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Magic was exhausting. At least for normal people. Arkk had yet to come across a situation that had drained him to the point where he had to take a seat. He owed that to Fortress Al-Mir, however. Most people didn’t have a direct connection to an ancient magical artifact that acted like a reservoir, pooling the combined magic of everyone in his employ and the very land that he claimed as his own.

To maintain an active siege—or a defense—for anyone else, they would have to rotate out their spellcasters on a fairly regular basis. Large spells capable of destroying walls or ballistae were often multi-person castings. Rituals not too different from what Zullie, Vezta, and Savren were finalizing back home. Though, with a different aim.

For that reason, active magical bombardment over any length of time required the use of hundreds of spellcasters. Not exactly a feasible option most of the time. Spellcasters weren’t rare but quality spellcasters were. That was why normal armies still used siege engines such as trebuchets, catapults, and siege towers. Assuming they didn’t just have their army encircle wherever they were sieging until the food supplies ran low and the besieged were forced to surrender or starve.

What Evestani lacked in mechanical siege engines—left behind to swiftly move across the Duchy—they more than made up for in terms of spellcasters.

Elmshadow’s walls shook and the soldiers trembled as another stone the size of a small house fell from the sky and shattered against the protective dome. The ritual circle concocted by Hawkwood’s spellcasters flickered with the impact and, shortly after, the ground rumbled as bits of the boulder rolled off the dome and struck the earth outside the wall. One of the three casters around Arkk sagged, letting out a long groan before some of Hawkwood’s men dragged him away. A young woman that Arkk recognized from a few hours ago, already looking haggard, replaced him. Margarete, if Arkk remembered her name right.

Arkk stood at the anchor position. The same spot he would assume during Fortress Al-Mir’s ritual. It was the most magically intensive spot yet, six hours after taking it up, Arkk barely felt a faint sheen of sweat touching his brow. For all he knew, that sweat came from the way Agnete stared at him from the sidelines, still hidden in White Company’s armor. Any exhaustion he felt was purely physical, a product of having to stand around in one spot for several hours.

Even if he was fine, he couldn’t run the ritual on his own. Hawkwood was running out of fresh spellcasters and having to use people who weren’t fully recovered.

“Hawkwood,” Arkk called out. “We’re running out of time here!”

Above, standing on the wall, Hawkwood shouted back. “With that last one, I believe we’ve pinpointed where they’re casting from. Get up here. Kelsey, take his spot!”

A young man, younger even than Arkk, looked up with heavy eyes. He was a capable spellcaster, one that was easily on par with Zullie or Savren, but he had been inside the ritual circle three times as much as anyone else. Arkk watched his sluggish movements as he stood from where he had been resting. He was about to object—Agnete could take the spot—but didn’t get a chance before Astra’s stern voice called down.

“Hold. Allow us. Chronicler.”

Arkk pursed his lips as the gaunt Chronicler Qwol looked to his superior, frowned, and then slowly headed toward the stairs. Compared to Greesom, who had fought with agility and gusto despite his heavier frame, Chronicler Qwol didn’t look like he could fight a twig, let alone an orc. Even the way he took the stairs down from the wall was akin to an elderly man who had forgotten his cane.

As he approached the protective ritual circle, Arkk looked into his sunken dark eyes and couldn’t help but ask, “Are you okay taking over?”

The man licked his dry lips, eyes meeting with Arkk’s for a short moment before he shuffled into the ritual circle. “As long as you lasted? No. But I shall suffice for now.”

Arkk frowned, watching a moment as he took the spot Arkk had been keeping. Looking up, Arkk found the faint glowing embers within the steel helmet off to the side. He gave a brief nod of his head. The glow intensified ever so slightly as Agnete nodded back. With that, Arkk turned for the stairs leading up to the wall.

He hoped Agnete understood what he meant by that. He felt like it was pretty obvious. If that chronicler did anything to sabotage the ritual, she was to take him out and take his position as fast as possible. Hopefully before any golden arrows or house-sized magical boulders dropped on Elmshadow.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Arkk looked out over the snow-covered fields. He no longer required a spyglass to see the Evestani army. Hawkwood’s archers kept them from approaching too close but it was still daunting to look out over the sea of people so close. He had thought the goblins attacking Langleey had been bad. Or the monsters assailing Darkwood. While this group lacked the ability to climb or jump atop the wall—they were all human—the scale of the army was simply on a different level.

He couldn’t help but feel like he was out of his depth once again. Just as he had been getting used to being a mercenary leader and had been making plans to expand—mostly to protect himself and Fortress Al-Mir—this came along to show him that things could always get worse.

Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra stood with her hands on her hips, stance wide, as she looked out over the wall. To her side, the maniacal-eyed purifier brought up his hands in front of his eyes, one hand upside down. He drew his fingers apart like he was framing the army, except a black void sprung up between his thumbs and index fingers.

Out in the distance, another sphere of inverted colors spread out. With a disjointed giggle and a snap of his fingers, the sphere collapsed. It didn’t quite reach the invading army but it did keep a small group who had been getting brave from approaching any further.

Hawkwood shot the two inquisitors a look before meeting Arkk’s eyes and shaking his head. “Sorry to put you in that position.”

“I’m fine,” Arkk said.

