and outlaws. They had enough as it was. He needed recruits but preferably other mercenaries, former soldiers, or other less objectionable sorts.

“True.” Arkk wasn’t exactly sure how to recruit for something like that. Assuming Purifier Agnete was willing to help—something he still needed to discuss with her—they had their high-level spellcasters all set. That meant anyone would do as long as they could cast spells. “Haven’t seen anyone here cast spells” Arkk deflected.

“You haven’t posted recruitment notices in the Burg yet either.”

“No. But this might help with that. We’re getting the orcs some exercise. Letting the orcs and gorgon get used to each other. Taking out some murderers and thieves. Increasing the renown of Company Al-Mir.” That last one was most important for recruitment. He felt people would be much more willing to join up despite potential complications with inquisitors if he showed that Company Al-Mir could get things done. “I’m still expecting some edict from the inquisitors or the church decrying us. I want to make sure we’re not going to get immediately lynched if that happens.

While Zullie and Savren had been trying to work with the werecat and Ilya had been at Appletop Village, Arkk and Vezta had taken several very visible walks through Moonshine Burg. They moved through the streets, ate at taverns, visited the garrison, and tried their best to make sure everyone saw him and Vezta. He had even asked Vezta to not wear her human legs. The mobile mass of tendrils were far more notable—and hopefully the subject of gossip—than a violet-hued human.

With luck, word would get back to the inquisitors and they would waste time out here looking for them instead of going anywhere near Langleey and Fortress Al-Mir.

In a few weeks, they could make an appearance on the opposite side of Mystakeen. Maybe pop over to one of the principalities and get some rumors going about them being out there. With the inquisitors running ragged across the entire kingdom, that should buy plenty of breathing room.

“Electro Deus,” Arkk said. Lightning flung one brigand across the cave after he got a little too close. Arkk wasn’t too worried about his safety. Vezta, with eyes everywhere, could spot just about any threat coming their way. Still, a little casual show of force to remind everyone why he was in charge couldn’t hurt.

This situation wasn’t at all comparable to previous fights they had been in. Taken by surprise in the dead of night, the brigands hadn’t been able to grab more than their weapons. Few had managed to grab any armor. Most were human, though there were a few orcs and one beastman—a dog-like kobold. There weren’t even that many of them. Less than fifty.

Fifty startled and unprepared ruffians weren’t at all a match for twenty war-ready orcs with gorgon backup. Not to mention him and Vezta.

Judging by the noise in the cavern, the battle was wrapping up too. There were far fewer shouts and screams. The sound of metal clashing against metal died down. Quickly checking over the health of all his minions in the area, Arkk noted a few moderate injuries but nothing that indicated immediate danger. Certainly, nothing that would require one of the gorgon to petrify someone. He could practice the Flesh Weaving spell a bit more and they would be done.

“I’m also not sure about both of us leaving Fortress Al-Mir for extended periods,” Vezta said. “Some of your recent hires have left questionable impressions.”

Arkk quickly scanned through the entire fortress, mentally observing each and every room. With the majority of orcs with him, it was practically deserted. John and Hale were back at Langleey, at least for now. The four gorgon who had not accompanied him were enjoying themselves around their heated rocks.

Olatt’an and Larry were discussing something just outside the cafeteria. Two orcs that Arkk had not brought with him were eating.

Purifier Agnete was inside the smithy. Inside the forge, seated cross-legged on the glowing red coals with her head halfway up the flue. Arkk… wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. She wasn’t getting into trouble, which was good, but… Was that how she acted with the inquisitors? Or was she experimenting with a newfound freedom that she had lacked before?

Prior to departing on this excursion to track down the slavers, Vezta had given him a brief description of the Burning Forge. Arkk had relayed the lesson to Agnete, feeling it best if the ‘horror from beyond the stars’ was kept separate from her for the moment.

The Burning Forge was some kind of goddess of fire, creativity, manufacturing, and automation that took the guise of a woman made of molten slag, held together by binding chains. In the old days, pre-Calamity, practically every smith had small shrines to the Burning Forge alongside their actual forge. Allegedly, maladies, mishaps, and poor products awaited those who failed to pay proper tribute to the deity while those who did earn her favor were capable of near-inhuman levels of quality in their products.

Vezta had been less clear on what an avatar was, aside from one chosen by a member of the Pantheon. They were supposedly rare enough that Vezta had never met one, even though both Zullie and Agnete said that there was more than one purifier with similar capabilities within the ranks of the inquisitors.

Maybe, by sitting inside the forge, Agnete was trying to get closer to her patron goddess. Or maybe she just liked the heat.

Shaking his head, Arkk focused back on his immediate surroundings. “No problems at the fortress right now,” he said. “If an emergency arises, we can and will return as fast as possible. Until then, being seen out here is probably keeping the fortress safer.”

“Very well,” Vezta said, dipping her head in a nod. “We…” she started but trailed off.

Dakka strode up to them, hauling some human over her spiked shoulder. Arkk stood a little straighter, smiling. Leave it to his field commander to understand that information gathering needed live brigands.

It did not look like a particularly comfortable ride though. The way she threw him to the ground at Arkk’s feet didn’t look particularly comfortable either. The man, wearing a casual brown tunic marred with small cuts and more than a little blood, moaned and groaned as he tried to back away. Dakka put a stop to that with a light kick to the side of his head, shattering one lens of his round glasses.

“What’s this?” Arkk asked, looking up from the man.

“A coward. Wouldn’t fight with the others. I thought about bashing his head in but wondered if you were interested in prisoners.”

Arkk hummed, scratching his chin. A show. Something to put the brigand on edge. “I suppose we can take him into town,” Arkk said, looking at Dakka. “They wanted proof that we wiped out the highwaymen anyway. He should suffice—”

“Wait!”

Looking down at the man-made him cower as the red light from Arkk’s gaze washed over him. “Hmm?”

“I’m… I’m not one of these people! They captured me!”

“Reports in town was that this group of brigands didn’t take prisoners. They attacked wealthy-looking travelers and killed any who didn’t escape.”

“They took me!” he pleaded. “Please, you have to help—”

“He had a sword on him when I found him,” Dakka said. “Just didn’t use it. No bindings on his wrists either. Was in a pretty fancy tent filled with kegs of ale that I intend to return to.”

Arkk looked back down at their captive, who was shooting a particularly nasty look at Dakka now. As soon as he realized Arkk was looking, a mask of innocence slid into place.

“I… escaped during the chaos?”

Arkk gave a slow shake of his head. “We’ll haul him back to the burg. They can figure out whether he is a missing traveler or one of the—”

“You can’t do that! They’ll kill me.”

“We’ll kill you,” Dakka said with no mercy. “We should. I’d rather carry one of those kegs on my shoulder than this.”

“I have a daughter!” he cried. “A little girl… she…” He trailed off, looking to Arkk. Squinting through his glasses like he couldn’t quite see him properly. That wouldn’t have been much of a surprise given the shattered lens but the moment he looked over the top of the rim, his squinting stopped. He tried to stand only for Dakka to pin him back down with her heel on his shoulder. “I mean, a lovely young woman. Surely you’re interested in women? You wouldn’t kill off your own father-in-law.”

“I might if you were that father-in-law,” Arkk said with a shake of his head. “We’ll take him to the burg. Tie him—”

“I know where the treasure is.”

“Tie him up.”

“We have a dozen other hideouts where we store things until we can get rid of them. Valuable things. Treasure, gold, gemstones, and other things that are useless out here in the wilds!”

“Probably gag him too,” Arkk said, turning away.

“I… lots of ale,” he said, looking to Dakka. “The finest wines and… uh… I know where other hideouts are! You are mercenaries, right? Interested in finishing off some others? We’re just small fry compared to them. I know the price on our heads isn’t worth the paper it is written on but some of the other groups around here…”

Arkk paused and slowly looked back.

The brigand stiffened but donned a shaky smile. “Interested?”

“Boss,” Dakka said. “He’s lying. Obviously.”

Arkk held up a hand, stalling further commentary from Dakka. He wouldn’t claim to know exactly what he was doing but that was enough threatening him for now. Time for the carrot… assuming he knew anything. “We’re in the region looking for slavers that might have moved in nearby. Know anything about them?”

“Oh definitely,” the man said with a firm nod of his head. “Bad for business, they are. Drawing all kinds of heat down on our heads. Like you.”

“Know where they are based?”

“I… yes. Of course.”

“Boss…”

“Let me rephrase the question,” Arkk said. “There are three possible outcomes of our situation. Which choice do you want? First option: We take you to the burg and hand you over to the garrison. They probably hang you. Maybe they just throw you in an oubliette and forget about you.”

“Not that one, please.”

“Alright, second choice: You make yourself useful to us; you get to keep living and maybe even have a relative degree of freedom. In exchange, you tell us everything you know. Other hideouts, other groups of brigands, and especially this group of slavers.”

The man nodded twice but couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What’s the third choice? Not kill me now, I hope.”

“Oh no, that isn’t a choice anymore. The third choice is the same as the second except that we find out you’re lying to us. At that point, you’ll likely regret ever being born.” Arkk smiled, watching as the red light washing over the man intensified. “I have a warlock in my employ who specializes in mind magic and can put you into your own worst nightmare. Gorgon can trap you as a stone statue for a year, letting you slowly go insane as you can still think but are locked into place. And, of course, Vezta.” Arkk motioned behind him.

Vezta, hands clasped over her navel, gave a demure nod of her head.

“Wh… What—”

“You don’t want to know,” Arkk said.

In truth, if he didn’t know anything, they would probably just hand him over to the burg. Arkk didn’t have the patience or desire to torture someone for any length of time. That said, Arkk was not above making threats.

“So, what will it be?”

“I… uh… well. Number two still sounds the best.”

“Of course.”

“But maybe we should lower the expectations you want from me. I—”

“Do you know where the slavers are or not?”

The man licked a bit of blood off his lips before smiling up at Arkk. “I know where to go to find them?”

Arkk stared for a long, long minute, not moving even as the man shifted under his gaze. Was he telling the truth? Did it matter if he wasn’t?

Forcing a smile, Arkk held out a hand. “Welcome aboard.”

The hesitance with which the man accepted the handshake did not fill Arkk with confidence. Still, he felt the minion bond form between them. Weak but there. At the very least, he wasn’t about to be stabbed in the back.

“Any other survivors?” Arkk called out through the cavern, not helping the man to his feet even though he was in a prime position to do so. When no one answered him, Arkk shrugged. “The burg wanted heads. Gather the bodies on that side of the cavern and we’ll have our new friend here find the most recognizable and notorious of the bunch. After that, gather up all their ill-gotten gains in the middle of the cavern!”

That got a few cheers from the orcs. Looting, yay! A lot of it was going to be useless to them. The gold coins Arkk paid out were probably worth more than anything here. Still, as had been pointed out to him, it was about the feel of the experience. He would let them take what they wanted. Everything else would go to the garrison. Maybe it would make its way back into the hands of the rightful owners. Maybe it would end up in some captain’s pockets. At that point, it wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

“Name. I presume you have one.”

“Uh… Right. My name is…” He trailed off, looking around the room. “Cave.”

“Right,” Arkk said, tone utterly flat. “I assume Dead Body is your last name? Or maybe Cave Raider? Cave Sword?”

“Yes, actually. Cave Sword. My mother always called me her little sharpened blade. How did you know?”

“It isn’t too late to throw you to the garrison, you know.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands. “My name is Edvin. No family name.”

Arkk doubted it. He didn’t bother pressing the matter. As long as this guy led them to the slavers, he could call himself King Abe Lafoar, Ruler of the Kingdom of Chernlock for all Arkk cared.

“Well, Edvin, best get to identifying your former comrades.”

“Ah. The most notorious, you said? You know, I always found beheading to be quite a barbarous practice,” Edvin said, not hiding his grimace as he glanced over to where the orcs were hauling the bodies.

Arkk didn’t necessarily disagree. Maybe it was a bit tasteless to have this man dig through the corpses. Still… “Not my rules. The garrison wants heads, we get them heads.”

“Exactly why I left society in the first place,” Edvin said, snapping his fingers.

“And joined a murderous band of highwaymen instead?”

“Murderous? Hardly. We only killed in self-defense. Anything else is slander, I say. Slander.”

Dakka shot Arkk a doubtful look. She raised an eyebrow before turning and walking off. “I’m going to need those kegs of ale before the night is out, I can tell already.”

Arkk let out a sigh, wondering if there was enough ale for him as well. “Just… get to it,” Arkk said, waving off to the side of the cavern.

“Sure thing, boss,” Edvin said, making sure to respectfully emphasize the word. “Mind if I loot a few of the bodies while I’m at it? Waste-not want-not, that is what my mother always said.”

“I do mind, actually. Besides, I’m sure the orcs have already done so.”

Edvin glanced off to the side, watching Orjja kneel and start rummaging through one body’s pockets. His shoulders slumped. “Right. Of course. Guess they aren’t my kills anyway. Don’t worry, I can show you that my presence has worth. Don’t you worry. Yep. Don’t worry…” he mumbled, more to himself as he started off toward the area the orcs were dragging bodies.

Arkk watched him go for just a moment before glancing at Vezta. “Mind keeping an eye on him?”

Vezta bowed at her waist but glanced up with a look on her face. “Some of your recent hires…” she said with a shake of her head as she started after Edvin.

“Don’t remind me.”

 

 

The baron of Moonshine Burg was a scrawny man with deep bags underneath his eyes. Insisting on the mononym of Doble, he invited Arkk to his manor office behind the high walls of the burg’s keep. Pouring a hospitable helping of amber liquid into a crystal glass, he took a seat in front of his paper-covered desk.

“Company Al-Mir, you say?”

“Heard of us?” Arkk said, taking up the glass and drinking a polite sip. Fine alcohol wasn’t much to his liking.

“No.”

“Ah. Well, we are a fully registered free company.” Reaching into the interior of his suit, Arkk produced a set of papers all bearing official seals. “I have papers from the Cliff Central Garrison, if you need.”

Baron Doble accepted the papers and looked through them for, frankly, longer than Arkk felt was necessary. He flipped back and forth between the papers as if checking that the information on each matched with all the others. Arkk had never really formally introduced himself to any of the burgs he had operated within in the past. Silver City came the closest and that had been the local lord rushing out to meet him and being far too grateful that anyone was looking into the situation in the mines to even ask about official documentation.

Here, however, Arkk intended to operate for long enough for word to spread. He felt it prudent to speak with someone in charge, just to make sure there wouldn’t be problems with a group of heavily armed individuals squatting in the local stayover for an extended period.

“You’ve only been a free company for about sixty days. Two months.”

“The company itself is new but our members are seasoned warriors and fighters.”

“Force composition?”

“Approximately twenty orcs make up the bulk of our company. We have a handful of spellcasters acting in a supportive capacity. In addition, we have four gorgon traveling with us.”

“Gorgon?” Doble asked, jolting. “You brought gorgon into my city?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“A problem?” His fingers furiously massaged his forehead, sending slicked-back locks of black hair dangling forward, making him look exhausted and somewhat deranged. “Where are they now? What are they doing?”

“Resting at the Canyon’s End stayover. The journey from the central Duchy was long and exhausting.” Or it would have been if they had actually traveled all the way here by foot. It took several teleportation rituals but they had been able to move everyone and Arkk’s new horse out here with little trouble. The nearest teleportation circle was a fair distance out of town where they had scried a suitable hiding place in one of the northern canyons. “I assure you, they will bring no trouble to the burg.”

Doble sputtered for a moment, completely at a loss for words. Arkk doubted any other beastmen would receive such a response. Then again, gorgon weren’t normal beastmen, according to Vezta. They had come from a different plane of existence.

“And just what did you travel this far for, Mister Arkk?” the Baron asked, finally finding something to say.

“Slavers.”

The man’s panic died off somewhat as he stared at Arkk. His eyes searched back and forth, slowly coming down from his alarm. “Slavers. I heard someone placed a rather generous bounty on a group of slavers in the western Duchy.”

“That was me, actually. These slavers have personally offended me. You know anything about them?”

The Baron shook his head slowly. “I’ve received reports of villages being hit, travelers going missing, and other such indicators. I haven’t had the manpower to investigate further.”

“Really? The keep and garrison are quite sizable here. Empty buildings?”

“We have our duty,” Doble said with a frown on his face. “With the canyons to the north and mountains to the south, the plains where we sit are the most likely avenue for a hostile force to approach from Evestani. The guards must man their posts to give forewarning. Sending them searching through the wide, empty land in the hopes of coming across a few slavers that are, ultimately, a minor nuisance, is a major dereliction of duty.”

“The war ended thirty years ago,” Arkk said, matching the Baron’s frown. He did not agree with the man’s assessment of the slavers being a minor nuisance. They had destroyed an entire community of elves, for one. Likely more than that. “Are they that big of a threat?”

“Three months ago and I would have said no with a laugh. Today?” He shot a morose glance at the stacks upon stacks of papers covering his entire desk. “I don’t know. I would feel much better if the Duke would approve transfers of the Grand Guard out here.”

Arkk leaned back in his seat, wondering exactly what that meant. The war had been before his time but, from what he knew of it, the Duchy had pushed out into Evestani territory in a fairly successful campaign… until that success turned utterly sour and Evestani, in a protracted and bloody assault, shoved the Duchy and the Greater Kingdom of Chernlock back. The Duchy wasn’t as large as it once had been as a result.

But the leaders of the time had made peace.

Hadn’t they?