“Indeed?” Astra asked. “Quite the constitution you have.”

“That’s about my only redeeming quality,” Arkk shot back, wondering if he should have played up being exhausted. He had been too concerned with powering the ritual circle, keeping people alive to worry about that. Too late now. “You found their casters?”

“The majority of their force is stationed in a protective ring in roughly the center of the army. That is just a decoy, however. The bombardment rituals are being conducted just off to the side, currently in the shadow of the right mountain,” Hawkwood said, though he didn’t point or even look in the direction. He just handed over the spyglass. “Don’t be too obvious about looking. We would rather not have them move before we’re ready to strike.”

Arkk focused on the main encampment of the army, the area Hawkwood first indicated. It wasn’t his first view of the Evestani army since he had scried on them multiple times. Still, seeing them through the lens of the spyglass rather than through the crystal ball made them somehow feel more real. Rows upon rows of pikemen, soldiers, calvary, and even spellcasters filled the area between the mountains. They were setting up tents and, in a few areas, looked to be cooking some kind of stew. Clearly, they didn’t intend to conclude their siege before the day ended. Longer, starvation-styled sieges could take months yet that didn’t fit with how Evestani had operated thus far. They likely intended to be inside Elmshadow’s walls within a week.

Did they know of the approaching Duke’s men? Did they think they could take them on as well as Hawkwood’s forces?

Arkk didn’t know. All of this—war, sieges, even battles beyond a dozen people tactfully striking surprised targets—it was so far out of his realm of knowledge that he could hardly believe that Hawkwood was bothering to include him in these kinds of events. He wasn’t Hawkwood’s aide nor a military scholar. He just had a few odd spells, a few odd creatures, and a magical fortress that wasn’t much help in defending distant lands.

Swallowing his nerves, he carefully swept the spyglass back and forth, casually observing each side of the army before settling back in the center.

“There are identical encampments on either side. How can you be sure which is which?”

“That would be thanks to our inquisitorial allies,” Hawkwood said.

“Purifier Tybalt possesses the ability to detect magics,” Inquistrix Astra said, turning her red eyes on Arkk. “Especially miracles and anathema.”

Arkk tried not to glower. She knew who he was. She completely knew who he was. If the purifier’s abilities were accurate, they probably even knew of Agnete’s presence.

Well, if she was going to politely ignore who he really was, who was he to complain?

“Plans?”

“That…” Hawkwood started, shifting slightly. “We have a plan. How do you feel about working with the inquisitors?”

Arkk, possessing unimaginable powers of foresight, saw that one coming. He looked back to Inquisitrix Astra, who offered a polite smile that didn’t reach her cheeks, let alone her eyes.

“I have heard you are quite the resourceful man,” she said. “This operation will require resourcefulness in great qualities.”

Arkk smiled back, lips straining. “What exactly are we planning?”

“This calls for a chirugeon’s blade, cutting out the heart of their spellcasting capabilities. Myself, Purifier Tybalt, and Chronicler Qwol are capable but slipping through the ribcage that is our enemy’s encampment to strike at the heart is tantamount to suicide.”

“Ah, yes, because adding one extra person will make this strike team succeed where it was otherwise destined to fail,” Arkk said, trying and failing to keep the snide out of his voice. Turning back to Hawkwood, he asked, “Can’t we bombard them back?”

“They will have defenses of their own.”

“If their spellcasters are busy powering defensive rituals, they won’t have time to launch attacks. I can get eight more spellcasters here within two hours. If we can hold out for that long—”

“Brace yourselves!”

The cry that had become uncomfortably familiar over the past day made Arkk tense up. He spread his legs, steadying himself in preparation. The sky darkened as the protective ritual strengthened in anticipation of the incoming boulder. The boulder itself blocked out the sun, casting the wall in an even greater darkness.

It struck the protective barrier, breaking apart into much smaller fragments. The ground shook and the wall trembled as bits and pieces, still the size of large animals, tumbled down the barrier and slammed into the ground outside the wall. Arkk grit his teeth, gripping the parapet to steady himself.

A loud cry from the direction of the protective ritual circle made Arkk’s blood chill over. The haze keeping the chunks of rock from crushing them blinked twice then failed. Rubble, no longer supported by the barrier, tumbled directly toward the wall.

Arkk grabbed hold of Hawkwood, throwing them both to the ground just in time to avoid a cow-sized chunk of rock. Smaller bits and pieces showered down on them, forcing Arkk to cover the back of his head with his arms. He’d have welts all down his back in short order but figured that was a better outcome than being crushed.

One man, still with the wherewithal to keep watch, shouted out, “Another one!”

Arkk’s eyes widened. Despite the pain in his back and arms, he threw himself to his feet. The chunk of the boulder that had almost crushed him and Hawkwood had collapsed a portion of the wall behind Arkk, separating him and Hawkwood from Astra and the purifier. Judging by the shouts, not everyone on the wall was as lucky as they had been but Arkk didn’t have time to help anyone.

Using the same spell he had used at the Duke’s party, an ethereal road formed in front of him, granting him the swiftness and surety of step to dash down the stairs as fast as possible. The Electro Deus on his tongue stalled before he could fry the chronicler, however.

Chronicler Qwol sat crouched in the center of the ritual circle, gaunt face contorted in a look of concentration. Agnete strode forward, not to incinerate him for his sabotage or treachery but to take over the position of Margarete, collapsed and unconscious in one of the radial spots.

Heavy boots landed at his side. Astra, having vaulted from the wall, stood from her crouched landing. Arkk glanced at her, watching the way she cracked her neck as she straightened her back. He didn’t say anything, instead rushing forward with the last of his enhanced swiftness. When one member of the ritual circle fell, it sapped magic from the others at an increased rate. All four were wobbling. One looked ready to collapse. Arkk reached the caster, grabbed the man’s shoulders, and all but threw him from the ritual circle. No time to be polite about it.

Sylvara Astra, hot on his heels, did the same to the other wobbling caster, hefting the man up with little obvious exertion before stepping into the spot herself. She added her magic to the array just in time for the second boulder to slam into the barrier. Although a bead of sweat rolled off the side of her face, the ritual circle didn’t even flicker.

Emboldened by the initial failure of the barrier, Evestani sent another dozen boulders at Elmshadow in such rapid succession that they had to have exhausted their spellcasters. With Arkk, Agnete, Astra, and Qwol powering the defenses, not a single pebble made it through.

When the attacks finally ceased an hour short of nightfall, even Arkk was feeling a little drained. At least he was on his feet. The chronicler, who had been stuck in the anchor position for the duration, collapsed into the arms of one of Hawkwood’s men. Agnete, still wearing her armor, shuffled away with slumped shoulders and heavy breathing once one of Hawkwood’s men could take over. Their time in the ritual circle had afforded some much-needed rest to White Company’s spellcasters.

“Eight extra spellcasters… would be handy right about now,” Sylvara Astra said, taking deep breaths between her words.

Arkk tried not to look too guilty. While he could probably get them here, there was one small problem. He had eight spellcasters but they weren’t his. Following the invasion, he had offered Katja asylum within Fortress Al-Mir because he needed them for the ritual. They weren’t his employees and Katja wanted to charge an arm and a leg for their services. Fortress Al-Mir wasn’t exactly hurting for gold right now but it very easily could be if he had to ask for more than what he had already negotiated.

He had a discount thanks to offering them asylum but Katja knew he needed her and wouldn’t kick her out. That, unfortunately, gave her a fair amount of bargaining power. With practically every other spellcaster in the nation tied up in the war, he doubted he would be able to find others on short notice.

When Hawkwood and Astra had told him the vagaries of the plan, he had suggested bringing over the spellcasters mostly because following the plan of a potential assassin hadn’t sounded like the brightest idea. Now… it was safe to say that he had changed his mind about their theoretical status as assassins.

If they were working with Evestani, they would have simply allowed the defensive ritual to fail.

“You… have quite the frightening constitution… Mister Arkk.”

“You knew?” Arkk said, his train of thought broken at hearing his name.

“I have read all of Inquisitor Vrox’s reports. His depictions of you were extensive.”

Arkk’s fingers twitched. “So? What now?”

“Now?” Astra planted on hand on her hip, looking up to the wall.

She delayed speaking, probably still trying to catch her breath. If he was being honest, her constitution frightened him far more than his own. Arkk was a cheater, using Fortress Al-Mir to power his magic. Astra, on the other hand, looked less winded than Agnete. While it was true that Arkk couldn’t see Agnete’s face to confirm, the heat around the ritual circle had faded to next to nothing over the last hour. That alone made Arkk think that she had been putting everything into the ritual to the point where she couldn’t even maintain her heat.

“This may come as an insult to your pride but you are no longer our priority. The war greatly concerns the Ecclesiarch. We have orders to hunt the dragonoid. You are a person of interest but not worth pursuing. Especially given Vrox’s assessment.”

“Assessment?” Arkk asked. “What’s he been saying about me?”

“That you and your anathematic magics are contained and do not represent an immediate threat to the greater Abbey of the Light or the good people of the Kingdom of Chernlock. I believe he also mentioned that you are utterly unassailable, though I believe that to be Vrox’s attempt at saving face over his disastrous assault.”

Arkk pressed his lips together. If Vrox were here himself, telling him all this, he would likely have believed it. That was the nature of the trust he had in Vrox. Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra, on the other hand, he knew nothing about. Only that she had helped defend Elmshadow just now.

“Thus, I propose the following. We eliminate the enemy’s ability to cast siege magic. Then you and I go our separate ways. I make a report that you are contributing to the defense of the realm as I hunt this dragonoid and you… carry on until such time as the Abbey of the Light deems your continued existence no longer palatable.”

Arkk folded his arms over his chest. “I can agree to that, I suppose. Though I would prefer if my continued existence wasn’t on the line.”

“That isn’t something I can directly affect,” Astra said, red eyes flicking from him to the purifier at the top of the wall. “Cooperation, I imagine, can open many doors. Making yourself known as a defender of the Duchy isn’t hurting, I assure you.”

“Fair enough. I assume you have more to this plan than marching through… What was it? The enemy’s ribcage?”

“A metaphor,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Are you willing to hear the actual plan?”

Arkk put on a fragile smile, wondering if this was how Agnete had felt anytime the inquisitors made use of the Binding Agent. Hopefully, she didn’t still feel like that with him. “If it stops these attacks, I’m up for just about anything.”