That, he supposed, wasn’t his problem nor something he could affect. They were twenty orcs and a few others. Not exactly the kind of force that could take on a nation. “Well, you’re in luck,” Arkk said. “We can’t reinforce your outposts but we can hopefully take off pressure from the likes of slavers and bandits. While the slavers are our priority, we’re perfectly willing to take on any commissions that might come to mind.”

Baron Doble leaned back in his chair, rubbing the thin wisps of hair on his chin. “There are a few things… We found a werecat with manacles clamped around its wrist. Looks like the chains were pulled from a wall. It might have something to do with your slavers…”

Arkk’s heart hurt as he looked at the overly scrawny werecat. She was mostly humanoid with grimy orange fur. One arm, as the Baron had mentioned, was still in a manacle. The other arm was missing entirely. It was clear that nobody had put much effort into trying to help the werecat. She didn’t even have a proper bandage around the stump of her arm.

Unfortunately, that let Arkk have a good look at the wound. The teeth marks were sharp and pointed much like the werecat’s own teeth. Arkk could immediately picture her chained to a wall. She managed to pull one of her manacles off the wall but, unable to free the other, had gnawed her own arm off.

Of course, that wasn’t even the worst part of the situation. Here, inside Moonshine Burg’s garrison, she was still in a cage.

As Arkk stepped closer, she snarled at him, lunging for the bars of her cell. She might have tried grasping him but her one intact arm just clanked as the manacle struck the bars.

“Completely feral,” the guard said, shaking his head. “Won’t let anyone close. Don’t really know what to do about it so we just toss in a slab of meat once a day and… well, ignore the beast.”

“How long has she been here?”

“Found her wandering the road outside the burg about… two weeks ago? Thereabouts.”

She escaped one cage only to be tossed into another. Could she talk? Could she lead him to the slavers? Arkk stepped closer again, crouching down to be more on her eye level. “Can you understand me?”

The werecat growled, deep and low. A threat that promised a liberal application of pointed teeth or sharp claws from her padded paw. Long, pointed ears, one of which looked like someone had taken a bite from it, flattened against her mangy orange hair.

“I’m looking for the ones who did this to you. I promise to make them pay. You can help.”

Her eyes, hazel green and slit vertically, shifted to the side for just a brief instant. Just long enough for Arkk to note the way she looked at the guard.

“The other ones who did this to you,” Arkk said with a frown. He received no response save for another growl, sadly. With a sigh, he stood and turned to his side. “Zullie, do you think you can do anything about her arm?”

The witch, keeping well clear of the cage, looked down. “The arm with no hand?”

Much as he hated to admit it, her brief study with the Flesh Weaving spell had turned out better than Arkk expected. Better than he could manage. She hadn’t been able to restore Katt’am’s legs but she had managed to reduce the pain by destroying nerves inside his legs, followed by a simple smoothing to make the stumps less prone to infection.

“I guess I can try,” she said. “If I don’t get my face clawed off. You have a spare arm you want grafted?”

Arkk shot her a look. She well knew that he didn’t wander around with severed arms in his pockets. Ignoring her, he turned to his other side. “Savren, can you help calm her down?”

“A simple solicitation with a simple solution. A swift spell shall supply sufficient serenity.”

“Don’t hurt her,” Arkk said, voice firm. “Or… just… be nice.”

Savren rolled his eyes, fingers curling his black beard. “Sure.”

“Beyond the werecat,” the Baron said, swirling around his glass of amber liquid, “there is a small community further west from here. A plateau just at the edge of the canyons. Technically within Evestani territory. A small flopkin community lives out there.”

“Flopkin?”

“Diminutive bunny-like beastmen,” the Baron said. “They stick to themselves most of the time. Once in a while, they venture out into the nearby villages and even as far out as Moonshine Burg to peddle their wares. Fresh fruit and vegetables, mostly. They’ve got the sweetest apples you’ve ever tasted.”

Arkk hummed. “I presume you aren’t commissioning me to run out and purchase a basket of apples…”

“No, no. Just, they’re well-liked among the people. I know from the reports that the slavers have been primarily targeting beastmen and demihumans. With them on their own and too far from the city to get help, I worry they may be a potential target.”

“You want us to protect them? Station guards around this… plateau?”

“I doubt that would be feasible with your numbers. Not while searching for these slavers. That said, if there is something you can do to keep them safe, I would appreciate it.”

Arkk pressed his lips together. He would have to find out more. Where was this plateau, how far away was it, what kind of defenses could they erect and how much danger were they in. That said, one idea did pop into his mind. “I might be able to come up with something…”

“Stupid Arkk…” Ilya grunted, digging a foot into a small crevasse on the rocky plateau’s side. “Why me?”

Tall and lithe, Ilya felt that climbing had always come naturally to her. She could reach up to places that humans couldn’t reach. Her body, lacking the pounds of muscles that orcs had, was easier to pull up. That didn’t make climbing up the sheer side of an entire mountain any easier. Ilya stretched a hand up, reaching for a small ledge. Her fingers found a firm grip on the hard stone. A small bit of security against the sheer drop down the side of the plateau.

“Vezta could have scaled this in five minutes…” she grumbled, pulling herself up to the ledge. Halfway there. The slope of the plateau dipped inward, which should have made it easier to scale. But she was tired, worn, exhausted. “Oh. That’s right. Because she’s a horrific inhuman entity that sends small children running and screaming.”

There had been a few incidents around Moonshine Burg. To be fair to Vezta, they weren’t all her fault. Word of armed orcs and gorgon had gotten out. Next to no one visited the stayover they had taken over as their main base of operations now. Arkk had needed to hand over a fair amount of extra gold just to keep the proprietor from kicking them out. Even then, they still weren’t happy with what was going on.

Ilya grit her teeth together, continuing her ascent. She had looked all around the base of the plateau and had been unable to find any way up. The beastmen probably lived inside the plateau, burrowing it out, which meant there had to be entrances somewhere. Oh, but Arkk couldn’t spare five minutes to scry inside and find out where. They were too busy looking for the slavers. They didn’t want to startle the skittish flopkin by invading their secret entrances or teleporting in.

Ilya hadn’t been upset about that twenty minutes ago, also of the opinion the slavers needed to be found, but that was before she had scaled half the plateau.

Now, huffing and sweating despite the chill air of winter, Ilya was cursing Arkk’s name with every step she climbed. All just to hand over a coin to hire some flopkin, thus letting them call out for Arkk if they came under attack. Who was even going to be able to attack a place like this?

Arms feeling like wet noodles, Ilya pulled herself up and over the final edge, crawling forward into a grove of apple trees. She sat right on the edge, back to one of the trees, and looked out over the deep canyon that stretched north. “Arkk!” she shouted despite her exhaustion, her voice carrying over the edge of the plateau. “I’m going to kill you!”

As her voice echoed off the distant canyon walls, she heard a loud crack of a snapping branch to her side.

Ilya snapped her head over, eyes meeting the wide eyes of a little white flopkin, wearing a red waistcoat and tall black hat. He was short, about half the size of a regular human, and had tall perky ears sticking up on either side of the hat. Flopkin were more beastlike than some beastmen races. Were it not for the more humanoid hands and face, he might have looked like an overgrown rabbit that someone had dressed up.

That humanoid face was expressive enough that Ilya could see the terror in his eyes. The moment she took in a breath to say something, the flopkin bolted, hopping off through the grove of trees.

“No, wait!” she called after the flopkin, reaching a hand out. But the beastman was gone. Long gone. Slamming her fist into the side of the tree, Ilya shouted out once again. “Arkk! This is your fault!”

And to think, she was going to have to climb back down once she finally hired one of the flopkin.

“Thank you,” Baron Doble said. “I don’t appreciate gorgon in my city but… an extra helping hand isn’t something I’m going to reject. If they cause problems…”

“They won’t,” Arkk said. “I wouldn’t travel with them if I thought they were a danger… to the general public. My enemies, on the other hand, make quite the wonderful statues.”

The Baron pursed his lips tight. Maybe it was just Arkk’s imagination but it looked like the man went a few shades paler than he already was, which was saying something. With all the paperwork on the man’s desk, Arkk had to wonder if he ever actually saw the sun. Even the windows in the room had been covered with thick cloth drapes that tinged the office in a dim red light that the white glowstones couldn’t quite fight off.

“Any other matters that might help?” Arkk asked, taking another drink of his amber alcohol. It had a smoky flavor to it that just felt out of place. Meat smoked over a fire had a similar taste. A drink that reminded him of meat just didn’t quite sit well on the back of his tongue.

The Baron fell into silence for a long moment, thinking. He eventually sat forward, nodding his head. “To my great dismay, Moonshine Burg has always had a plague of bandits and highwaymen in its vicinity. Which is likely why these slavers thought it would be good to set up here.”

“Personnel issues stopped you from dealing with all that as well?”

“Indeed. It has forced us to take some unpleasant actions… Ah, but the history of Moonshine Burg is hardly your concern,” he said with a shake of his head. “One group of highwaymen, in particular, has been distressingly aggressive in the last month. They went from merely robbing the occasional passing merchants to outright halting trade, killing practically every traveler that passes through their territory, and otherwise making trouble. I had been trying to figure out the best way to deal with them but if you can spare some time…”

“Depends, I suppose. Are they related to the slavers?”

“I do not believe so, though I cannot say for certain. Perhaps you could ask them?”

“I’ll need more details before I commit to anything.”

“I am prepared to pay quite the generous bounty.”

For a moment, Arkk was prepared to dismiss that as a factor entirely. With Fortress Al-Mir sitting atop a gold mine, he didn’t exactly need funds. However, he intended to recruit. And the ritual room would have to be reconstructed, incurring a cost. There was also the fact that, right now, back home, he was having his lesser servants expand aggressively throughout the entirety of the Cursed Forest.

Digging out new space didn’t cost gold and he didn’t have anything to fill those empty spaces with just yet, but he might one day. Right now, he just wanted as much of the land under his control as possible. Preferably with easily blocked or collapsed passages, decoy tunnels, and a full maze-like labyrinth that would be nearly impossible for anyone to traverse without using magical means.

It was quite the project. With all three of those factors and the fact that he truly had no idea how long that gold mine would last, he wasn’t sure that it was wise to keep turning down the rewards for mercenary work.

Besides that, it was just what a proper mercenary company would do.

“Tell me more,” Arkk said, leaning forward.

 

 

“I want more.”

“Water?” Vezta asked, leaning over Arkk’s shoulder.

“Everything,” Arkk said, hands slamming against the top of the meeting room table as he stood up.

“I see. I shall see if the kitchens are well stocked. If you’ll excuse me…”

“What?” Arkk waved her off, motioning for her to remain where she was. “No. I’ve just had a realization in the last few days. We can’t continue as we are.”

Arkk looked around the meeting room. All his advisors were present. Ilya sat to his immediate right while Vezta stood just a step behind his seat. Rekk’ar and Olatt’an sat around the circular table toward the right, the former with his arm still in a sling from the battle a few days ago. Zullie was to Arkk’s left. Her eyes had been cast down toward a notebook in her lap until Arkk slammed the table. Khan stood across the table from Arkk, all the other members still giving him a wide berth.

He had considered inviting Agnete but… he still wasn’t quite sure about the former inquisitor. She had agreed to join him so easily that he half expected her to be a spy.

It had taken a few days for the realization to fully set in. He had been busy running around, making sure everyone was as healed as could be, making sure the inquisitors weren’t coming back for round two—they had stuck around for a little over a week, resting and recuperating at Smilesville Burg while perhaps watching to see if Agnete would try to burn down the region—and generally putting out the fires around the fortress. Not literal fires, thankfully—Agnete had hardly left her room since arriving—but there had been some minor discord among the orcs. Word had gotten out that the flame witch was in Fortress Al-Mir. Some thought she was a prisoner, some wanted revenge for what she did to one of their own. Under other circumstances, Arkk would have applauded the comradery they were showing, which he felt they might have been lacking under their former chieftain, but here and now, it was yet another thing to deal with.

He still wasn’t sure what to do about Katt’am. The man’s injuries were severe and the local abbeys had been unable to assist. John had agreed to venture to Darkwood to see if he might be able to purchase any aid from the alchemist, Morford. Arkk doubted the man’s alchemy would be able to bring back the orc’s feet but maybe it would help with the pain.

Once he had found a moment to reflect, his mind kept going back to the one thing he felt had slipped by without the reaction it deserved. It wasn’t anything to do with the inquisitors or how Vrox had suggested they put aside their differences long enough to get Agnete under control. It had nothing to do with an avatar of one of Vezta’s [PANTHEON] walking among them. It didn’t even have anything to do with the fact that Vezta still didn’t have an arm from the elbow down.

Arkk was trapped here. The [HEART] was his heart. If it stopped beating… If those inquisitors brought in a dozen purifiers… If they rallied the Duke and got the Duke’s Grand Guard sent to purge the fortress… The only defense Arkk had was a handful of spells, a cadre of orcs and gorgons, and a pre-Calamity artifact that wasn’t even functioning properly. It was no small thing. Fending off the inquisitors with Purifier Agnete and their strange holy magic had proved that beyond any doubt.

But it wasn’t enough.

“I need more personnel, more magic, more weapons, more knowledge. Everything.”

“Finally,” Rekk’ar grumbled. Arkk shot him a questioning look, prompting a shrug from the green-skinned orc. “The Chieftain had me by the balls,” he said, louder. “Didn’t enjoy that much but working for a limp-dicked farm boy wasn’t much better.” He turned, glowering at Olatt’an.

The older orc simply smiled.

“So,” Rekk’ar said, leaning forward. “How are we becoming a force to be feared?”

Arkk looked around the room, stopping his gaze briefly on each of the others in the room. He honestly had no idea. That was what this meeting was for. Saying that would probably not go over well with Rekk’ar, however. Instead, he looked to Zullie. “First,” he started, “something that can help without doing much else…”

He held out a hand. Retrieving the black book from his private quarters, he placed it down on the table. Both Olatt’an and Rekk’ar stiffened at the sight of it. Olatt’an in particular lost his placid expression. Had he tusks, Arkk imagined he would have been bearing them in full at the moment. Arkk was counting on what trust he had managed to garner with them over the last few months to keep them calm until he fully explained.

“This book formerly belonged to the orc’s old chieftain,” Arkk explained for Zullie’s benefit. “It has a number of distinctly unpleasant spells and rituals within. But it is also where I learned the Flesh Weaving spell.”

“I had wondered…” Zullie said, not reaching for the book but very much looking like she wanted to.

“Look through it. See if there is anything useful that I turned a blind eye to. Make sure you learn the Flesh Weaving spell.” Arkk paused then added, “Teach it to Hale as well, but make sure the book stays out of her hands.”

“Arkk!” Ilya said, admonishing in her tone.

“It’s just the healing spell. If I’m not around, having Zullie and Hale as backups could be the difference between life and death for someone.”

“Still…”

Arkk shook his head and then looked back to Zullie. “Keep this out of Savren’s hands as well,” he said.

“Didn’t even need to say that,” Zullie said, reaching for the book.

As soon as her hands touched the cover, Arkk clamped his hand around her wrist. One more warning occurred to him. “And Zullie, this book contains instructions for demon summoning. We are not summoning demons. Am I understood?”

“Y-yes,” she said, nodding her head. “I understand.”

“Good.” Arkk smiled. “That taken care of—”

“Do you mind if I read the demon summoning portions? Purely for reference. The planar magic involved might…” She took a deep breath and let it out in a thin sigh. “There is something you should be aware of regarding the ritual.”

“Oh?”

“Savren found the model we were using. He figured out its purpose and… well, made a few comments that I shouldn’t ignore because of the source.” She paused again, waiting for Arkk to nod his head. “He expressed to me his concern over the catastrophic collision of conceptual corporeality owing to our count of casters charging the catalytic array.”

Arkk stared, giving Zullie a flat look. “He is bad enough. Don’t start as well.”

“Sorry. It’s just… when I designed the ritual array, I thought it best if we err on the side of caution. Overcharge the array to ensure we punch a hole into reality. But we’re not trying to punch a hole into reality. We just need to weaken the boundaries enough that the archway can connect to a different plane. It will punch a hole as it was designed to do. Us doing so could have… potentially less desirable outcomes.”

Arkk rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. “So it won’t work?”

“It will, I wasn’t wrong,” she insisted. “It just might be best if we reduce the personnel count. Savren and I were thinking about redesigning the ritual from twenty-five personnel—you, the four higher quality casters at the corners, then five between each of us—to a mere thirteen. You and the cardinal directions will still be required but we reduce the ancillary members to eight in total, two on each side.”

“That’s…” Arkk looked up, eyebrows raised. “That’s good. Right? We could perform the ritual immediately.”

“Ah. Not quite. Previously, I cleared several of the orcs for duty on the sides. I failed to account for one small problem. The magic that allows Dakka to cast your lightning bolt spell comes from you. You’ll be needing that power yourself. We need to find middling-average quality casters capable independent of you.”

“So basically nothing has changed then.”

“Correct. I just thought you should be aware.”

Olatt’an cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. At a nod from Arkk, he asked, “What, exactly, are we expecting from the outcome of this ritual?”

“Well,” Arkk started, then looked to Vezta.

Vezta wasn’t at his side. A quick peek through the employee link found her off in the kitchens, gathering a plate of mugs along with some bread and butter. For a moment, he considered pulling her back to the meeting room. When had she even left?

“According to Vezta, we’ll find another world. One similar to our own except inhabited primarily by denizens who worship the Cloak of Shadows, the member of the Pantheon who holds dominion over the Underworld. It is Vezta’s belief that many will desire to join us.”

“They would cross over from another world to fight in our battles?”