 

 

Arkk did his best to look at ease as the heavy portcullis over Elmshadow Burg’s western gate lifted.

Everything was prepared. Everything was planned for.

He stood alongside Hawkwood, the latter having been informed of Arkk’s suspicions. In the eaves, lurking in the dark and vacant homes near to the burg’s entrance, Hawkwood had positioned his finest marksmen, supposedly capable of striking an apple at a hundred paces with their crossbows. A full contingent of wary guards stood behind, sporting White Company’s chevrons, alongside a smaller company of orcs with Company Al-Mir’s compass maze insignia hidden behind chevrons as well. Two pairs of gorgon, one to petrify and one to free the other if their magic ended up turned on themselves, haunted the guardhouse, ready to strike.

Agnete, though not wishing to make herself known to the possible inquisitors or their purifier equivalent, nonetheless burned hot at Arkk’s back, wearing concealing armor on loan from one of Hawkwood’s men.

If these were inquisitors, Arkk hoped they would appreciate the precautions in the face of possible danger. If they were assassins…

He hoped they would be surprised.

The woman strode forward ahead of the others, her black uniform bearing the inquisitorial eye, golden regalia of the Abbey of the Light, and the blue and white striped shield of the Duke. Vrox didn’t wear the latter two. Was that a clue? An adjustment made for wartime? Or inconsequential difference in uniform? Her long silver-blue hair flowed over her chest from underneath her peaked cap. Red eyes beneath the brim looked over the welcoming party like hardened steel with little obvious concern.

They were, thankfully, not glowing red eyes. The color was common to dark elves and gremlins. Given the average height and lack of pointed ears, Arkk figured that she had ancestry of one of the two, maybe three generations back at most.

A rapid, excited clapping pulled Arkk’s attention away from the leader of the group. “Oh! Are you going to play with us?” The man who had been creating those statue-swallowing spheres let out a childish giggle. “Please say yes. I so rarely get to meet new friends and, when I do, pop! They’re gone.” His laughter cut out, leaving behind a sorry moan of disappointment. The way the grin never left his face and his wide, black eyes kept darting from soldier to soldier didn’t do anything to set Arkk at ease.

A mere glare over her shoulder from the lead inquisitor was enough to get the man to lock up. His back stiffened, the heels of his boots clicked together, and beads of sweat even started rolling down his pale face.

Arkk wondered for a moment if he was also on some kind of leash, much as Agnete had been. The ice marble, referred to as a Binding Agent, caused extreme pain and duress, even evoking a fight or flight instinct that leaned toward the latter since it stripped her ability to generate flames. A fleeting thought of recruiting this man out from under the inquisitors, the same way he had recruited Agnete, crossed Arkk’s mind.

One look into the man’s maniacal eyes, which regained their fervor the moment the woman looked away, made Arkk shut that idea down. Although he had recruited criminals and raiders, Arkk was confident that none were quite so… zealous.

“You are Company Commander Hawkwood?” she asked, striding forward without so much as a glance at the array of defenders in front of the gate.

At least, not until everyone shifted, readying weapons. Her gait stalled as she slowly turned her head, sweeping her gaze over the assembled group. Her arms remained down at her sides, stiff but well away from the narrow sword’s hilt at her hip.

“I apologize for the rude meeting,” Hawkwood said with a smile that failed to reach his eyes. “But there are some mighty suspicious happenings around these parts. An inquisitor showing up out of the blue—”

“Inquisitrix,” she corrected, gaze returning to Hawkwood. “Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra.”

“I’m sure those fancy titles make a number of men bow out of your way but I’m going to need some proof of identity.”

Astra pursed her lips before glancing back over her other shoulder. “Ludwig.”

The gaunt man with a long, narrow face stepped forward, reaching into a leather bag at his side.

“Chronicler Qwol will see to your needs.”

The chronicler pulled out a few fine pieces of paper as he approached. Intricate scrawl, written with golden ink, adorned the pages. Arkk’s eyes focused on the top center where the Luminous Mandala, the primary symbol of the Abbey of the Light, sat. Normally, it was simplified to a series of concentric rings. This piece of paper had the full version, a harmonious blend of geometric precision and ethereal elegance. It appeared as a sunburst filled with a lattice-like pattern, rings following rays of represented light as they spread outward.

To either side were the lesser regalia of the Abbey of the Light. Icons that represented the Heart of Gold and the Almighty Glory, according to Vezta. Arkk ignored them for the moment, eyes roaming up to the intricate pendant hanging from the chronicler’s neck, a simplified representation of the Luminous Mandala. It was identical to the one Greesom wore, further validating their claims. Were it not for Agnete, Arkk might have taken the papers, the outfits, and the pendant would have convinced him.

Hawkwood shot Arkk a glance and nodded his head. The information on the papers looked legitimate.

He handed it back but, before Qwol could place the document back in the leather bag, Hawkwood gripped his wrist. “Authenticate it.”

The chronicler’s eyes jumped up his forehead. He glanced back, wordlessly asking Astra a question. The woman’s hard eyes narrowed but she nodded her head.

Arkk tensed, ready to fling a lightning bolt when the assassins revealed themselves, only to deflate entirely as the chronicler grabbed the pendant from his neck and overlaid it atop the Luminous Mandala on the piece of paper. A warm, white glow coursed through the symbol, flowing over to the letters as well.

They were genuine.

“Satisfied?” Astra asked, one hand on her hip.

Hawkwood, frowning behind his messy beard, released Chronicler Qwol. “I apologize, Inquisitrix. Evestani has a penchant for using disguised assassins. Your timing and direction of approach are suspicious.”

Astra turned again, glaring at the horizon. If looks could kill… She turned back with a more thoughtful expression beneath the brim of her peaked cap.

“So…” The man with black eyes slumped his shoulders. “No games today?”

“Quite. I suppose it is your lucky day, Hawkwood. We were in the area pursuing an… unrelated target.”

Arkk shifted, wondering if that referred to him, Agnete, or something else.

“Purifier Tybalt felt the touch of forbidden magics,” she continued without even looking in his direction. “We followed his instinct to the animated constructs.”

“Those were my men,” Hawkwood said, rough voice cracking at the end of the sentence. He licked his lips, taking a moment to recenter himself. “Struck by enchanted arrows of the Evestani army. We… I had hoped we could find a way to return them to normal.”

Astra glanced to the chronicler, who shook his narrow head. “It is the opinion of the Light that such magic could not be undone. Your men died. Take solace in knowing they are no longer a threat to their fellows anymore.”

Arkk spoke before he could help himself. “What did you do with them?” he asked, only to grimace as everyone’s attention turned to him. Now knowing that these were true inquisitors and not assassins, he should have just left and let them handle everything. But this was new magic. Even beyond his personal interest, knowing what might face him and Agnete should the inquisitors turn out to be less friendly than Vrox felt vital. The sudden attention still made him balk. “I just… thought purifiers used holy flames.”

“They have been detained,” the purifier exclaimed with an overabundance of ardor in his voice. “They shall await the end, safe and sound until the stars dim with not but the void for company!”

Astra snapped her fingers, making the purifier flinch back. “Ignore him. He is disturbed.”

“All stars will burn out eventually,” Purifier Tybalt said, shrinking in on himself. A small smile spread across his face as he looked at his leader. “Some sooner than others.”

“Rest assured,” Astra said, ignoring his words, “their existence no longer concerns this reality.”

Arkk tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. Two words among everything said since his question stuck out to him. Detained and Void. One of the statues at the Fortress Al-Mir temple room was the Jailor of the Void. The patron of time, eternity, and emptiness. The one statue that Vezta had been unable to explain why it might have manifested.

If this purifier was like Agnete, an avatar of the old Pantheon, Arkk had a feeling he knew to which god he owed his abilities. Did that help anything? Not necessarily right now. Perhaps it would make it easier to find a countermeasure or at least figure out all that he could do.

“As for holy flames… Three purifiers wield them. They are flashy, obvious, and destructive. It is hardly a surprise that rumors have spread that all purifiers utilize fire.”

Arkk resisted the urge to look back at Agnete. He felt he had a better source than mere rumors. Then again, she had said that she didn’t know all that many inquisitors.

“You said this is my lucky day,” Hawkwood said, drawing attention back to him. “Sure doesn’t feel like it.”

“Our hunt has stalled. Given our purview and the Golden Order’s usage of anathematic magics, it is well within our rights to assist in breaking this siege.” She paused, leaning over to the chronicler as the gaunt man started whispering at her side. “Ah yes. We also wish to inquire about those… skulls surrounding the valley. They ran off our horses.”

“You didn’t destroy them, did you?” Hawkwood asked, alarmed. “Those are the only things keeping Evestani at bay.”

“Not yet.” Her eyes hardened. “You constructed them?”

After letting out a brief sigh of relief, Hawkwood shook his head. “A colleague. He said he had a way of protecting the area. I didn’t ask. Learned it is generally better not to when he is involved.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, eying Hawkwood. He most certainly had asked. He hadn’t been too approving of using the dead, even if the skulls were from ancient barrows. That was how people got themselves cursed, he said. Quite a similar sentiment to Edvin’s concerns.

“This colleague being Arkk of Company Al-Mir?”

Arkk stiffened at the mention of his name, only to realize that none of the three were looking in his direction.

“You know him?”

“Of him. He is a person of interest.”

“The target of your hunt?” Hawkwood said, asking the question Arkk had wondered earlier.

“No. We seek one roaming the skies. A dragonoid was spotted in the area. I don’t suppose your scouts have any information for us on the matter?”

Hawkwood started, as did Arkk. “In the Duchy? Did Evestani bring it?”

“Unsure. Thus far, we’ve had no reports of it attacking anyone. Given the information troubles with the war, that is only a matter of time. Our goal was to detain it.”

Detain. There was that word again. Judging by the gleeful look in Purifier Tybalt’s eyes, he doubted they meant to detain it in any regular cell. Which wasn’t all that surprising. Dragonoids were something of an enigma. Not dragons, though related to them to the point where their armored scales made them nearly indestructible to any conventional weaponry and normal magics. They possessed natural magics akin to beastmen but on a far greater scale. A flame dragonoid might give Agnete a run for her money in terms of destructive prowess. If a dragonoid and Agnete were to fight, Arkk doubted he would put his money on his employee. Agnete was still a fleshy human behind her fires.