“The Calamity is likely affecting them as well. As long as our long-term goal remains to undo that, there should be some willing to fight. Aside from that, as Zullie mentioned, I can provide magic and it seems like people from other planes of existence are heavily dependent on magic.”

“They might be less inclined to fight off dukes and inquisitors…”

“True,” Arkk agreed. “I’m not saying that everything will be perfect once we can get this ritual going, but it shouldn’t hurt. That said,” Arkk paused, double-checking that Vezta wasn’t around before speaking. “I will admit that Vezta hasn’t been there in well over a thousand years, well before the Calamity began. She hasn’t said this, but I wouldn’t be surprised if things changed over there as well. Maybe we’ll find people desperate for change, maybe we’ll find an idyllic world where nobody wants to rock the boat by joining us.”

Olatt’an hummed. “They may even try to fight us if we state what we’re trying to change.”

“Correct.”

“You have a plan for that?”

“Collapse the crystal archway,” Arkk said with a shrug. “Move on without them or the support of other planes.”

Olatt’an nodded his head, accepting the answer.

“Though I hope it doesn’t come to that. Vezta also mentioned the possibility of finding people who know more old magic. Or, failing that, someone who can translate the books we salvaged from the original fortress library.”

That was one of the main reasons Arkk wanted to get a jump on this ritual. Eight casters of any caliber shouldn’t be difficult to find. Hopefully. He wasn’t interested in magic merely for the sake of learning it anymore, it could very well mean the difference between survival and Fortress Al-Mir’s destruction—and his own along with it.

“Which brings us to our next topic,” Arkk said, turning to Ilya. “Recruitment. Is it possible?”

Ilya sat up, leaning forward. She had just gotten back from visiting Stone Hearth and Smilesville. The two closest burgs. “The inquisitors haven’t put a bounty out on us or Company Al-Mir.”

“Yet,” Rekk’ar said with a scoff.

“Yet,” Ilya agreed. “As far as I can tell, we’re in the clear. Company Al-Mir can submit recruitment notices with the garrisons. However, it probably isn’t a good idea.”

“What? Why not?” Arkk asked with a frown.

“We’re trying to maintain the fantasy that we’re not based out of the Cursed Forest, right? That was the whole reason we let the inquisitors go.”

Arkk clasped his hands together, nodding his head. “Alright. Good point. You have a suggestion?”

Ilya stood and moved to the large map hanging from the back wall of the room. It was a copy he had commissioned of the map in the Stone Hearth garrison, the entire Kingdom of Chernlock’s peninsula along with some of the rest of the continent. Ilya looked over it for a short moment before planting a finger on the western border of the Duchy, right on the Evestani border.

“Moonshine Burg,” she said. “Far away from both the Cursed Forest and from Cliff. If we set up a few of those portal chains, well hidden, we can move back and forth with relative ease while everyone else would have to travel across the entire Duchy. We go out there, get seen, and put out recruitment notices around there. Word eventually gets back to the inquisitors and they head out there instead of here.

“And…” she started, looking back to Arkk with thin-pursed lips. “While I was in the burgs earlier, the archivist mentioned that a tip had come in on the bounty you put on the slavers. It seems they’ve been active around the area.”

Arkk had a strong feeling that her choice in burgs to be seen at had a whole lot more to do with the slavers than the distance from Fortress Al-Mir. Still, it wasn’t a bad idea. He found himself nodding his head. “Alright. I don’t see why that wouldn’t work. At least until the inquisitors have us outlawed. After that… Rekk’ar, Olatt’an, I don’t suppose you’re aware of any other roaming groups of raiders who we can browbeat into joining us?”

The two orcs glanced at one another. Arkk saw the answer in their eyes before Olatt’an gave it. “There wasn’t exactly a community of raiders where we all gathered for fun and games,” he said. “In addition, our group had already subsumed most every orc we came across, including several smaller raiding parties.”

Arkk nodded then turned to Khan. “Any other gorgon groups you know of?”

The snake’s tongue darted out of his mouth. “We aren’t the mosst ssocial creaturess. Gorgon aren’t common in the firsst place. Our den iss the only one I know of.”

“I figured, thanks anyway.”

“The slavers,” Ilya said again.

“I’m not interested in recruiting slavers,” Arkk said, glancing at Olatt’an and Rekk’ar. “Maybe that’s a bit hypocritical…”

“I agree,” Ilya said, “but if we hunt them down, they’ve surely taken slaves. Judging by the ruins of Eures, a lot of them won’t have places to return to.”

Arkk wasn’t interested in recruiting former slaves either. There might be a few fighters or skilled workers among them but… most of them would surely be regular people. He couldn’t claim knowledge of how slavers operated but he guessed that anyone who could fight back would have been killed rather than captured. He was expecting a lot of children and young adults, most of who would be farmers at best. Arkk wasn’t going to make desperate people fight for Fortress Al-Mir just because he was desperate.

Still, he nodded to Ilya. “We’ll make the slavers a priority,” he said, reaching out to rest a hand on her arm. It was clearly important to her. And besides, maybe they would find someone who knew Yavin or Nyala and would take them off his hands. Maybe that was cruel to think but accomplishing several objectives with one move didn’t feel bad.

“Good.”

“As for recruits, we’ll have to see. I doubt many people will be happy if they join up and then the inquisitors declare Company Al-Mir outlawed. We might have to search through less reputable sources while at Moonshine Burg.”

“What have the inquisitors been up to since their departure?” Olatt’an asked.

Vezta threw open the doors, reentering the room. “We don’t know,” she said, moving around the table with her mugs of tea and bread. She had dug up fruit preserves from the storeroom as well. “Unfortunately, scrying on the inquisitors is no longer possible.”

“Not possible?” Rekk’ar barked, alarmed. “Why not?”

“Vezta was monitoring the inquisitors the entire time they were traveling back to Cliff City,” Arkk said, scowling at the glass Vezta placed in front of him. “They entered the large church there. We have never been able to scry on the interior of churches.”

“So they’re staying put?” Rekk’ar asked, calming slightly. “Good.”

“Not quite.”

“The tall inquisitor exited the church the next morning,” Vezta said. “I do not sleep and thus was able to observe the exits to the church at all times. When he emerged, he paused looked up directly at the point I was watching from, and gave a jaunty wave. After, the crystal ball went blank.”

Vezta came to a stop at Arkk’s side once again, having fully distributed her drinks and snacks among the individuals at the table. She smiled, hands clasped together at her navel. “Any attempt at scrying on one of the inquisitors results in complete failure, no matter the distance. I can scry on the street over but the crystal ball fails before the inquisitor enters the perspective. Presumably, I admit. I cannot say for certain given my inability to scry on them.”

“It isn’t just her,” Arkk added. “I tried and Zullie tried as well. We know where they are not, effectively, but even that isn’t guaranteed. I feel it would be easy to create decoy blank spots or hand whatever is blocking the scrying off to some acolyte of the abbey if they can do this.”

“There may be alternate methods of scrying that would work,” Vezta admitted. “A listening pool or soul stone. Fortress Al-Mir is not in possession of either, unfortunately.”

Rekk’ar scowled, lips curling. “The witch can’t make those?”

Arkk glanced over to Zullie, who wasn’t paying attention to the conversation in the slightest. Her eyes drifted back and forth over the text of the black book. “Zullie?”

“Huh? What?”

“Listening pool or soul stone. Can you craft those?”

“I’m a theoretical researcher, not an artificer,” she said, tone absent as she looked down at the book once again. “I can affix a spell to a magic wand. Never learned the art of artifice beyond that.”

Arkk looked back to Rekk’ar and shrugged his shoulders. “So she says.”

“So,” the orc said, “find artificers or magical artifacts as well. You sure have a list of things to get done.”

Arkk grinned, feeling a little better now that they had something of a plan. “The nice thing about having a lot to get done is that you’ll end up getting several things finished in the process of finishing others. Now, gather together a team for this outing to Moonshine Burg. A large team, we want to be seen. Leave those too injured and the non-fighters only, pretty much. Khan, if you can ask the gorgon for volunteers, I’m sure they would come in handy.”

Khan nodded his head. At the same time, Vezta leaned forward. “Moonshine Burg, Master?”

Arkk shot the pre-Calamity monster a look. “Maybe if you hadn’t run off in the middle of the meeting… Let me get you filled in.”

 

 

 

Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox limped across his temporary office within the Grand Old Church of Cliff City, slung a pack onto his desk, and sunk low into an old wooden chair. Not the most comfortable of accommodations. Still, he appreciated what little reprieve on his aching muscles the chair provided. One would think that returning to Cliff in his carriage would have provided ample opportunity to rest. He had sat for most of the journey. Travel, however, had a way of draining energy. Especially when it left him alone with idle thoughts, forcing him to confront one unpleasant fact after another as he reflected on the debacle in the Cursed Forest.

He was a rusted blade.

It wasn’t always this way. Fifteen years ago, when he had been scouted for and invited into the ranks of the Light’s Inquisitors, he had been a one-man army. An exaggeration to be sure, but he held little doubt that he would have been able to fight off all of Arkk’s orcs without too much trouble even without the help of Douglas. At some point, that changed. He had a feeling that he knew when, where, and why.

His own competence was his downfall. The Inquisitors did not have a tall hierarchy. Nevertheless, he had risen through it rapidly. In five years, he had been made Master Inquisitor. Along with that new title came assignees under his command. Namely the Purifier Agnete. From the moment she had been placed in his cell, his role had changed. No longer was he a fighter. He became an investigator. He lurked around, discovered plots and plans, and then rather than take care of matters himself, he threw the Purifier at them.

And why not? Her powers were monstrous beyond human comprehension. None could stand up to her flames and live.

When was the last time he had been forced to fight like that? Sure, he flung a few spells here or there and had always considered himself above average with a longsword but…

Darius removed his boots, letting him stretch out his feet.

He didn’t get much relaxation in before a knock at his office door disturbed him. Quickly, Darius sat fully upright and straightened his uniform. He pulled a stack of papers from his desk and a pen and started writing. “Enter,” he said, barely cognizant of the tip of the pen scraping across the paper.

Chronicler Douglas Greesom stepped into the room. Douglas had not come out unscathed from their adventures either. In fact, Douglas had the worse wound. His arm, wrapped tight and held in a sling, had been tended to by the local priest and abbess of Stone Hearth Burg, however, it would be quite some time before he was fully back to normal. The blow he had received from the orc’s axe had shattered his forearm.

Darius wasn’t sure if it was luck, skill, or divine intervention, but whatever the case, he was thankful that Douglas had only contacted with the haft of the axe and not the blade. Bone was harder to mend than a flesh wound but losing an arm entirely would have been permanent. In truth, both of them had escaped with relatively little harm. Something he probably owed to Arkk, disquieting as that notion might sound.

The presence of Douglas put Darius at ease—letting him drop his pen and cease the act of the ultra-dedicated inquisitor.

That ease quickly shifted to unease as Darius took in the stiff appearance of Douglas.

“I have concluded my report to the Ecclesiarch.”

Darius flicked his eyes to the golden necklace dangling around Douglas’ chest. The Ecclesiarch, barring unexpected movements, was down in the Bastion City, a star-shaped fortification nestled between three lakes in the middle of a desert. The capital of the Kingdom of Chernlock, home of the Temple of the Light, and the seat of power over the entire region. With the angled pendant on Chronicler Greesom’s necklace, resembling a mixture of the Three Symbols of Light, Douglas could receive revelation, power advanced miracles, and even commune with people in a location months of travel away.

It was a rare artifact, only wieldable by those with training in miracle usage. Chroniclers like Greesom did not grow on trees, though they were marginally more common than purifiers like Agnete.

“You spoke to the Ecclesiarch himself? Not an aide?”

“The Ecclesiarch is intensely interested in our operation and wished to hear the report in person.”

“Wonderful,” Darius said, removing his glasses as he began rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He was… displeased?”

Douglas snorted an ugly laugh. “Light protects. Between losing the Binding Agent and allowing our purifier to go rogue, it is a wonder we weren’t met at the gates by other inquisitors ready to clamp chains on our wrists. He already knew before I even had a chance to speak.”

“Sometimes I wonder why we spend all this time writing reports.” Darius reseated the glasses on his nose and looked over Douglas. “Well? I presume we’re off the job?”

“Not quite.”

“Oh?”

“The Oracles are growing increasingly concerned. An event, the details of which I was not made privy to, occurred just after we lost the Binding Agent to Arkk. To quote the Ecclesiarch: ‘The Stars have begun to churn and broil.’” Douglas shook his head. “I don’t know exactly what that means.”

“A being from beyond the stars and churning stars? I would say there is a connection there.”

“Indeed. Unfortunately,” Douglas said with a shrug, “we will not be receiving reinforcements or a replacement for Agnete. There is… something else going on. The Golden Order of Evestani has ceased communication with the Temple of the Light. The Ecclesiarch is concerned. It seems as if the other inquisitorial cells are being rerouted to Bastion.”

“The Golden Order… their order was the power behind the war, was it not?”

Douglas dipped his head in agreement. “We are not being recalled. Our directive is to recapture or kill our lost purifier in the hopes of that shifting event being reverted or stalled. Priority on the being remains high though not quite as high as Agnete. I dare say faith in our ability to handle it has been diminished.”

“I see. Presuming Arkk has taken control of Agnete—” A fairly safe assumption given the lack of a conflagration consuming the central Duchy. “—our objective has hardly changed. We track him down and he leads us to the purifier.”

“We are more aware of what we face. Losing Agnete is problematic but we know her capabilities and have countermeasures for her, albeit less effective than the Binding Agent.”

“Indeed,” Darius agreed. “The orcs pose little problem. I shall have to refresh my memory of a few choice spells.”

“The Light protects. Gorgon will not be a problem either.”

“That just leaves Arkk, the strange abilities he demonstrated, and his pet horror from beyond the stars.”

Douglas nodded his head. “An opportunity for redemption beyond the handling of Agnete?”

“We focus on our primary directive, of course. If the opportunity of which you speak presents itself, who are we to ignore it?” Darius stood and cracked his neck from side to side. The sensation of fatigue vanished from his bones, replaced with a sense of renewed purpose. “Your injuries,” he said, looking at the broken arm of his chronicler. “Were you told how long they would take to heal?”

“Optimistically, three months. It is my hope that the local bishop can keep that optimistic schedule on pace.”

“Very well. Three months. Not a lot of time but time enough.”

“Sir?”

“I have been lax,” Darius said, stalking over to the window of his office, looking out over the city of Cliff. “Too reliant on the powers of a monster to fight my battles for me.

“It is time we change that.”

And so we arrived late in the evening. The hired orcs were most efficient and eager to put down the local wildlife threatening our camp. They were invaluable throughout the expedition in keeping the rest of the crew safe. You have my compliments.

Upon dawn the next morning, we approached the ruins for the first time. To our great surprise, they were hardly ruins at all. Preserved through the ages, the black marble displayed little evidence of any erosion or deliberate harm. The ziggurat’s smooth walls looked as if they had been freshly carved by stone masons a mere week ago. Yet, through the means detailed in my notes, I was able to determine the age of the structure to be approximately eight hundred years. Not quite the pre-Calamity ruins I had been hoping for but still a significant historical find.

The first week, we spent our time solely examining the exterior of the structure. We took measurements and fully examined the ziggurat. It turned out to be much larger than my research would have indicated. I am unsure how the ancients managed to build it, even now. There were no seams or evidence of assembly. The pyramid appeared entirely carved from a single stone. The highlands where we discovered it contained no other black marble in the area leaving the source of the material’s origin a mystery.

It was with deep and profound regret that we believed our expedition to be at an end then and there. With the pyramid being a single, uniform structure with no openings and no designs leading to clues as to its purpose, we thought to pack up camp and head home. It was one of your orcs that proved invaluable in discovering the way forward. The evening before we were set to depart, Gratt’an stumbled across a similarly designed slab of stone a mild distance from the pyramid itself. This slab was not one uniform monolith but, instead, a door.

With the aid of all five orcs and several of the workers we brought along, we managed to pry open the door and breach the interior.

What we found was unlike anything I have witnessed in my thirty-nine years. A complex labyrinth of corridors and rooms. Most were, regrettably, empty. Their contents decayed beyond any reasonable identification. The full details are attached but I will call special attention to three rooms in particular. One, a room with a large crystalline archway, covered in strange patterns and designs. I have shipped off sketches of the designs to the Cliff Academy in the hopes of uncovering the nature or purpose of the archway—I am not a spellcaster myself nor were any on our expedition—but they have yet to return my missives. I will send another letter to you with their results if they ever come.

Another of the rooms of interest was a simple octagonal chamber containing nothing but a deep pit leading far into the mountain. Although we made efforts to discover where the pit led, we were unsuccessful. We brought with us an excess of rope in the anticipation of requiring it and yet it was not enough to reach the bottom. Combined with a lack of volunteers—many of our work crew found the pit eerie and unsettling—we were forced to leave it alone for the time being.

The final room was, I believe based on the maps we created, the interior of the great pyramid that began this whole endeavor. Hollow, the interior walls were covered with thin plates of gold pressed into the walls, forming a massive mural. Attached are sketches but I must confess that they are embarrassingly inadequate compared to witnessing the actual room in person. I am sure that interpretations of the mural will continue for decades among my colleagues but I thought I would offer my view of the events depicted.

It begins with sixteen stars hanging in the sky, arranged in an even, equal circle. There are people, humans—possibly also demihumans and beastmen—worshiping the stars. Perhaps icons of an ancient religion, now long dead. All seems peaceful until three of the stars fell away from the others.

The early portions of the mural depict death and destruction. Life withering away, the sky falling to the ground, civilizations collapsing to dust. Given the Calamity occurred only a few hundred years prior to this structure’s construction, I am certain that those portions of the mural are depicting the fall of magic and the destruction wrought during those trying times.

There appears to be a brief period of rebuilding following that collapse. It wasn’t a long time. Rather than fall prey to another Calamity, however, it seems that man fought against man. Wars erupted among various tribes. A depiction of what I believe to be a dwarf dominated a significant portion of the mural, being killed off by the spears of one of the armies. This might represent a leader falling or, possibly, represents the time the dwarves went extinct. Supporting evidence for the latter includes depictions of several other species, few of whom I recognize, also being killed off.

It is well known that many magically sensitive species perished in the Calamity and its aftermath. However, most scholars agree that they went extinct due to the lack of magic. The mural seems to indicate that they were killed off. This contradicts everything we believe about the era. If my interpretations are correct, of course. As I said, these are just my preliminary thoughts, shared with you since you expressed an interest in the outcome of this expedition. I am unsure of the truth of the depicted events or the interpretation.

Unfortunately, the mural ends abruptly. There were no signs of battle within the pyramid or the rest of the structure. No remains left behind or anything indicating where the people inhabiting the pyramid went. It is possible they abandoned the location, fought in one of the depicted wars elsewhere, or even lost the technology or expertise required to continue updating their mural.

Nevertheless, this mural is a most wonderous find. Following the Calamity, recordkeeping and chronicling fell to almost nothing, leaving the era as a Lost Age. This is, I believe, the most complete record ever discovered of the era and yet it was discovered without written word to confirm what the imagery depicts.

Per our agreement, I have spent the last month compiling my notes. You may find the finer details beyond the above summary attached to this missive. If you are interested in more details, additional interpretation of the ruins, or further discussion, you may write to me or visit me directly in the Bastion City. I make my home at the Archives and Museum of National History.

Thank you for your support in this expedition, Mister Arkk and Company Al-Mir.

Ramis Phonk, Historical Curator of the Crown.

Pale, milky eyes turned away from the twinkling stars in the night sky.

Wind and snow ravaged the Forlorn Mountain’s peak. A harsh, biting cold that would send most mortal races to an early, frosty grave. Even the mighty bonfire of the Hightop Shrine, ever burning with a dragon’s heart at its core, did little to ward off the chill. Yet Priscilla stood from her meditative cushion without the slightest tremble, unfeeling of the harsh snow.

Bare feet stepped around the bonfire until Priscilla stood at the very edge of the Hightop Shrine. Sightless eyes looked down the side of the mountain, spotting the faint lights from the fires of the village at the base. She stepped forward until her black toenails hung just over the edge. Taking a breath, Priscilla leaped forward.

The sheer cliff face rushed past as Priscilla dove. The gale around her felt almost calm and serene as it carried her along, letting her skim past the rocky surface. As the lights in the distance grew larger and the ground grew closer, onyx-scaled wings spread out behind Priscilla, turning her freeform dive into a controlled descent. Gliding in lazy circles over the village, she eventually reached the ground. Priscilla’s feet touched down in the shallow snow just outside the smallest hut in the village.

Taking a step, Priscilla’s foot slammed into something cold and hard. Metallic clanging skipped across the ground even as she hissed at the mild pain of stubbing her toe. Whatever she kicked slammed into the side of the hut with enough force to shatter a plank of wood.

She heard a door swing open.

“Who—What? Pris? What are you—Hide your wings,” a shocked and confused voice demanded.

Priscilla’s sightless eyes looked up to find the burning heart of a woman standing before her. Her lips parted into a smile filled with sharp teeth. “No. No need to hide.”

“No need? Pris… Have the centuries finally driven you mad? You’ll attract poachers.” The burning heart approached and Priscilla felt a comforting arm settle over her shoulders as the other woman ushered her inside the hut. “What are you doing down here? You can’t stand the humans.”

“We’re leaving.”

“Pris, please. I can carry you back up the mountain—”

“No. I won’t go back. The stars have begun to change. Can you not feel it as well? The ancient magics are stirring.”

The burning heart in front of Priscilla shuddered with her words. “I… You’ve seen it?”

“I’ve seen the stars, yes.”

“You’ve claimed this before.”

“Twice.”

“Both times, wars started. We died. Fought for nothing.” The burning heart turned away. “Nothing changed.”

“Nothing will change unless those who can make the change act.”

The burning heart turned back in a bout of anger. “That is clearly not us.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

“I… I won’t do it. Not again.”

Priscilla blinked, milky eyes trailing after that burning heart. “Pardon?”

“There are so few of us left. Throwing ourselves away chasing the past? We’ve tried—”

“You… are abandoning the pact?”

“Pact?” The burning heart scoffed. “What pact? A pact needs cosigners. We’re all that’s left.”

Priscilla stared at the burning heart, watching the flames coil and twist. Pain and anguish, hope and despair…

Priscilla stood and turned away. “I see.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I—” Taking a step, Priscilla’s nose slammed into a wooden pillar within the hut. “Oof.”

“Pris. Go back to your mountaintop. Please. If… if this turns out—”

“You’ve lived with these humans long enough,” Priscilla said, rubbing her nose. “They have been a bad influence on you.”

“You… won’t harm them. Not without going through me.”

Priscilla turned her head, raising an eyebrow. “Cute that you think you can stop me.”

“Pris!”

“But I won’t.” Reaching out her hands, Priscilla felt around the small hut until her fingers found the door latch. “I can think of no greater punishment for one such as you than to live among humans. Enjoy your time.” Priscilla threw open the door, barely feeling the cold bite of the bitter weather against her scales. “Or, should I say, enjoy their time.”

Slamming the door shut hard enough to knock snow off the rooftop, Priscilla turned her gaze around the human village. This late at night, everyone was indoors. Probably. No one was there to see her wings spread wide. Probably. She took off to the skies where she made a lazy circle around the village, picturing a glacier of ice sliding into place, entombing the entire habitation for just a moment before angling her flight off to the west.

Or… did she need to be going to the east?

Priscilla swung her flight around and immediately faceplanted into a tree. Sliding down the trunk, she landed flat on her back. She stayed there for a long moment, staring up at the burning stars overhead.

“This,” Priscilla said, frosty breath escaping her lips, “might be hard without help.”

 

 

“And the inquisitors?”

“They look like they just finished their investigation,” Zullie said, peering over the crystal ball. “They didn’t find anything.”

“Not even the teleportation circles?”

“I think those were destroyed when you collapsed the connecting tunnel.”

Frowning, Arkk drummed his fingers on the table. When he collapsed the tunnel, the entirety of the false fortress had lost the magic keeping it going, reverting the claimed territory to loose dirt and rock. A few of the less-stable parts collapsed on their own without the brick walls there to support the weight of the tunnel. The far end held his teleportation circles. Several of them. One went to Silver City and another went to Hope’s Rest. The others were decoys.

In the original plan, before realizing how dangerous Purifier Agnete’s flames actually were, he had been planning on confronting the inquisitors somewhere near the false [HEART] chamber before fleeing to the circles. Each of the six circles led to six more circles which then led to six more. Just to confuse where he had been retreating to. He hadn’t intended to use them, just make it seem like he was using them when he instead teleported back to the main fortress.

It wasn’t a big loss if the inquisitors didn’t find it but it was one more thing that he had planned for that hadn’t worked out. It was irritating but at least he could try that trick in the future if it ever became necessary.

The thought of doing all this again… “Remind me if we ever come under attack again: We need to do a lot more research on what our opponents are capable of. While today certainly could have gone worse, it didn’t go well.”

“Is that… likely?” Zullie said, shifting in her seat. “I’d rather not go through with something like today again. I like observing unique and novel magics. Especially holy magic, which I have almost no experience with. That said, I’m not too interested in being on the receiving end of unique and novel magics. After that inquisitor reflected your bolt of lightning, I locked up, too worried about doing something that would rebound on me.”

Arkk nodded his head, agreeing with that. He hadn’t cast anything after that either. Though, thinking about it now without the adrenaline and chaos of combat, a solution did pop into his mind. “I think things that wouldn’t affect him directly would have worked. A fog in the air that he couldn’t see through maybe. The marble falling and freezing him to the floor worked well enough.”

“I’m most curious about how he was anticipating everything. When you and Dakka started teleporting around him, he moved well in advance of any incoming attacks. Was it magic or battle instinct?”

“I suppose we could ask our new hire,” Arkk said, quickly peeking in on the purifier as she investigated the lair room. He had left her in there well over an hour ago, saying that it would create a home that matched her desires. So far, she hadn’t done anything yet. Either she had no real desires or she was having trouble getting it working. “But let’s hold off on that for now. We’re not going to fight that man in the immediate future. I don’t want anyone around the purifier unless I’m there as well. At least for now.”

Zullie quirked an eyebrow above her violet eyes. “Should I be worried?”

“No idea. All I really know about her is that she has very dangerous, very painful magic and she was just barely our opponent. Until we have a better handle on her personality, I’d rather not take any chances.”

“I don’t recall getting a warning like this about the gorgon.”

Arkk opened his mouth but hesitated, thinking. They were dangerous beings who had been threatening him only minutes before he hired them. Yet… something about them felt right under his command. He didn’t know how that could be the case. Perhaps it had something to do with what Vezta said. The gorgon were descendants of old allies. They belonged here.

Shrugging, Arkk stood. “I’m going to head out on another set of rounds. Keep watching the inquisitors. Let me know the moment they do anything alarming.”

“They look like they’re packing up. Didn’t spend much time looking for their lost purifier, did they?”

“Not complaining,” Arkk said before teleporting away.

Fortress Al-Mir had not possessed anywhere for the injured to recover before an hour ago. Before now, the only injuries were generally minor things. Usually coming from the orcs in the fighting pits. They were a hardy bunch who were happy to show off their wounds for a while. When they eventually retired for the evening, they tended to themselves in their lairs.

With an expenditure of gold, Arkk had created a large lair room. Whatever magic of the [HEART] let them have their personalized rooms didn’t like anyone having two personalized rooms. Still, what he had been able to do was make several beds all in a row. At least the wounded weren’t lying on the cold, hard floors. He would have to come up with another solution in the future.

Lots of things needed to be done in the future.

For now, this was as best as he could do.

Most of the occupied beds were those with moderate injuries. Those with minor injuries had retired to their own lairs. The worst—at least, the worst of those who weren’t petrified—was the orc who had been on the initial receiving end of Purifier Agnete’s flames. Katt’am’s legs looked raw and were covered in blisters. His normally green skin was anything but. If there was one small mercy, it was that he had fallen unconscious.

Arkk didn’t know what to do for the orc. One leg had burns up to his ankle but the other was charred all the way up to his thigh. The latter leg also… didn’t exactly have much of a foot anymore. Arkk had to force himself to look at it, feeling like he shouldn’t shirk away. It was his responsibility. Even still, it made his stomach churn.

Arkk had to breathe through his mouth around the poor orc. He couldn’t imagine being in Katt’am’s position.

These injuries weren’t something that anyone would recover from. The orc’s hardy body wouldn’t help here. Even Abbess Keena wouldn’t have been able to help. As it was, they might have to chop off his other foot and the remainder of his leg before they started rotting.

Maybe one of the church’s healers would have an idea. The nearby burgs had larger church buildings with higher-ranking members of the church. If they had any ideas for how to handle such burn injuries, it was his duty to seek them out. Though he might not be able to go himself. It would probably be best if he avoided the nearby burgs and villages until the inquisitors had left the area. Or at least until his eyes stopped glowing. He was trying to calm down, but…

Arkk turned away from Katt’am and moved about the room. He made sure to speak with everyone who had taken an injury if for no other reason than to reassure them that he was doing everything he could. In reality, Vezta was the one who had done most of the heavy lifting. The slime she left didn’t magically make everything better but it did seal wounds and, speaking from experience, seemed to accelerate the healing process. Arkk had used Flesh Weaving to shore up the worst of the wounds.

Stopping at the statue of Dakka, Arkk frowned. He wasn’t sure that Vezta would be enough for the gash in her shoulder. She had looked rather pale before her petrification too. Could he use Flesh Weaving on her fast enough? It wasn’t exactly a spell designed for emergency use. Nor for deep wounds. It was slow and clunky, requiring a great deal of concentration just to put things back together.

Maybe the church could help with that as well?

It was something to investigate now rather than later.

Teleporting away, Arkk found the one man who he felt would be able to get into and out of the burgs without drawing too much attention.

John looked up from a long piece of timber and the adze he was using to smooth one side of it. It was a long beam with a shallow bend cut in the middle. Maybe a truss for a roof? Arkk wasn’t sure what he was working on at the moment and Hale wasn’t around so it wasn’t a lesson for his apprentice. Given the situation, Arkk didn’t think about it too hard.

“Did your work go well?” John asked before Arkk could speak.

“Somewhat. The inquisitors seem to be leaving,” Arkk said, focusing on the positives of the situation.

“So we can go home?”

Arkk hesitated, considering. “We should probably keep an eye on them for a little longer. As long as they don’t look like they’re coming back, I don’t think it would be a problem. Though I would ask that you not tell anyone I’m out here. I tried to give the inquisitors the impression that I’m abandoning this area. Maybe running off to one of the principalities. That mostly means no telling Abbess Keena.”

“Ah. I’ll admit, I’ll miss some of these tools but it will be nice to get back home.”

Shrugging, Arkk said, “I don’t mind if you take them. The fortress can make more. It isn’t like we have another carpenter around anyway. But before you start packing them up, I came here wondering if you might do me a favor.”

“Oh?”

“We had some injuries with the orcs. One has severe burns and another few have deep gouges and cuts. I was wondering if you would be willing to head into one of the burgs and see if you can’t ask some of the church healers for advice. Don’t say what we were doing. Maybe just say that someone was drunk and fell into a firepit… but any help we can get would be appreciated. We don’t have any proper healers down here.”

The old carpenter drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. “I don’t know that I rightly trust those orcs. You do remember that they attacked us, don’t you?” he started, holding up a hand when Arkk tried to object. “But you’ve done right by me over the years and kept Hale out of those inquisitors’ hands. I’d be happy to help.”

“Thanks,” Arkk said, giving him a firm clap on the shoulder. “I’m going to teleport you to the end of the Smilesville tunnel. You know how to get out?”

“Sure do.”

“Just make something up about being from a nearby village. I mostly need help with burn wounds but one of my orcs has a deep gash from her shoulder to her breast,” Arkk said, dragging a hand down his chest in roughly the right spot before handing over a small sack of gold pulled from the treasury. “Help for that would be appreciated.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Arkk said again before teleporting John away without further delay. The longer they waited, the worse things would get. At least for Katt’am. Dakka and the others should be fine until they removed the petrification. Perhaps Katt’am would appreciate being petrified as well.

With that set in motion, Arkk did a quick scan around the rest of his fortress. Larry, under his orders, was preparing a large feast for everyone able to attend. Something of an apology and thanks for the effort put into stopping the inquisitors. Ilya, Rekk’ar, and Olatt’an were having a discussion just outside the new medical wing. It looked like a fairly serious meeting. Arkk wasn’t sure what they were talking about but he figured one of them would fill him in. He didn’t really want to get into a talk with the two orcs—or, at least, Rekk’ar—at the moment. He doubted the orc would have much positive to say. Vezta was working her way around the infirmary, fixing up an orc who was clearly not enjoying her slathering black tar on his waist.

Hale…

Arkk blinked twice before teleporting to the library. He immediately snatched a black book out of her hands and scowled down at its cover.

“Hey!”

“What do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

“Practicing reading like Zullie said.”

“Where did you get this?” he asked, slapping a hand against the cover of the book he had taken from the former orc chieftain. “I thought this was in my room.”

Hale shrugged and pointed just past the still statue of Savren to one of the shelves. “It was right over there. I remembered looking through it and wanted to see if I could read it now.”

Arkk frowned at Savren. “I forgot about you,” he mumbled under his breath before looking at the shelf. The indicated shelf held many books. Mostly Zullie’s. If that witch had left this one lying about where Hale could find it…

“Read other books, Hale.”

“Arkk,” she whined. “That one had cool spells in it. Not the lame rituals Zullie has been teaching me.”

“She’s teaching you the foundations. You need to start there or you’ll end up like me, blowing up half the things you try to do.”

Hale huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. She started grumbling under her breath, complaining about how unfair it was that he got to use the good spells. Aside from Flesh Weaving, Arkk didn’t think there was much good in the book. For a moment, he considered teaching Hale to use the spell. Having another person capable of providing aid wouldn’t be a bad idea. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so upset if he did so.

He had deliberately kept the book away from Zullie even though the spell would have been useful for her as well.

“What’s up with that thing anyway?” Hale asked.

Looking up at Savren, Arkk frowned. With the orcs petrified, that could wait a little longer. He probably shouldn’t leave one of his minions in that state unnecessarily.

Pulling one of Zullie’s beginner books off the shelves, Arkk handed it over to Hale. “Practice reading with this.”

“But—”

Hale didn’t get to finish before he teleported her back to her room. In her place, Zharja appeared, staring right at the statue of Savren. The gorgon stared for a brief moment before letting out a ferocious hissing. The black-scaled snake whipped her head toward him.

She froze when she met glowing red eyes.

“I apologize for disturbing you,” Arkk said as calmly as he could, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach at locking his gaze on her slit pupils. As much as he felt like the gorgon belonged here… they were still gorgon. “Would you mind turning him back to normal? I’ll send you back to your rock afterward.”