If Evestani was fielding dragonoids, the war might already be over. They just didn’t know it yet. It was said that dragonoids were hostile to almost every human. However, he wouldn’t put it past the Golden Order, backed by a member of the Pantheon, to have a way of controlling them.

“Well, I’m afraid we can’t help with that. Your assistance with the siege will be appreciated. We planned to hold out for the Duke’s men to arrive, projected to be in about four day’s time, and then use the reinforcements to turn the tides once—”

“Sir!” One of the gate guards leaned over the top wall, waving one of the spyglasses. “Movement on the horizon! A large force is approaching!”

Arkk’s eyes widened. He looked down at the inquisitors, still half expecting them to reveal their treachery and attack. When they didn’t, he had to confirm. “You didn’t destroy the mausoleums, correct?”

Red eyes centered on him once again. This time, she was more discerning, looking over him for a long moment even as Hawkwood started barking out orders to his men. Positions needed to be taken up, defenses raised, spellcasters on alert for falling arrows, and reserves woken. The purifier turned around, eagerly looking out Elmshadow’s gate. At Arkk’s back, he felt the chill of the winter air vanish as the heat escaped Agnete’s concealing armor.

Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra merely regarded Arkk with an uncanny calm. She leaned over and whispered something to the chronicler, who turned his half-lidded eyes onto Arkk as well. He didn’t say anything back, however, merely watching as well until Astra spoke.

“I believe I said that I did not. And you would be..?”

“My adjutant, Tavyn,” Hawkwood said, looking to Arkk. “Have you got your crystal ball?”

Arkk nodded his head, mumbling thanks to Hawkwood as he turned away from the inquisitors. Back to them, he summoned the crystal ball to his waiting hand while acting like Agnete was handing it to him. Turning back around, he held it up while pushing magic into it.

Whatever magic the Evestani had used to cloak themselves from his prior scrying attempts must have only worked while they were stationary. The army was marching forward, just barely reaching the point where the mausoleums should have sent them fleeing in terror. He saw the line in the front flinch, perhaps even losing their grip on their weapons. A golden light, emanating from the bald Pious of the Golden Order that each company counted among their number, suffused throughout the advancing soldiers.

Whatever they were doing wasn’t a perfect solution. More than a handful broke ranks and fled. The rest of the army didn’t try to stop them. They simply continued forward until the first company reached the closest set of mausoleums. As soon as they did, they started hacking and beating, using horseman’s picks to chip away at the stone the lesser servants had constructed. When the first of the mausoleums fell, the vanguard lifted their weapons in cheer, emboldening the other companies as they started hacking at the rest of the defensive line.

“It appears our time is limited,” Inquisitrix Astra said, having stepped closer to peer in alongside Hawkwood and Arkk. “What will it be, White Company? Admit us entry to assist or continue this…” She trailed off, allowing a snide grin to cross her face. “This inquisition.”

Arkk shared a look with Hawkwood. He wasn’t completely convinced. They still hadn’t heard a proper explanation about why the inquisitors had approached from the direction of Evestani. Arkk felt like it was even more suspicious now. What if those golden statues had been a threat to their own side, willing to lash out at anyone and not just Hawkwood’s men? It could be that these inquisitors cleared them away and still had a plot to assassinate everyone here, just in time to open the gates for the approaching army.

Then again, the inquisitor’s papers had checked out just as Agnete had said they would. Not only that, but Agnete hadn’t touched his back. That was supposed to have been the sign that she noticed something fishy with their authentication.

After a brief hesitation, Arkk nodded his head. He wouldn’t be leaving Hawkwood alone with them, that was for sure. The current crisis warranted risks. Elmshadow couldn’t handle those golden arrows raining down upon it. Once the Duke’s Guard arrived, they would present additional targets for those golden arrows, at least until informed of and secured against the danger. With Agnete only able to melt the ground to pacify the golden statues, having a purifier on hand who could detain them sounded almost necessary.

Hawkwood frowned behind his mustache, clearly displeased. He likely had the same thoughts and had been hoping that Arkk would shake his head, giving him an easy out. But he hadn’t. Thus, Hawkwood turned back.

“Get inside. I’d welcome you to Elmshadow but it wouldn’t be much of a welcome,” he said before tilting his head back. “Seal the gate!”

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Arkk said in a low whisper. Astra probably heard but Arkk didn’t much care. She didn’t react one way or another.

“We are specialists, not generals,” Astra said. “I will defer to your expertise. Direct us where you will but know that we will not follow orders that sound like they will lead to unnecessary deaths.”

“Right,” Hawkwood said, voice gruff as the portcullis slammed down. “Let me get my men in order, then I’d best find out more about your capabilities to know where to place you.”

He turned and started marching through the assembled troops, shouting an order to one of his actual adjutants as he moved. Arkk made a quick motion to Agnete, warning her away. The woman was getting too hot—she would be found out in an instant if her armor started glowing red. As it was, he thanked the chaos and the crowd that her heat hadn’t been noticed thus far.

As soon as she turned, heading toward the contingent of orcs that weren’t following along with the rest of White Company’s men, Arkk hurried after Hawkwood. As he moved, he watched his back the same way he had while blindfolded in the Silver City mines, making sure that the inquisitors following behind weren’t about to launch a surprise attack.