Zharja stuck her tongue out, tasting the air. “Very well,” she hissed, turning her hooded head over to Savren. Unless he wanted Savren to suffer from an accident sooner or later, keeping all the gorgon far away from him jumped up on Arkk’s list of priorities

Arkk felt a faint pulse of magic from her before the smooth marble cracked and broke. Flesh, hair, and cloth appeared underneath, looking entirely unharmed.

“—get you, you slimy—” Savren, blinking three times rapidly, looked to Arkk and then turned a nasty snarl on Zharja. “You!”

Arkk teleported Zharja away before any altercation could break out. That made Savren blink again before the man shook his head, throwing bits of rapidly dispersing marble dust out of his hair.

“You mind telling me what you did that got you petrified?”

“What I did?” Savren said, glaring but not looking half as angry as he had a moment ago. “I was minding my own business. You said I could browse the books so I was browsing. Zharja slithered in on her slimy scales, stared at me, then sentenced me to stone without a single sentence. She was always the most disobedient and disrespectful, often she deigned to disregard my directivess.”

“You don’t have to hiss your words.”

“Habit,” Savren snapped. “And now she deigns to disobey your directives.” He paused, frowning. “Unless you so cruelly condemned me to concretion. I’ve nary a notion to enact negative action,” he said. A heartbeat passed before he added, “Since entering your enterprising employ.”

Arkk let out a withering sigh. “I’ll talk to her. I don’t want my employees fighting.”

“Employees? Ha.”

“I pay you, don’t I?”

“What good is gold when it can’t be spent? Your orcs might be content with chancing on combat and your snakes find satisfaction in simple needs but Savren strives for status and skill!”

“I don’t…” Arkk trailed off a moment then he put on a sarcastic smile. “You won’t persist on my payroll permanently,” he said. “Partake of your pay without provocation and we’ll part ways with you prosperous enough to… relocate to a new region and start anew?” He hesitated a moment before saying, “See, I can do it too.”

“Pathetic peasant, though you posit a potent point.”

Arkk’s smile slipped. “Is there a reason you talk like this?”

Irritation flashed across Savren’s face. “A caster, crude and cretinous, cursed my cranium to confound my communication. I can fight through it,” he said with a grimace. A blood vein on his temple started to bulge as he drew in a fresh breath of air. “Fight it to cast spells. But speaking simple sentences starting with same-sounds shrinks the strain. If you wish for me to speak ‘normally’ then I… dare say that…” He ground his teeth together like he was chewing something particularly unpleasant.

“Alright, alright. Just stop. You can talk however you want.”

Savren smiled like he had just snatched success from some one-sided struggle. “My mind-magic mastery comes not from merriment in manipulation but from a desire to mend my mental malfunction.”

Arkk shook his head back and forth with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes, trying not to glower at the mesmer. “Just take your pay. I know I’m paying you a whole lot more than you would get doing just about anything else. After I’m done with you, you can go start a new life somewhere else with it all. Maybe pay some academy to look into your… condition.”

Arkk wasn’t quite sure if he was telling the truth about that. Letting Savren go, with all he had done, didn’t exactly sound like the wisest idea in the world. As upsetting as that curse might have been, he probably had done something to deserve it. The ritual at the village of Hope had been an experiment. In Savren’s words, diffusion and dissemination of deleterious delusions to dampen the effect. Arkk hadn’t understood what he meant at the time and had been too irritated to ask or even think much about it, but now…

“The ritual at Hope… that was supposed to spread your curse out among the entire village?”

“It functioned, for a fortnight. Freedom from flowing phrases felt fantastic. Until it failed. Fractures formed and families fell. I feared the worst and fled.”

“Leaving the villagers to their fate.”

“To be fair, had I found myself felled along with my fellows, another finding the focal point would have been far-fetched.”

Arkk shook his head. No, letting Savren go free was not a good idea at all. The man cared nothing for the lives he had affected. “Try not to cause trouble,” Arkk said, stepping away. “I’ve got more pressing matters to do.”

Rather than allow Savren time to respond, Arkk immediately teleported in front of a rather warm door. He knocked twice and waited.

The door creaked open of its own accord, letting out a rush of heated air. It wasn’t hot enough to burn Arkk’s face off, being about on par with a dry summer’s day, but it was mildly uncomfortable. Stepping into the room, he looked around and found himself surprised that his face wasn’t melting off.

Purifier Agnete sat in a chair made from black stone. It had no cushions and no padding. Just hard black stone. The stone wasn’t whole. Large cracks ran through it, seemingly glued together by some kind of molten rock glowing from within. The bed just to the side of the chair was much the same, black stone with glowing cracks and no padding. No blankets either, not that Arkk thought anyone would need blankets in this room—he was already sweating. The most interesting, and concerning, aspect of the room wasn’t the clearly molten furniture, it was where the furniture was located. The floor, made from the same black stone, didn’t reach all the way to the walls. Aside from a bridge-like path leading to the door, it was floating on a lake of bubbling, molten metal.

The room wasn’t half as hot as the forge and was nowhere near the temperature needed to melt metal, so it had to be some kind of magical construct generated by Fortress Al-Mir. Still, it was a bit unnerving. Arkk wondered how hot it would be if he touched it but wasn’t quite brave enough to try. They had enough problems with burn wounds as it was without adding more on top of it.

“Agnete,” Arkk said, looking at the woman. She wore a black long coat quite reminiscent of the outfits the inquisitors wore, though she wore no boots or footwear of any kind. He wasn’t sure how long it would last, though. The hem looked like someone had dragged it through a campfire. “I see you’re settled in. Need anything?”

“The magic here is…”

“Forbidden, yes, you mentioned.”

“Soothing,” she said, casting her gaze around the molten room. “And forbidden.”

“Yes, well… I was curious… If your fires injured someone, is there anything you can do to help?”

“Help?”

“Any healing or… unburning?”

“I burn, not heal.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Arkk mumbled. “What did the inquisitors do with someone if they wound up partially burned?”

“Interrogation. After, I would be called in to finish the incineration.”

“Okay. That’s… not an option. Things are going to be a bit different here, it seems.”

“I understand.”

Arkk wasn’t sure that she did but wasn’t going to try to explain things now. “I have my chef preparing meals. Would you like one once they are ready?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. I’ll be back later then. Feel free to… relax?”

She nodded, sweeping her fingers through her wild black hair. Arkk almost teleported away but hesitated, watching her for just a moment longer. The cuff of her sleeve was smoldering.

Those clothes weren’t going to last long at all.

Arkk teleported away.

 

 

Arkk didn’t consider himself the smartest person around. Well-read—or at least as well-read as a small village farmboy could get—and knowledgeable about the world from his frequent conversations with travelers, he thought he was better off than most. There were still many areas in which he knew he had improvements to make. Still, even the biggest idiot in the village would have been able to recognize that teleporting directly in front of a wall of fire capable of turning a door to ash in seconds was a bad idea.

Not wanting to prove himself more of an idiot, Arkk teleported to one of the partially destroyed rooms instead. It was filled with random debris. Enough to make it look like someone might have lived here. Not that anyone even bothered to look into the room. Purifier Agnete had simply walked past the entrance a few minutes ago without so much as a turn of her head. Fires still raged up near the door. The hallway outside was completely destroyed.

It hadn’t been the intention but it was a good thing they had made the little grated tunnels between each room to help disguise the one tunnel that led back to the main fortress. Those little tunnels were the only reason he could count this space as his territory at the moment. Implementing them into the main fortress seemed like a must after everything was over just so that if something similar happened again, he would be able to teleport around the disconnected areas.

For now, however, Arkk had to focus.

Sweat beaded down his face the moment he appeared. When he had pulled the orcs out of the way of the purifier just a second too slow, it felt like he had walked into a blacksmith’s forge. Here, it felt like he had thrown himself into the kiln. Even from across the room, it felt like his exposed skin was being burned and even his clothes were starting to smolder.

The fires were still raging and that was what Arkk wanted, intense heat aside. He pulled out the chilly marble, using his sleeve to keep it from directly touching his fingers, and felt immediate relief. The room didn’t turn cold, exactly, but it shifted closer to a hot and stifling day than a kiln. Approaching the red-white glow, he waved the marble around. The flames did fade somewhat but didn’t fully extinguish. They certainly didn’t diminish enough that Arkk would have felt safe going anywhere near the person controlling the fire.

When he had been watching the inquisitors before the ambush, the marble had been floating above Vrox’s hand as he walked along a fair distance behind Agnete. The fires near him had gone out completely and instantly. There was more to this artifact than simply waving it about.

Arkk wasn’t sure how to make the marble float but he could try pushing a little of his magic into it. Just a touch. Like he would with a ritual circle that he really didn’t want to explode.

The temperature around him plummeted. Frost formed on Arkk’s breath as he failed to suppress a shudder. Most important of all, the fires winked out of existence almost immediately.

Teleporting to a room closer to Agnete with far more intense flames, Arkk tried the same thing again. Just a touch of magic sent out a wave of bitter cold that sapped the heat from the room and snuffed out the fire in an instant. Even with his tunic in the way, his fingers still felt numb. Still, that was a minor problem compared to the turbulent flame witch.

Taking a deep breath of the frigid air, Arkk teleported again. This time, he reappeared just in front of the wall of flames in the corridor the purifier was marching down.

The heat from before couldn’t compare. He couldn’t come up with a comparison. What was hotter than a kiln? Hell itself? Demons stoking the flames around his feet?

Gritting his teeth, he poured a little more magic into the marble and relished in the winter breeze that blew through the corridor.

He was the only one. Behind an impenetrable wall of flames and heat haze, a blood-curdling scream echoed out. Not a cry of rage or frustration. A cry of fear and terror. One sweeping wave of fire lashed out at Arkk but the ice marble stopped it well before it could reach him. Pouring a little more power into the marble was enough to bring down the fire and the temperature. With a hiss, the haze dispersed.

The purifier wasn’t on her feet. She was on the ground, curled up in a tight ball and shaking violently. It was cold, true, but only enough that Arkk thought he needed a light cloak now that he wasn’t pushing magic into the marble. The purifier’s clothes had burned away, leaving her entirely naked, but even then it wasn’t cold enough to send someone to the ground. Arkk watched a moment. Her eyes, wide and darting back and forth, lacked the glow he had seen in them before. The scars on her face—and the rest of her body—still looked like faint embers underneath her skin but even that was rapidly fading.

Lips pressed together, Arkk teleported away, dropped the marble off on the desk in his room, and then teleported back. He maintained his distance, just in case, but there wasn’t too much danger. He could feel the marble through the [HEART]. It was his property now, meaning he could instantly retrieve it if he ever needed it. For the moment, he didn’t think he did.

The chill in the partially ruined corridor didn’t vanish entirely in the absence of the marble. It did fade. Slowly, at first, but the heat started to come back in short order. Arkk wasn’t sure if that was natural or if the purifier was doing something. Her scars and her eyes were starting to regain their usual glow.

Crouching down, Arkk watched and waited until her violent trembling subsided. She still remained on the ground, curled up, but at least her eyes were snapping back and forth in terror.

What now?

Arkk stared, wondering if he should just leave or perhaps send her back the way she came. Then he recalled Vrox’s words from earlier, how worried the man had been about losing control of Agnete, and the fact that he had called her that thing. An idea started to form in Arkk’s mind. A smart idea? Not particularly. Still, if it worked…

“Are you alright?” Arkk asked, raising his voice to be heard from a distance.

The faint embers in the back of her eyes shifted as she locked her gaze on Arkk. It was such a sudden and deliberate shift that he wasn’t sure if she had even noticed him before. She didn’t answer him, however, just sitting on the ground with her arms still wrapped around her legs.

Arkk grabbed a thick blanket from the fortress, teleported forward, dropped it over her, then teleported back. All in the blink of an eye.

She sat up slowly, drawing the blanket around her. Arkk just watched from a distance, thinking to himself.

He wished they had that magic-nullifying prison that Vezta had mentioned. Initially, when he had first come up with the plan to deceive the inquisitors, he had thought to send them all away with the impression that he had abandoned this area.

Now, the purifier brought up some interesting questions and possibilities. If Vezta was right and she was some servant of one of the Pantheon, and not the traitors, that alone made him curious about her. Then, as someone always looking to turn situations to his advantage, Arkk couldn’t dismiss that she was likely a powerful spellcaster. Given that he needed one more powerful caster and their rarity, he couldn’t just look away and let her go without at least trying.

The problem was whether or not she was loyal to the inquisitors. He doubted it but that didn’t necessarily mean that she would be up to turning on them. Even with that marble at hand, Arkk wasn’t willing to let such a powerful and destructive person remain anywhere near him. The employment bond would keep her from attacking him without any warning but those flames were destructive enough that even that would make him a little nervous.

Assuming she was open to employment in the first place.

“Are you alright?” Arkk tried again. The purifier didn’t respond. She sat and she stared, leaving Arkk with little to do but sigh. Would he get an honest answer if he simply asked about her loyalty to the inquisitors?

She wasn’t talking at all. He wouldn’t get any answer at this rate.

“The inquisitors are back the way you came,” Arkk said, nodding his head down the corridor. “They fell down a pit, lost their ice marble, and while they probably came out ahead in the ambush I set for them, they still lost overall. I doubt they’ll be too happy…”

Arkk trailed off, noting a gradual rise in temperature along with an intensifying glow in the purifier’s eyes. He almost grabbed the marble again but held off for just a moment. It didn’t seem like she was attacking him. She was still on the floor, simmering but hardly moving.

“I get the impression that the inquisitors aren’t too fond of you. They treat you more like an attack dog on a leash, don’t they? Now that they don’t have that leash anymore, what will they do? Lock you up? Kill you?” He paused for a response. Still none came. “I’m really not interested in a conflict with the inquisitors so I’m abandoning this place,” he lied. “Maybe if you went and told them you forced me out, that would grant you some leniency? Or…

“Maybe you would be interested in a change of employer?”

That got an actual reaction out of her. Not much of one. The black shadows of ash around her eyes stretched as her eyebrows quirked upward. Was that interest?

“I have an associate,” Arkk said, hoping he had more to entice her with, “who claims to know where your powers over fire come from. She would be most interested in discussing the matter with you.”

Her lips, darkened like the skin around her eyes, parted. She whispered but it carried. “You hold my leash.”

“True,” Arkk said, not bothering to deny it. “I don’t know you. I don’t know if you’ll go on a rampage the moment you get the chance. It makes obvious sense to have insurance. I don’t know how the inquisitors handled it but if you don’t attack my employees or my property, I see little reason to have to use it.” Pulling a gold coin from his treasury, he held it up. “You’ll also get paid for services rendered. I don’t know what the inquisitors pay you but I’m quite sure I can double it.” Remembering what Vezta said her alleged patron’s name was, the Burning Forge, he added, “We also have a lovely forge set up that we can expand at will if that suits your interests.”

The purifier closed her eyes, breathed out in a way that caused her face to shimmer in the heat haze, and then slowly stood up. She left the blanket dangling loose and open over her shoulders. “You offer no choice.”

“There’s always a choice. Go with the inquisitors. Run away. Try—”

“None are choice. I will be hunted. I will be imprisoned. If they fail to recover my leash, I will be killed.”

“Ah. Well, I’m not willing to give that up.” He held up his gold coin. “Just this.”

“No choice,” she whispered then held out a hand. “I must accept.”

Arkk pressed his lips together. He already had Savren as a mostly unwilling minion. The orcs as well, technically, though he was pretty sure they had gotten over their change in employer. Most had been all too happy to sign up after he killed their old chieftain. Still, he wasn’t too sure that he wanted another reluctant employee. Yet the benefits of having her with him were… too great to ignore. Her fires were strong and her magical capacity had to be great enough for the ritual. Besides that, it was an insult to the inquisitors, taking their strongest caster. And, importantly, he didn’t feel that great about sending someone back to them who was just going to be killed for nothing.

Teleporting forward, Arkk placed the golden coin in her outstretched hand. It immediately started to melt in her clutch, drooping around the edges while the maze-like pattern on the face blended into a golden slurry. Bits dripped from between her fingers, splashing to the ground below before she managed to rein herself in. Using both hands, she mushed the semi-solid remains back together and then rolled her palms against each other, eventually opening her hand to reveal a lumpy sphere.

“It was probably worth more as a coin,” Arkk said slowly. They could probably feed it to one of the lesser servants to turn it back into a proper coin.

“Sorry.”

Arkk tested the employee link between them and found it to be secure and snug. He shook his head, dismissing her worry. “It was mostly symbolic. I’m wealthy enough that one coin—”

“What was that?” she whispered, the glow in her eyes deepening as she stared around at the ceiling and walls.

“You felt that? That’s a first.”

As if following some invisible thread in the air, she brought her eyes back down to Arkk. “What did you do?”

“I possess a magical artifact that forms a link between myself and my employees. It primarily lets me teleport you around as I teleport myself around.”

“I feel a strange magic,” she said, looking down at her black fingernails. Arkk wasn’t sure if they were painted black or if they had been burned that way. “Yet… familiar?”

“It does seem to increase the magical capacity of some of the employees.”

“Forbidden magic. Like my own.”

Arkk shrugged at that. “Maybe. I don’t know. Never went to a proper magic academy.” He paused. “Is that a problem?”

“I cannot… It soothes, in some way.” Agnete hesitated for a long moment before shaking her head. “We are already hunted.”