Siege or not, he wasn’t about to let Hawkwood go anywhere alone with these people.

 

 

What was one to do while being sieged? Especially when the enemy was only sieging one side of the burg. It was entirely possible to evacuate the citizens out toward the east. But to the east was Evastani’s goal. Anyone fleeing toward Cliff would just have to face them again down the road. Some had gone on their own. Others stayed behind.

Perhaps they could have headed north or south once they cleared the valley. Those weren’t safe either. This army of Evestani’s wasn’t their only force in the Duchy, just the one pushed into the territory the most.

“At least your mausoleums are keeping them well away from the walls,” Hawkwood said, lowering a telescoping spyglass. Since setting up their encampment, Evestani had done something to obstruct scrying. It wasn’t the complete shutdown that the inquisitors had tried. The crystal balls just fogged over, making it difficult to see anything through the glass.

Did they know they were being scried upon? Or were these typical precautions anytime they made camp? Arkk couldn’t be sure as he had only scried on troops on the move in the past.

It was annoying. Crystal balls, along with the teleportation rituals, were his greatest advantage, in his opinion. Even more so than the likes of Vezta or Agnete or gorgon. Having people shut that ability down didn’t help his paranoia. It was perfectly rational to shut down magics like that. Arkk even wanted to do it as well, even though he wasn’t sure that anyone was actively scrying on him. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what all these people who couldn’t be scried upon were doing where he couldn’t spy.

“I shudder to think what might happen if their archers got close enough to fire their golden arrows into the burg,” Hawkwood continued. “One of those monstrosities in confined quarters? Evestani would have a whole burg of golden soldiers by nightfall.”

Arkk lowered his spyglass. They stood on the wall of Elmshadow Burg, watching out over the snow-dusted fields. The Evestani army had set up a camp, looking like they were going to stick it out here rather than try to go around the bulky mountains.

The golden soldiers that Agnete had fused to the ground had all stopped moving. Without venturing closer, he couldn’t tell if they had given up on trying to free themselves or if whatever magic animated them had finally run dry. If it was the latter, they had lasted about twenty-four hours. Plenty of time to cause widespread destruction within the burg’s walls. He couldn’t help but nod his head, feeling numb at the thought.

He glanced over. It had been three weeks since he last saw Hawkwood in person. Through the use of Swiftwing harpies, they had remained in contact and Arkk had scried upon the man’s position several times. Still, it was disconcerting to see his mentor and friend as he was now.

At the Duke’s party, Hawkwood had been a bit large. Not fat—the man kept himself in shape—but still with plenty of girth. His neck had hardly fit inside his collar. He wore his hair styled in a wealthy fashion, slicked back, and had a bushy yet tidy mustache.

Now, if Arkk had to describe his appearance in one word, it would be haggard. Gone was any spare fat on the man. He might have lost some muscle mass as well, forced to survive on rations of hardtack and pottage. His brown hair, longer and unkempt, traded its groomed luster for frayed and wild strands. A beard had joined his mustache, both of which looked like he had forgotten about them entirely, leaving them to fend for themselves out in the wilds of the Duchy.

“The Duke’s Men will be here soon,” Arkk said, trying to console the man. “Combined with White Company, we’ll outnumber them by a few thousand.”

“A few thousand doesn’t mean much in a protracted battle. Getting two armies to fight isn’t easy either. Not to mention… I am no longer convinced that a large force is wise.”

“Those arrows?” Arkk asked.

Hawkwood nodded. “My casters have determined that they are miraculous in nature, though my bishop claims to have never seen anything like them.”

“Your casters and bishop?”

Hawkwood put on a smile, thin and lacking humor though it was. “You aren’t the only one who has recruited those well-versed in magic. Proper utilization of casters is a force multiplier. A squad of ten has even odds against ten men. Add in a caster and they can take on twenty with confidence.”

“Yeah. Learned that myself.”

Zullie wasn’t that much of a force multiplier. She wasn’t much of a combatant. Agnete, on the other hand? Arkk doubted she could take on the entire Evestani army before someone got a lucky hit in but he didn’t fear much for her safety if he sent her alone against ten or even twenty opponents. More if they were fighting from a position of ambush. The gorgon and Vezta acted much the same, though they weren’t spellcasters.

“That said,” Hawkwood continued, “I don’t suppose your people have come up with any countermeasures?”

Arkk winced. “No. They are… working on something else,” he said, feeling a bit guilty.

“Something that will help with the war?”

“I hope so.”

Hawkwood stared for a moment before offering a brief nod of his head. He didn’t ask anything more, simply bringing his spyglass to his eye once again.

Arkk started to follow, only to freeze as he heard a noise. A building drone like a bow drawn over a dozen stringed instruments all at once, reaching a high crescendo without any harmony. At the peak, the sound went silent. A low, vibrating tone echoed out over the vacant fields, slamming into the wall along with a brief flash of light out in the distance.

He tensed, fearing an attack that had gotten through the mausoleum defenses. Taking up his spyglass, he swept it over the distance only to spot a deep gouge in the land. A perfect void, like someone had taken a spoon and carved out a bit of land.