“That is… certainly a way of looking at it. I hope to shake the inquisitors off our tails for now, at least. Buy us some breathing room. If you know of any method of tracking us and how to avoid it, that would be excellent.” Arkk beckoned with a hand. “Several were injured in the fight with the inquisitors but my chief warlock made it out alright. I’m sure she would be interested in hearing about how the inquisitors function.”

“I have limited information. Darius does not often involve me in operations.”

“Still, whatever you have is more than we had before.” He paused and then glanced down. “Though maybe we should get you some clothes beforehand. So let’s do that first. I need to take care of the injured and, after, we’ll see about setting you up with some living quarters.”

“Living… quarters?”

“A home? Room to yourself? A place to live.”

“That wasn’t my question. You said you were abandoning this place.”

“Ah.” Arkk’s smile froze in place. “Yes. That is true. This place,” he said, pointing at the ground. Just in case she planned on betraying him, he didn’t want to tell her absolutely everything just yet. “I’m going to teleport you now so don’t be surprised.”

In the blink of an eye, they reappeared in the tailor room. The one humanoid lesser servant appeared as well, pulled from the false fortress where it had been helping the others dig.

Agnete stared around, eyes roaming over the bolts of cloth in the walls and the machines for making attire. “Forbidden…”

“So I heard. Anyway, this one will get you some clothes. I need to see to my people.” He turned but paused—entirely for effect rather than out of necessity. “Please don’t burn everything down.”

“I shall try.”

Figuring that was as good as he was going to get, Arkk nodded his head and teleported away.

He hadn’t mentioned to any of his minions that he could observe them through the employee link. It was a good test, he figured, to watch what she did when left on her own. The ice marble was a thought away, so he would be able to step in before she could manage too much damage. If she did start burning things down, there wasn’t much of value there. The room could be rebuilt with an expenditure of gold and the lesser servant… He would feel bad but better a lesser servant than one of his proper employees.

He reappeared in front of Ilya, who had pulled up her shirt and was prodding some of the black slime left behind by Vezta’s ministrations just above her navel. He thought he had gotten her wound pretty well patched up but Vezta must have disagreed. Noticing him, Ilya quickly tugged the shirt back down and then shot him a glare. Arkk almost chuckled at the difference between the stoic flame witch and the red creeping over Ilya’s cheeks. She hadn’t even pulled her shirt up that high. He managed to stop himself before he started, realizing that laughing at her would be a most regrettable mistake.

Instead, he sat down on the chair next to her. “Are you alright?”

“This feels gross and weird,” she said, rubbing the same spot through her clothes. A bit of black trailed from her fingers as she pulled her hand away, making her grimace in disgust. “And it is going to ruin my clothes. Maybe we should look into hiring proper healers?”

“That would mean going to clergy. I don’t think anyone associated with the church is going to be happy working with us.”

“Yeah. Lovely. Can’t there be some bandit priest out there?”

Arkk did laugh at that. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“The pain is gone, at least. Is it going to be enough for Dakka and the others?”

Arkk turned his head to the still statue of the wounded orc with a frown. “I hope so. Combined with Flesh Weaving, I imagine they’ll be alright. Hurt, yes, but alright.” His eyes lingered on the gaping wound in Dakka’s shoulder before he looked back to Ilya. “In other news, I might have hired that purifier.”

“You… When did you manage that?”

“Just now. She’s getting some clothes with the tailor at the moment.”

Or… something like that. The lesser servant was trying to take measurements but the purifier had started poking and prodding it. Much to the lesser servant’s chagrin. It even tried biting her finger but the purifier just flicked it off. At least nothing was on fire.

Ilya dropped her voice to a hushed whisper, one that even Arkk had to strain to hear. “First the gorgon and now that witch? I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Arkk put on a wide grin. “Ilya, you should know best: I have no idea what I’m doing.”

 

 

The moment Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox placed his weight on his forward foot, the scorched tiles cracked and broke. He didn’t have time to think about the sound before the sudden feeling of tingling hit his stomach as he fell.

It wasn’t a far fall. In the interest of haste, Arkk hadn’t built the pit too deep. The ceiling was low enough that if the tallest of the orcs were just a little taller, their heads would have scraped the ceiling. A small tunnel connected it to one of the more intact rooms of the false fortress, granting him territorial control—he would be able to move his minions about the battlefield in an instant unless that was destroyed—but it was still less than an ideal place to fight.

Vrox landed hard, hitting the ground hip first.

Arkk focused on Vrox’s fist, hoping that the impact had made the inquisitor lose his hold on the marble. If he had dropped it, Arkk could have teleported in, grabbed it himself, and teleported everyone out. Vrox’s fist was closed tight.

Arkk shot a nod at Dakka.

Vrox’s landing didn’t elicit even the slightest cry of pain. Instead, he rolled to one side immediately and without hesitation, as if expecting Dakka’s axe. The inquisitor brought up his legs, avoiding a pinning shot from both Olatt’an and Ilya, and then kicked out, slamming both feet into Farr’an’s shins. As the tall orc staggered, Vrox pushed off the ground and stood upright.

“Electro Deus,” Arkk intoned. Vezta moved aside along with his words, granting him a clear shot. He thrust out his hand just as another form fell from above.

The bolt of blue-white electricity shot out from Arkk’s fingers and slammed into a golden barrier just ahead of Inquisitor Vrox. The bolt glanced off, instead sending Kazz’ak into a shuddering heap on the ground.

With an aside thought, Arkk pulled Kazz’ak out and dropped him off next to Larry. It hadn’t been a powerful bolt of lightning, thankfully. Just one intended to put the inquisitor down long enough for him to lose his grip on the marble. Hopefully, the orc would be alright but Arkk didn’t have time to concern himself with the injury at the moment. He focused on the new arrival.

The shorter, rounder form of the inquisitor’s chronicler stood from his partial crouch. He must have jumped into the pit. The man held one hand around the golden chain around his neck and the other out in front of him. The tips of his fingers were glowing in the same golden light as the barrier that had appeared, leaving little doubt as to where it came from. He shifted his hand, angling the hexagonal barrier to intercept one of Ilya’s arrows.

“Impeccable timing, Chronicler,” Vrox said, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder before stooping to retrieve a pair of thin-framed round glasses that had fallen onto the floor. Giving a puff of breath on each lens, he donned them, frowning when he realized that the frame had bent. As he adjusted it, he peered up at the hole in the ceiling. “Will the purifier be along after you?”

“I don’t believe she noticed our disappearance.”

“Probably for the best. I would rather not be trapped in a confined space with that thing.”

Arkk tensed, unease running down his spine at how casually the inquisitors were handling the situation. The orcs were trying to attack. Greesom simply shifted, pivoting with each attack to move that golden barrier in the way. It must not have weighed anything at all because, despite being large enough to cover both of them, he swung it around fast enough to block two arrows coming almost at the same time from opposite directions. All without apparent concern.

Just in case, he sent a mental command to the lesser servants to collapse the corridor behind the purifier. He barely had a plan to deal with these two. Adding that fire witch to the mix wouldn’t help.

“Well, Mister Arkk, I expected you to pull something devious. I must admit, I am disappointed… Is that a gorgon?”

“The Light protects,” Greesom said, squinting over Arkk’s shoulder. Neither even bothered trying to close their eyes.

Arkk licked his lips, tightening his grip around his only dagger. So much for Khan jumping in with his petrifying gaze to help them. The others would do what they could. Arkk had to focus on what he could do. With that shield able to reflect his attacks, he wasn’t willing to fry his own minions with lightning.

But this was his territory.

“Vezta,” he whispered, “try to get the marble from Vrox.”

“Master…”

Arkk didn’t wait for her protests. Teleporting, Arkk reappeared directly behind Chronicler Greesom. The short man was already turning. He had been turning before Arkk appeared. The golden shield intercepted Arkk’s dagger, stopping it cold. Before Arkk could react, the barrier vanished. Greesom stepped forward, hand now clenched into a fist. Ducking under a swing of Dakka’s axe from behind, his fist started glowing as he struck out a punch.

Arkk teleported himself and Dakka in an instant, shifting her position just a step to the side. Greesom’s fist struck Dakka’s spiked shield, buckling the metal. Better than striking her chest. At the same time, Arkk snapped a hand out.

Vrox grabbed hold of Arkk’s wrist before he could grab Greesom’s necklace. Arkk tried to teleport away again only for his eyes to widen as it felt like he slammed into a brick wall. His eyes snapped to Vrox’s hand around his wrist, instinctively knowing that the inquisitor’s hold over him was what stopped the teleport.

“Mister Arkk—”

A warcry from Rekk’ar cut the inquisitor off. He quickly released Arkk to avoid getting his hand cut off as well.

Arkk swapped himself with Dakka, right as the woman was in the middle of swinging her axe. It should have caught Greesom right in the back of his head but, again, the chronicler was already moving, bringing his hand over his shoulder to form the golden barrier behind his back.

Dark tendrils shot out from behind Rekk’ar, worming around him and lassoing Inquisitor Vrox.

That got the man to cry out. Vezta twisted the wrist of his arm, forcing his fist to open. The ice-like marble rolled off his fingertips.

Greesom pivoted again, swinging his golden shield around in a flash. The edge hit Vezta’s tendrils, slicing straight through them with no resistance. A blood-curdling scream echoed in the chamber, resonating with the high-pitched ping of the marble bouncing off the floor.

A sheet of ice spread out from the marble in a flash, freezing Arkk’s boots to the ground along with those of everyone else caught nearby. A harmonious ping sounded again as a second sheet of ice covered up the first, locking Arkk into place up to his ankles.

Before the marble could strike down against the ground a third time, Ilya came dashing forward, throwing herself into a dive before she slid across the ice with one arm extended. As soon as the marble hit her palm and her fingers closed around it—without turning her arm into a block of ice—Arkk teleported her back to the fortress proper.

He tried to teleport everyone else as well. Several failed.

Arkk couldn’t teleport himself. He couldn’t teleport Dakka, Rekk’ar, or Orjja. Vezta, free tendrils thrashing wildly while the rest of her was locked in ice, was similarly stuck in place. The ice was keeping them captive.

Dakka and Greesom barely seemed to notice. With Greesom’s shield out of place from helping Vrox escape Vezta, she had a clear attack against his side. He had to let go of his necklace for the first time since dropping down the hole. Using his forearm, he managed to bat the haft of Dakka’s axe aside enough for it to miss him. A second movement of his hand forced Dakka off balance, tugging her forward to the point where, locked in place, she couldn’t stop herself from falling. His deflection didn’t come without cost. Arkk heard the sound of bone breaking in his wrist from the initial strike.

Rekk’ar, wielding his halberd, didn’t stop his attack against Vrox either. With Vrox’s legs locked into position, he couldn’t even dodge properly. He did bend out of the way but the halberd’s blade still sliced through his thigh, spilling blood across the sheet of ice. Gritting his teeth in apparent pain, the inquisitor pulled a small ring with a square white stone set in the middle.

Arkk didn’t sit idle as the others moved, though he didn’t contribute directly to the fight. Ripping all the lesser servants through space, he ordered them to eat through the ice around him and his minions. Compared to solid stone, they ate through the ice in an instant. Before the inquisitors could try counterattacking, all of Company Al-Mir were free.

Teleporting everyone to the fortress, Arkk alone stayed behind. He did teleport far away from the inquisitors. Maybe it was foolish, but he still wanted to salvage at least part of his original plan. If possible.

Vrox clapped his hands together, muttered something under his breath that couldn’t have been more than a few words, and then planted his hands down on the ground. The remaining ice locking his feet to the ground erupted into a cloud of steam that rapidly dispersed. As soon as he finished, the inquisitor looked up with no lingering amusement in his eyes. “You fool. That thing will burn everything!”

Arkk frowned, thinking back to his last meeting with the inquisitor. “You control her like you thought I controlled Vezta,” he said slowly, realization dawning. Servant or not, Arkk didn’t control her. But Vrox thought the church could have some Purifier Vezta, or whatever. “I’m not you. Controlling—”

“We must stop Agnete,” Vrox shouted. “Whatever our issues, I know you, Mister Arkk. You defend the people. You must bring the Binding Agent back or that thing will destroy everything around here. You don’t want that.”

“Good that the only thing nearby is a desolate wasteland. Except this fortress. Shame about that, I rather liked this place—”

“Agnete won’t stop at the borders of the Cursed Forest. Your home village, Mister Arkk, is in danger.”

Arkk drummed his fingers against his thigh for a moment before shaking his head. “I’ll handle it on my own. You are too dangerous. Hunting me down like this? I haven’t hurt anyone. Now I’ve got to find somewhere new to live,” he said with the most convincing sigh he could manage, hoping he wasn’t laying it on too thick. “Good luck escaping, Inquisitor. Maybe I’ll let your mercenaries know you need a rope thrown down here.”

“Arkk!”

Teleporting away, Arkk didn’t stick around to listen. Vrox was lying. Or exaggerating. He had to be. Saying that the village was in danger was a ploy to get that marble back. The purifier might be a danger to it but as long as that marble could stop her, he could stop her.

And if it turned out he couldn’t use that marble… Well, it wasn’t like the inquisitors were going anywhere anytime soon. He knew where to find them.

Arkk reappeared in the meeting room and slowly looked over the situation.

He hadn’t kept track of everything that had gone on during that fight. There had been a lot of orcs that had all tried to get their hits in that he had simply glazed over. More than a few were injured. He wasn’t quite sure how. Dakka had a heavy gash from her shoulder to her breast which was bleeding profusely. Her armor, lying on the floor, wasn’t damaged at all. Orjja, Zojja, Klepp’at, and Hakk’ar were injured as well. It wasn’t until Arkk looked over at Olatt’an that a few pieces clicked into place. Olatt’an was nursing several wounds which looked like he had been hit by crossbow bolts.

That golden barrier had reflected his lightning spell at Kazz’ak… but it had reflected more than just magic.

Khan was the prime example. Arkk could feel through the link that the gorgon was still alive but Khan was just a stone statue of a snake at the moment. Hopefully one of the other gorgon could turn him back.

Arkk’s eyes widened upon spotting Ilya. Doubled over, clutching her stomach, she managed to force a smile as she held up the small icy marble. “Feels like I’ve been holding my hand in a bucket of snow for ten minutes,” she said, holding it out for Arkk.

Arkk brushed her hand aside, carefully peeling back the arm pressed to her stomach. “Never mind that,” he said, grinding his teeth at the gash in her side. It looked like she had been struck by an arrow, minus the arrow. “Are you alright?”

“I think so. I was aiming to be debilitating not lethal, as you suggested. I think that affected the severity of our wounds.” Her silver eyes roamed around the room before settling on Dakka. “Didn’t even realize what was happening until my third arrow. Not sure if the orcs realized and attacked anyway or if they just didn’t notice at all.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, looking at Dakka. Normally sporting tan-brown skin, she was looking more of a pasty gray at the moment. Her wounds were by far the worst in the room, having been up in combat far more than any other orc.

“Just sit still for a moment,” Arkk said, quickly intoning the spell for Flesh Weaving. It wasn’t a spell meant for deep or complicated wounds. Or, rather, Arkk had no practice healing deep wounds. Thankfully, Ilya’s arrow punctures were straight and simple that didn’t go as deep as they looked. They still took several minutes to mend with his spell. He didn’t have time to heal everyone while that flame witch was rampaging through the false fortress.

A thought popped into Arkk’s mind. Vezta wasn’t here. She should have been helping treat these injuries. A quick look through the link made him grimace. It was little wonder why she wasn’t present, looking like that. Vezta didn’t strike him as the vainest of people but she had a very specific countenance that she presented to others.

Arkk almost teleported away to speak with her before looking over Khan once again. An idea popped into his mind.

“Zharja,” Arkk said, noticing the illuminating red glow that gleamed off the gorgon’s iridescent scales as he teleported her into the room. “Does petrification cause any harm or lasting problems?”

Zharja blinked and looked around the chaotic room in confusion before her eyes settled back on Arkk. “No? You ssaw thosse at the mine.”

“Can you petrify those with the worst wounds temporarily?” That would give them a chance to render aid slowly on a more individual note. And give him a chance to talk to Vezta.

The black-scaled snake stared with her slit-pupiled black eyes for a long moment. Arkk, though a little nervous about suddenly being petrified himself, didn’t break his eye contact. Eventually, Zharja’s tongue shot out and she nodded her head.

“Wait, what—” Dakka started only to freeze in position, now a solid marble statue of herself. Five others followed, including Rekk’ar. Arkk hoped he wouldn’t catch too much anger from the orc later on.

For now, Arkk forced a small smile. “Thank you. I’ll be back shortly with aid.”

“Arkk!” Ilya snapped before he could teleport away. “If you disappear before taking this damn ball of ice off my hands, my fingers are going to turn black and blue.”

“You could have set it down,” Arkk said, accepting the small marble. As soon as it touched his palm, he grimaced. As far as texture was concerned, it felt like glass. The chill, however, swept through him with a fury.

“And risk sending a sheet of ice over everyone here? I saw what happened in the fight. Just glad my hand isn’t a block of ice.”

“Point,” Arkk said as he quickly slipped it into his pocket. The cold didn’t vanish entirely. It felt like he walked outside on a chill winter’s day. It was still better than holding it directly. “Good job. Catching that was good work. Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah, yeah.” She shoved him away, waving a hand. “Go get people help.”

Arkk didn’t argue, quickly teleporting to the temple. Vezta, noticing his appearance immediately, retreated to the shadows of one of the corners.

“Vezta,” Arkk called out, voice soft.

“Master,” a voice called from the shadows. It was different than normal. Corrupted and reverberating off the surface of the temple’s large pool of silvery water. “[Forgiveness]/[apology in advance]. [Request]|[avoidance]/[go away]|[query]?”

“Vezta, are you alright?”

“[Wounds]/[injury]|[sufficient]|[damage sustained]|[problematic]/[issue]. [Healing factor]/[regeneration]|[failure]. [Cause]/[source]|[PANTHEON]|[traitors].”

“That light shield thing was one of the traitor’s magics? And it’s interfering with your healing?” Arkk asked, nausea rising in the pit of his stomach. He stepped forward. “Are you okay?”

“[Fine]/[dandy]! [Request]|[avoidance]/[go away].”

Arkk took another step forward. “Vezta. I can see everywhere in the fortress and all my minions. I saw what you looked like now. It’s okay. I’m worried about you. Not about what you look like.”

Vezta didn’t respond. The shadows in the corner of the room moved in an unsettling, hostile manner that reminded Arkk of the very first time he laid eyes on Vezta. Several of her burning sun-like eyes peered out at him. He didn’t break eye contact, nor did he back away. He simply offered her his most reassuring smile.

Slowly, Vezta stepped out of the shadows. Except she didn’t look like the Vezta he was used to. Vezta’s body normally looked humanoid. A violet-skinned maiden wearing a long dress and white apron. She kept herself poised no matter the situation. There were signs she wasn’t human—apart from the obvious eyes or occasional tendril. Her body wasn’t fully… set in place. It was more like a congealed mass of slime forcing itself into a humanoid shape.

That humanoid shape wasn’t anywhere to be seen. An amorphous, bubbling mass of boiling flesh covered in gnashing mouths and exploding eyes squirmed across the floor. Thick tendrils, some leaking viscous black ooze, pulled her along. She stopped almost nervously in front of Arkk.

“You don’t have to hide yourself from me,” Arkk said.

“[Witness]/[observation]|[Lesser Servant]|[revulsion]/[disgust]/[gross].”

“True. Initially. I’ve gotten used to them. Most of all, however, they aren’t you. I am worried about you, Vezta.” Arkk paused a moment then asked, “Are you going to be alright? Is there anything I can do?”

“[Time]|[magic]|[required]/[desired]. [HEART]|[provides]/[gives]. [MASTER]|[provides]/[gives].”

Arkk took several steps forward until he was right up next to Vezta. Sitting down and putting his back to the statue of Xel’atriss, Lock and Key, he held up one of his hands. He hoped it didn’t look too disingenuous—his pose wouldn’t have looked out of place if he was trying to entice a puppy over to sit on his lap—but Vezta’s large form settled down. The sharp teeth of her mouths moved away, leaving a mostly clear section of her oily skin to rest his arm on while she… rested her head in his lap. Maybe? She didn’t exactly have a head but that was the impression he got.

“I’ll try pushing some magic into you. If you think that will help.”

Vezta didn’t verbally respond. She didn’t pull away either. So he started, closing his eyes and acting like her body was a ritual circle. Nervous about accidentally making her explode, he started lightly, just barely touching her with his magic. Slowly, he ramped up, pushing more and more into her.

Rather than explode, she seemed to deflate under his arm. Still, she didn’t complain. He continued for a long few minutes until he started to feel less bulbous mass and more thin tendrils of hair-like strands of oil.

He opened his eyes and found Vezta, looking far more human, resting her head against his thigh. Vezta’s eyes were closed as well. All of them, at least all those he could see. They stayed still for another minute before one of the eyes on her shoulder popped open.

Stiffening, Vezta slipped out from under his hand and to a standing position in a motion no human would have been able to manage. She pulled her arms behind her back and bowed. “I apologize for my—”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Arkk said. “Although if you want to make it up to me, several… Vezta. One of your arms is missing.”

Vezta tilted her head aside, glancing down at her right arm. “So it is. Unfortunate. I can still perform my duties, I assure you.”

“Should I try pushing more magic into you?”

“I do not believe it would help. Thank you for your assistance,” she said with another bow. “Do not worry. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Master, you were telling me how I could make up this generous donation of your magic.”

Arkk pressed his lips together. “We’re going to talk about this later,” he said, tone leaving no room for argument. “But this is important. Are you in a position to help heal others or do I need to kidnap Abbess Keena?”

“I can assist.”

“Good. Ilya and several of the orcs were injured in the fight. I patched up Ilya with Flesh Weaving but there are others who could use your ministrations. The worst of the orcs have been petrified by one of the gorgon until we have time to help them.”

“Understood. If you would please transport me to the worst of them, I will get started immediately.”

Arkk wasn’t sure who had it the worst at the moment. Instead, he sent her to Ilya. They could figure out where to go from there.

He didn’t go back with her. Standing with a sigh, he placed a hand over his pocket, feeling the chill against his hip.

“Time to go confront a raging fire monster,” he said with a mild sigh.

Hopefully, this ice marble worked.

 

 

“Inquisitors incoming.”

“Good. Maybe.” Arkk took a deep, shuddering breath as he leaned toward the crystal ball. “Dakka?”

The orc snorted. “Hope these guys put up a better fight than the last group. I was looking forward to knocking some heads.”

Arkk teleported Dakka and her team back to the false fortress. It would be a bit strange for them to simply return to training after being ‘invaded’ so, this time around, they were going to be ‘patrolling’ the halls. Several more orcs were ready and waiting in reserve for when Dakka’s team made their tactical retreat.

After some consideration, Arkk had decided to take Rekk’ar’s advice and make use of the orcs he had rather than throwing himself into the deep end of things on his own.

The goal was to draw the inquisitors toward the false [HEART], falling back in a losing battle the entire way. It was a delicate operation. They had to put up a fight to keep the inquisitors from being suspicious without putting up so much of a fight that the inquisitors ended up retreating and returning another day with reinforcements.

“Zullie, are you ready?”

“Beyond ready,” the witch said, eagerly peering into her own crystal ball. “I hope that purifier uses her flames against the door. I’ve always wanted to study their magic but purifiers are rare and exclusively under the church’s control.”

It had taken a few hours for the mercenaries to find the inquisitors and then another few to return. At that time, Arkk had asked John and Perr’ok to repair the false door in the entryway of the false fortress. It wasn’t quite as sturdy as the original, having been a rush job, but it should prove a big enough inconvenience that they would once again use magic to blast it down.

The inquisitors and their magic were the biggest unknowns and, therefore, the biggest danger. Forcing them to use magic in a safe and controlled environment would give them time to come up with countermeasures. Or rather, give Zullie time to come up with countermeasures. Arkk held out little hope that anything would be ready in time for this battle now but should he cross paths with the inquisitors in the future, Arkk really didn’t want to fight fire that could burn even water without protection.

At the moment, the plan was to evacuate Dakka and the other orcs the moment they came into danger. For burn injuries, they would be relying on Vezta. It wasn’t something she had a lot of experience in but Vezta claimed that she could tend to most mild burns about as well as she could tend to cuts. Apparently, in her day, warlocks were capable of performing magic that rejuvenated and healed in only a few words. It came as a surprise to her that Zullie knew nothing about healing magic.

The idea that spellcasters had known healing magic was something Zullie found similarly ridiculous. Healing magic—proper healing—was a miracle, not magic. Arkk was a bit skeptical as well given that all the healing magic he knew of came from the Light via people like Abbess Keena. Even assuming the warlocks of Vezta’s time had been able to cast such magics, Arkk figured the traitorous Light trinity would have done something to strip those powers from people who weren’t of their church.

Shoving his thoughts aside, Arkk watched the three inquisitors descend the hidden staircase and approach the false door. Darius Vrox took the lead, moving casually as if he expected little in the way of danger. He kept his hands dangling at his sides, nowhere near the short sword he carried on his hip.

The chronicler, Douglas Greesom if Arkk remembered correctly, followed after Vrox. Like Vrox, Greesom didn’t wield any weapon. The short man didn’t even have a sword. Instead, he had a small note tablet in which he was almost constantly writing. Chronicler of everything, apparently.

Purifier Agnete followed along at the rear, being the last in the group. She moved with a rigid stiffness but, unlike the last few times Arkk saw the woman, she had developed an excited twitch in her fingers. The scars and lines on her face weren’t just faintly glowing anymore either. They burned. Her eyes, rather than merely having a bright light amid her dark pupils, were blazing with a heat haze hanging over her vision.

She was gearing up for a fight.

Arkk nervously tapped his fingers against the table, wondering if he shouldn’t get Dakka out of there immediately and hope that the inquisitors thought the mercenaries had frightened everyone out of the fortress.

The mercenaries, gathered around their horse and sitting dejectedly upon a stump, had been told to stay up on the surface.

After a few minutes of inspecting the door, Vrox and the chronicler headed back up the stairs, leaving the purifier at the bottom.

“This is it,” Zullie said with a wide grin.

Red-white flames erupted around the purifier’s arms, wrapping around her body before exploding outward, setting everything on fire. Not just the door but the stone tiles and walls and even the purifier’s own clothes. The black uniform burned away in an instant, revealing the purifier’s facial scars extended across her entire body. The door collapsed into ashes, having withstood the heat only moments longer than the cloth. The metal fasteners holding it to the wall began glowing a bright red before warping and melting.

Path clear, the purifier stepped forward. Her bare feet left foot-shaped indentations of molten rock in her wake.

Two of Dakka’s black-armored orcs stood just down the corridor. They barely had time to gather their wits before the purifier swept an arm forward.

A wave of flames careened down the hall, setting the walls, ceiling, and floor alight.

“Arkk!” Rekk’ar shouted.

Arkk ripped the two orcs out of there before Rekk’ar could finish his single word, dropping them into the meeting room just a little too slowly.

An insidious heat filled the room along with pained and panicked screaming. The heat wave was hot enough that it felt like Arkk had thrown himself into a blacksmith’s forge.

Zullie was on her feet instantly, rattling off an impossibly long incantation in a mere few seconds while Ilya took off her cloak and tried to get closer to the burning armor of the orc. Tried. The heat kept her at bay until Zullie’s incantation finished and a frosty fog flooded out from her hands.

Although Zullie said that the flames could burn water, their power must have lessened outside the presence of the purifier.

Ilya moved forward once again, using her cloak to protect herself from the lingering heat on the metal armor as she worked to pry it off the orc. Rekk’ar moved up and joined her, not bothering with anything beyond his thin leather gloves.

Arkk, not needing a crystal ball to observe the goings on of the fortress, quickly realized that the part of the fortress where the purifier was standing wasn’t his fortress anymore. The purifier had broken the claim he held over the territory. Whether that was an aspect of her fire magic or a result of her destroying the tiles she was stepping on was a question he would have to ask Vezta later.

For now, he teleported the remaining orcs, bringing them straight to the meeting room.

“You know, being jerked back and forth…” Dakka trailed off as she realized just what was going on. “Holy Light… What—”

“Later. We aren’t fighting that thing. Vezta—”

“I apologize, Master. My method of healing will do little for him. Those flames are not natural fire.”

“I noticed,” Arkk hissed.

“You…” Zullie panted, letting her arms drop. The chill fog dispersed over a few seconds while she caught her breath. “You recognize it?”

“Quite so. That woman has been chosen as an avatar by the Burning Forge.”

“Let me guess, one of your Pantheon?” Arkk groaned, staring back into the crystal ball. It irked him that he had to use it. This was supposed to be his territory. The fact that his claim was being destroyed grated on him deep within in a way that he couldn’t fully articulate. “That isn’t one of the traitor’s names. Are there more you don’t know about?”

“I am… unsure,” Vezta admitted. “Its presence is perplexing, I assure you.”

“Who is the Burning Forge?” Arkk asked, watching as the purifier continued advancing, seemingly not having noticed the sudden disappearance of the orcs.

“The Burning Forge is the patron of heat, fire, craftsmanship, manufacturing, automation, and creativity.”

“I’m only noticing the first two traits on display here,” Arkk said through pursed lips. He flicked his eyes up from the crystal ball. The orc who had been hit by the flames was still alive. The fire had swept up his legs, thankfully hitting the armor first. That might have saved his legs from being completely burned off but the armor itself had melted to his skin.

It smelled like a particularly burned roast in the meeting room at the moment.

“Do you know how we counter it?”

“I do not,” Vezta said. She then pointed at her crystal ball, which was not focused on the purifier. “They might.”

Darius Vrox and Chronicler Greesom were advancing into the false fortress, following in the wake of the purifier. The flames, still burning the stone and the walls, faded just a step ahead of him. Or rather, they faded just ahead of a small marble he held out. It looked glassy and crystalline. Like a small sphere of ice.

It also floated just above his palm.

Arkk drummed his fingers on the table, trying not to be distracted by the others in the room helping the fallen orc. There wasn’t anything he could do for him at the moment. The only healing spell he knew wasn’t designed for healing. Flesh Weaving required flesh, not charcoal.

“The purifier has destroyed my territory. Otherwise, I would just teleport in behind them, blast them with lightning bolts, and take that marble thing.”

“Forgive me for asking, Master, but is this not what you wanted? They’ll march through, destroy the fake [HEART], and presumably leave afterward.”

“True,” Arkk said. Then he frowned. “If they realize we tricked them, they’ll be back. As it stands, I don’t think we can fight that purifier.” Turning, Arkk locked eyes with Vezta. “I presume you aren’t willing to leave Fortress Al-Mir?”

Vezta went utterly still, not even twitching.

“I didn’t think so. I’m not either. Strange as it might sound, this place has grown on me. I don’t think I could abandon it.”

“You cannot,” Vezta said. “The [HEART] is your heart. You cannot abandon it.”

Arkk blinked once before his eyes widened in sudden realization. “If it is destroyed… I die?”

“I believe I have said the [HEART] is your heart before.”

The phrasing did sound vaguely familiar. She had said that once or twice. Still, Arkk felt a sudden tension clench in his chest that he hadn’t felt before. “You could have communicated that a little more clearly,” he hissed, noting the flood of red light that was emanating from his eyes. “We’ll talk later. For now…” Taking a breath, Arkk spoke louder, addressing the chaotic room. “New objective, acquire that marble. If it is our protection against that fire magic, we can’t let it get away while it is so close. Next time, they might send the purifier alone and then we’ll all be screwed.”

Him especially because it sounded like he couldn’t just run.

“Any suggestions?”

The meeting room was fully staffed at the moment. More than fully staffed with the addition of Dakka’s team. Ilya and Rekk’ar were still helping the downed orc—Katt’am—who might have passed out from the pain. The employee link was still there, so he was alive. Olatt’an hadn’t gotten up when the orcs appeared, choosing to simply observe passively through Vezta’s crystal ball. Zullie was only just sitting back down, still looking spent. Khan was the only other in the room, coiled at the far end of the table and casually watching the goings on. Arkk wasn’t sure what the serpent was thinking at the moment. He couldn’t even pretend to read the gorgon’s expressions and, so far, he hadn’t said anything.

Those in a position to look at him were doing so like he was insane.

Maybe he was. The others didn’t have quite as perfect of a map of the false fortress as he did—because it was literally part of him, apparently—but they could still see the crystal balls. While the inquisitors were extinguishing flames directly in their path, they weren’t doing anything to the flames that burned down the side corridors or rooms. Even if he waited for them to pass by one of the intact areas, he would still have a wall of that cursed fire between him and that ice marble.

Ilya was the one to look up and speak. “Do what you did to the orc chieftain. Send your servants to dig a pit along their path and have them take out the floor as Vrox passes over it.”

“Possible,” Arkk said, rubbing at some of the scruff on his chin. Teleporting the lesser servants nearby, he sent a few mental commands, having them dig out a small pit as Ilya suggested. “I’d have to enter into close quarters with them. We still don’t know what Vrox or that chronicler are capable of. Not to mention we don’t know how quickly the purifier will notice that her friends are in trouble.”

Olatt’an interlaced his fingers as he set his elbows on the table. “Is there time to make the pit large enough to hold a contingent of orcs? Dakka’s contingent of orcs plus our battle ready should be able to overwhelm the inquisitors unless they have similar flames.”

“It is doubtful they do,” Vezta said. “Avatars are rare. I would be surprised if there was more than one for each of the [PANTHEON] at any given moment in time.”

“Purifiers are well known,” Zullie said. “Plural. Not saying they’re common but—”

“It doesn’t matter whether there are more outside here or not,” Arkk said, ordering the servants to create a constrained yet large fighting arena. It was a rush job but the magic of the fortress wouldn’t let it collapse on top of them. “Vrox and Greesom aren’t purifiers. They don’t have glowing scars and eyes.”

Zullie dipped her head, acknowledging the point.

“Anyone else?”

“Yeah, uh…” Dakka, helmet under her arm, shot a glance down at her downed comrade. “If that fire bitch turns around—”

“We’ll be gone before we can blink.”

“Good. Not too interested in experiencing that.”

Arkk looked at the crystal balls. The purifier was making slow progress despite there being absolutely no resistance to her advance. She wasn’t in the slightest hurry to get through the fortress. In retrospect, he should have filled the place with traps as Vezta had suggested. Though they might have fallen to ash before they could do anything. Too late now.

“I’m constructing an area to fight in shortly before the false heart chamber. A servant will eat the floor just as Vrox steps over it. We’ll be ready at the bottom. If somebody, anybody, grabs that marble, alert me immediately through the link. We don’t know what kind of abilities Vrox has so be on your guard. Any questions?”

He deliberately glanced at Khan. With the gorgon’s power, Vrox would have been stoned the moment he looked up from his fall. Then again, Vrox might realize and close his eyes before Khan could work his petrification magic. That alone would have been a victory… It just felt too easy.

His position felt precarious. Like balancing on the tip of a needle.

The gorgon didn’t speak and Arkk didn’t want to leave his gaze on the creature for long, so he broke eye contact and swept his eyes over the rest of the room. It was a quick, haphazard plan. He could already hear the chewing-out Rekk’ar would surely give him later for not having planned for something like this. Still, it was the best they had on short notice.

Very short notice.

“Unless they pick up the pace, Vrox will be over the pit in about two minutes. Everyone who can grab your gear.”

The room burst into motion. Rekk’ar and Olatt’an had to grab their weapons, as did Ilya. Dakka barked out a few orders to those of her troupe that were still standing. Arkk waited just a moment before teleporting them and the reserve force of orcs into the still-under-construction pit. Dakka could explain.

Looking down at the injured orc, Arkk grimaced. Rather than just leave him here, Arkk teleported Larry straight out of the kitchens. The butcher, holding a large knife, swung it down like he was expecting a chicken to be in front of him. Instead, it slammed down on the meeting room table.

The overweight orc blinked and looked around.

“Uh…”

“Larry, I know it isn’t your job,” Arkk said, “but we’re in a bit of an emergency. Can you help him?”

“What? I—Oh, shit. He try dancing on a charbroiler?”

“Something like that,” Arkk grumbled. “If you can’t do anything for him, just make him comfortable. We’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Sure, I guess I can. I… Okay.” Larry took in a deep breath, wiped his hands on his apron, and then knelt down. It was a bit awkward watching him bend over—he had only put on more weight since coming to the fortress—but Arkk didn’t have time to stick around and talk more.

Arkk teleported away along with the other members of his council—including Khan.

Arkk held his breath and glanced down at a crystal ball that popped into his hands. Three of the lesser servants were clinging to the ceiling, waiting for his command. Every other servant he had available was digging at the walls, enlarging the area to make room for the potential fight.

“Get ready, everyone,” Arkk said, watching as the purifier crossed over the servants. “Primary objective is the marble. We don’t want to kill him, if possible,” he added, still holding out hope that his original plan wasn’t a complete loss, “but do it if necessary.”

Ilya nocked her bow while Olatt’an cranked back his crossbow. Vezta repositioned in front of Arkk, ready to intercept anything coming his way. Dakka and her orcs slowly started to spread out around the hole in the ceiling of the room.

“Ready,” Arkk said, holding up a finger as he watched Vrox unknowingly approach the pitfall. “Ready…”

“Now!”

 

 

“Status report,” Arkk said as soon as he teleported into the meeting room.

The previous day’s outing had been a welcome distraction, enlightening, and worrisome all at the same time. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—he had other, more pressing matters to attend to now. Namely, the possible invasion of Fortress Al-Mir.

Vezta had called him, tugging on their link, shortly after daybreak. He would have figured that this was too early for anyone to arrive, not having expected them until noon, and yet Arkk recognized some of the landscape displayed on the crystal ball in front of Vezta. Particularly, one of the dead husks of a petrified tree wasn’t far from the fake ruins he had scattered around on the surface.

Without looking up from the crystal ball, Vezta managed to make eye contact. “It appears as if some of our guests got an early start this morning. They just stumbled over some of the bricks you left lying about.”

“I planted the bricks,” Arkk said idly. “Leaving them about makes it sound like I made a mess and didn’t clean it up.”

Vezta didn’t comment.

“There is an entrance hidden not far from where they are,” Arkk said, leaning into the crystal ball. “Think they’ll find it?”

“They definitely noticed the bricks. Before now, they were mostly meandering. Now they’re actually searching.”

Arkk looked over the group. Four people on foot. One on a horse. Judging by their attire, which was made up of well-made gambesons and well-fitting trousers, and their weapons which looked professionally made, this was one of the mercenary teams. The horse had an especially fancy caparison draped over it, colored white and red with little tent-like symbols patterned over it. That was the biggest tell. The caparison was for pure prestige. It wasn’t practical to fight in and it wasn’t even really practical to search a wasteland in.

Honestly, Arkk wasn’t sure what it was for. Parading about and showing off, he supposed. They probably had it on now to show off to any other mercenary groups who showed up. Or perhaps as an advertisement, passing through various villages on the way here who might have needed help.

“From what I learned in town yesterday, the inquisitors warned everyone that the ruins would likely be infested with dangerous monsters. They didn’t mention you or even a creature from ‘beyond the stars’ or whatever, just that the teams were to report anything they found immediately rather than try to investigate on their own.”

“The horse hasn’t run off yet,” Vezta said.

Arkk nodded. Maybe they didn’t consider a few crumbled bricks to be anything worth mentioning. “I’ll make sure Dakka and her team are ready, just in case. If they find the entrance or leave the area, let me know immediately.”

“Of course, Master.”

Arkk disappeared before she even finished bowing in his direction.

Unlike his normal efforts to avoid disturbing his employees, where Arkk would appear out of sight and then walk to them, Arkk now teleported directly into the meal hall. Dakka sat at one of the long tables along with a few other orcs, all still eating their breakfasts.

Despite ostensibly being a mercenary company, Fortress Al-Mir was lax in discipline. People ate when they wanted, woke when they wanted, trained how and when they wanted, and otherwise went about their own business. As long as the teams he sent out to handle wolf culling or whatever other jobs he decided to accept actually did their jobs, he didn’t care much how they went about it. Aside from Rekk’ar’s frequent issues about avoiding suicide missions, Arkk hadn’t heard any complaints. He knew that orcs, or at least these orcs, took pride enough in their martial abilities to not fall into lazy habits.

From their perspectives, they probably felt they had a decent job. He paid them a gold coin a month. There weren’t many places to spend that money save for when they went out on their jobs. Still, a year of working for him would let them retire in relative wealth.

In times like this, however, Arkk wondered if he was being a bit too lax. They looked slovenly, hunched over, barely awake. They had probably been drinking all evening despite knowing they might be needed today.

Even Dakka looked sluggish in getting to her feet.

“Arkk,” she said, clearly putting effort into looking more alert than she actually was.

Arkk looked over her and the four she was sitting with. “How soon can you be ready?”

Dakka glanced between her fellow orcs. Katt’am, Orjja, and Farr’an. Two others were part of her team for this but neither were present in the meal hall. Arkk hoped they were getting ready and weren’t passed out somewhere.

Nevertheless, Dakka looked him directly in the eye and said, “Ten minutes.”

Arkk was tempted to say that she only had five minutes but refrained. “Ten minutes,” he said instead, letting her have the time she said she needed.

“Do we have intruders?”

“Not yet but a small group is close by. I want you on standby just in case.”

“We’ll be ready!” Dakka said, slamming a fist into her chest.

Arkk hoped so. He still made a mental note to warn the orcs against excessive drinking the night before an operation… especially because they were supposed to have been on standby the day before as well.

Feeling a tug, Arkk teleported back to the meeting room. He looked at Vezta in mild confusion only to realize that it hadn’t been her calling for his attention. Teleporting away without a word, Arkk reappeared in front of Zharja, the gorgon with the iridescent black scales. She wasn’t in the gorgon section of the fortress but was actually in the library. Yet Zharja hadn’t been the one to call him here either.

Turning, Arkk frowned at the stone statue of Savren and then at Zullie, who was seated at a desk casually reading one of Savren’s books on mind magics.

Arkk let out a long sigh as he felt another tug, this time actually from Vezta. “Now really isn’t the time,” he said before teleporting back to Vezta.

They could figure that out on their own. For now…

“Problems?”

“They found the entrance.”

“Already?” Arkk grimaced as he peeked in on Dakka and her team. They were still armoring up.

“You did leave footprints leading toward it. Once they started searching the area, it didn’t take long for them to realize that some of the footprints weren’t their own. Maybe some peasants would have missed it but this team knows what they are doing.” She paused and then added, “They still haven’t sent away their horseman to fetch the inquisitors. The rider dismounted and leashed the horse to one of the dead trees.”

“They’re going to investigate without informing the inquisitors.”

“Shall I interdict, Master?”

Arkk frowned and slowly shook his head. “Dakka will be ready in a few minutes. Unless they rush through, they won’t get very far before she can intercept. I would rather have the team report orcs over you when they run away.”

“The inquisitors are already aware of my presence.”

“Yes but only in a general sense. You were last seen not far from Hope’s Rest, which is pretty much on the other side of the Duchy. I was seen there too. If the inquisitors destroy the fake fortress without realizing we’re present… well, I don’t know what then but it seems like a surprise we should keep secret as long as possible.”

“If you’re sure, Master… It appears as if they are stumped by your door.”

“Oh?” Arkk smiled, sitting next to Vezta to look into the crystal ball.

A short staircase led down to the fairly shallow fortress. It was much closer to the surface than Fortress Al-Mir proper was. A few parts of it even poked out above the layer of crusty dirt, though they were fairly well disguised as Arkk didn’t want to be too conspicuous. Following the staircase down, however, led the intruders to a large wooden door. At least, it looked like a door. It was fully fastened into place and not designed to move.

One of the mercenaries had pulled out several metal rods that he then stuck into the locking mechanism. Which didn’t function. He could try fiddling with the lock as much as he wanted and the door would never open. Arkk had intended for it to be broken down, hopefully by the inquisitors using their magic so that he might be able to see what kind of magic they used.

Sure enough, the one picking the lock gave up after a few minutes. His friends admonished him, one even going so far as to swat him on the back of the head. After, they all started arguing with several making gestures toward the door.

In a pique of curiosity, Arkk teleported out of the meeting room and reappeared on the other side of the door. The seal wasn’t perfect on it which was good for him at the moment. It meant he could hear.

“—good thing! I wanted to tell the inquisitors.”

“We will. After we get first pick of the loot. Think we can knock it down?”

Arkk jerked back as something heavy slammed into the opposite side of the door. After two extra thumps, the pounding stopped.

“Seems sturdy. Maybe if we had some tools.”

“Quit that! What if something heard you?”

“Like what? I asked around town. Lots of scary rumors about this so-called Cursed Forest but listen to the facts, not the superstition, and you realize nothing lives out here. No plants, no animals, certainly no monsters or the surrounding villages would be ravaged. There would be rumors of things attacking and yet there is nothing of the sort.”

“Inquisitors don’t investigate places like this for no reason.”

“Yeah, well, they—”

“This door is wood,” a new voice cut in.

The statement got a few hearty scoffs. “We have eyes, Frank.”

“Yes, but wood rots. This door isn’t rotten at all. If this place had been sitting around for hundreds of years, there shouldn’t be anything left of this door.”

A long moment of silence stretched thin as the mercenaries quickly realized that there was someone out here.

“The inquisitors said there was a monster out here. What kind of monster puts up a door?”

“The worst monster of all. Human. Or demihuman.”

“Bah. That just means it is an easily defeated monster. You know what else wood does? It burns.”

Letting out a sigh, Arkk teleported back to the meeting room just in time to watch Dakka march inside. The shortest orc looked much more alert now than she had a few minutes ago. His appearance made her stiffen, straightening her shoulders and neck. She wore her new armor. Orcs, having fairly tough bodies, generally only covered their chests with armor and left their arms bare. Not today. Dakka looked like a proper knight of the realm.

Except, while the silhouette was right, her armor wasn’t a shining silver color. Arkk wasn’t sure where she had dug up whatever she had used as paint but the silver was tarnished and blackened with angry red lines jagged across the breastplate. Combined with the ominous spikes on her shoulders and arms that the orcs had insisted on despite Arkk’s complaints, she presented an imposing look. Once she donned the spiked helmet that she held under her arm, it was doubtful that anyone would realize she was an orc.

“Sir.”

Arkk gave her a nod before looking back down to the crystal ball. One of the mercenaries pulled out a thin book and started flipping through the pages. Upon finding what he was looking for, he began a fairly lengthy spell. A ball of fire splashed against the door a moment later and a ding of a warning bell sounded in the back of Arkk’s mind at someone attacking his home. It didn’t set the door ablaze but, after three more balls of fire, some parts did start smoldering. They would get through sooner or later if they kept that up.

Judging by how winded the caster was, it might be much later. He probably wasn’t a very high-caliber spellcaster. That book probably wasn’t that valuable either.

“These are our current targets,” Arkk said, holding up the crystal ball for Dakka to see. “Five men. One seems capable of magic but not that capable. The rest look like average warriors.”

“We can handle that,” Dakka said, cracking her knuckles. “Easy.”

“I’m not going to hamstring you by telling you to go light on them but we do want them to run away and tell the inquisitors.”

“Frighten them off rather than kill them. Understood.”

“Good.” Arkk lowered the crystal ball. “Are the rest of your team ready?”

“Should be. If they’re not, it is their own fault.”

“Good. I’ll move you all to the false training room. Feel free to get warmed up there until the mercenaries show then dispatch them however you see fit. Remind your team that I can evacuate you at a moment’s notice.”

“None of us would run from battle.”

“You aren’t going to have a choice,” Arkk said, motioning to the crystal ball. “I’ll be watching.”

Dakka curled her lips in distaste. “Whatever. You won’t have to evacuate me,” she said with bared tusks. “Enjoy the show.”

Arkk teleported Dakka without another word, sending her and the other orcs into the false fortress. The training room was a large chamber with several wooden facsimiles of people holding wooden swords and shields, not too far from the burning door. The orcs, after getting over their initial disorientation from being relocated, happily began beating down the mannequins with their very real weapons. Arkk was quite pleased to note that all of them had, indeed, been ready. Or, at least, they had their weapons and armor equipped.

“Think they’ll do well?” Arkk asked.

Vezta simply gestured to the crystal ball. “The mercenaries are not equipped to fight a protracted battle. They are geared lightly for travel. Even fully drunk and naked, I imagine the orcs would still have the edge.”

Arkk sat down next to Vezta, clasping his hands together as the weakened door fell inwards after a few hearty blows from the mace-wielding mercenary. With them now stepping into his domain, Arkk didn’t need the crystal ball to keep track of them. He could see every part of Fortress Al-Mir, including the false fortress, with little more than a thought. The warning bells of intruders violating his sanctuary started going off in his mind.

“Honestly,” Vezta said, angling her upper body to face Arkk, “their armor makes them look remarkably similar to the Dark Knights of old. A band of mercenaries ten strong would balk at even a single Dark Knight. If these people have any sense about them, they’ll run the moment they catch sight of the orcs.”

“Dark Knights?”

“An Underworldian order of martial combatants. Considered the elite among the elite. They appeared human but… weren’t. Not quite. They valued strength and power above all and were a bit annoying with how upset they got if they couldn’t fight for more than a few days.” Vezta hummed, changing the view of the crystal ball to the training room. She watched a few minutes, observing the way Dakka slammed her axe down on one of the mannequins, dismembering an arm and a leg in one swift blow. “I wonder if these orcs are somehow descended from remnants of them.”

“You said orcs didn’t exist in your time?”

“Not as far as I’m aware. Their physical appearance drastically differs but who knows what chaos the Calamity wrought.”

“Undoing the Calamity won’t… I don’t know, change them back or anything, will it?”

“It is just speculation. And, as I have said in the past, I wouldn’t expect such drastic changes. At least not immediately. Perhaps there is some magical link that was severed that turned the Dark Knights into the orcs of today but expecting them to suddenly change forms is a bit much for such unmalleable creatures. If this speculation has more to it than idle thoughts, perhaps future generations might see change.

“The primary evidences you should look for upon completion of our ritual would be a massive increase in magical capacity for any capable spellcaster as the source of all magic stems from the [PANTHEON]. At the moment, only three of the [PANTHEON] are capable of providing magic to this world, leading to the decline in magic-sensitive species, lesser power for those casters, and weakened artifacts such as the [HEART] of Fortress Al-Mir.”

“I see. Well…” Arkk trailed off, noticing the mercenaries slowing as they walked down the long entrance corridor of the false fortress. He still couldn’t hear them but he could watch them bicker among themselves once again. “Looks like our intruders have noticed the sounds of the training room. Wonder if they’ll be brave enough to… Oh, there they go.”

The five mercenaries slammed their fists into open palms three times, making shapes with their hand with each thrust, before one of them visibly groaned. Shuddering, he readied his sword and slowly approached the training room door.

This one was an actual door and was designed to open for anyone. It took a force of effort rather than the automatic doors that existed around the main fortress area. As such, the mercenary was able to pull it open just a crack.

From experience, Arkk knew that door creaked when it opened. A loud and high-pitched noise that grated on the ears. Watching the mercenary’s face made him laugh. Doubly so once the orcs in the training room paused their mock fights and all slowly turned to face the door.

As slowly as he opened it, the mercenary closed the door once again. Once it clicked shut, the man stepped back, turned, and started running. He ran straight past the other mercenaries despite their obvious protests. They shouted after him right up until the fully armored orcs stepped out into the hall, weapons at the ready.

“Well,” Arkk said with a sigh. “I kind of expected some kind of a fight. Dakka is going to be disappointed.”

“It is for the best,” Vezta said, smiling as she watched the mercenaries flee in the crystal ball. “Conserve their strength for when the inquisitors arrive. I imagine they will be arriving sooner rather than later.”

“True.”

“I still think we should slaughter them. Collapse the entire ruined wing of Fortress Al-Mir on top of their heads.”

Arkk shook his head. “That’s the backup plan.”

“Understood, Master. Are you fully prepared?”

“As much as I’m able, I think. We just have to trick them and ‘escape’. What could go wrong?”

Vezta looked over with a sorry frown on her face. “My former master was not fond of such statements.”

“We’ve planned a lot,” Arkk said, trying to fight down his own nervousness at the situation. “We’ll be fine.”

“Oh dear.”