A black sphere formed in the distance, surrounding a trio of the golden soldiers, bringing with it another discordant noise of rising strings. Except, it wasn’t quite a black sphere. The colors inside the expanding sphere were wrong. The snow turned black but the gold of the soldiers turned blue-white. Shadows turned light and light turned dark. The sphere expanded until it encompassed the three golden statues, hitting that crescendo once again. With the low-toned thrum, the sphere collapsed along with everything inside it. The soldiers disappeared along with another scoop of the ground.

“They’re… exploding?”

“Not quite,” Hawkwood said, tone gruff. “To the left.”

Arkk, noting Hawkwood pointing a finger, followed along until he spotted three figures standing out in the fields. The one standing ahead of the others pinched the tips of his fingers together, using both hands. As he spread his hands apart, another of those inverted spheres began growing around the next group of golden soldiers. It was not a quick process. If those golden soldiers could move, Arkk imagined they could have walked out of the sphere even with their sluggish movements.

That said, when the process finished and the man clapped his hands together, Arkk couldn’t help but shudder at just how everything was gone from inside that inverted sphere.

He watched another dozen spheres, each consuming the unmoving statues, before he focused on those working the magic. He didn’t recognize any of them but his heart skipped a beat nonetheless. One woman stood back with another man, watching with keen eyes as the one in front made sphere after sphere. Their uniforms, long black coats with a series of straps holding them closed in the front, were uncomfortably familiar.

The man creating the spheres was thin, gangly so. He kept hunching over and shuddering between working his magic, clutching at his stomach the way someone might if they couldn’t control their laughter.

Neither of the other two looked amused. The man, the shorter of the two, looked like he could have been Chronicler Greesom’s brother. Arkk couldn’t make out too many details at a distance but he was shorter, thinner, and had a gleaming pendant dangling from his neck that bounced lightly as he wrote in his notebook.

The woman stood tall, hands on her hips as she watched. Her long cloak fluttered behind her in a breeze while the brim of a peaked cap hid most of her face. Flowing silver hair—perhaps tinged with a hint of blue—made Arkk wonder if she was an elf. She didn’t look quite tall enough. Perhaps a half-elf. Either way, she, along with the others, had beads of sweat forming on the back of Arkk’s neck.

“Inquisitors,” Arkk said, stomach dropping. He couldn’t make out the eye-shaped pin from this distance, even with the spyglasses, but there was no doubt about their identity. The way one stood back, one wrote in a small notebook, and one performed the dangerous magic only confirmed that suspicion.

Did that mean the man creating the spheres was another purifier? Arkk had imagined all of them as flame-wielders like Agnete. Not… whatever this was. Though, given what he knew of Agnete, he supposed this made sense. Agnete was a chosen of one member of the Pantheon. Vezta had implied that there would only be one avatar for any given member of the Pantheon at once. Both Zullie and Agnete said that there were other purifiers.

Thus, other purifiers had to belong to different deities or else there was some other explanation for their powers.

The man creating the spheres turned away from his task for a moment, looking straight at Arkk with wide, manic, and strange eyes. His solid black eyes, illuminated by a single ring of white, made Arkk shudder. Not just because of the strange appearance but because of the way the supposed purifier looked directly at him despite there being no way even an elf could pick him out at this distance.

Arkk lowered the spyglass, knot tightening in his stomach. “I… should go.”

Were the inquisitors here for the war or him? He honestly couldn’t guess one way or the other. If it were Vrox, he would have said the war. These new inquisitors… he didn’t know anything about them. He couldn’t trust them like he trusted Vrox.

“I need to get Agnete out of here,” he said, tone slightly more urgent. He did not want to see what a fight between two purifiers looked like. Even if, with how long it seemed to take to form those spheres, he figured Agnete might win. And that was only true if the inquisitors didn’t have another countermeasure to Agnete’s abilities along the lines of those ice marbles.

“Arkk.”

Arkk paused, looking back to Hawkwood.

The man reached out, clapping a hand on Arkk’s shoulder. “Thanks for all you’ve done.”

“I hardly did anything. I wish I could do more. Maybe those inquisitors—”

“Nonsense. Were it not for your mausoleums, I fear we would all be golden soldiers by now.”

“Ah. Speaking of that, if the inquisitors give you trouble over it, feel free to blame it on me. They already don’t like me.”

“To be fair, those mausoleums were all you,” Hawkwood said, smiling properly now. “Go. I can handle a few inquisitors.”

Arkk dipped his head. “I might be back if I think of something else I can do to help. Otherwise… you know where to send the Swiftwings. Stay safe.”

“You as well,” Hawkwood said, giving Arkk one firm squeeze of his shoulder before letting him go. “You as well.”

Arkk took the stairs off the wall and hurried through town. Elmshadow was a fairly sizable burg. Not as big as Cliff but larger than either Darkwood or Moonshine. Its garrison and keep stood tall at the center of the burg, currently occupied by about half of White Company while the rest of Hawkwood’s men camped out outside the eastern wall. A large market, currently devoid of any people, sprawled out around the main garrison entrance.

While White Company occupied the majority of the garrison, Company Al-Mir had a few rooms for their personnel. At the moment, that consisted of Agnete, four gorgon, and six orcs. Hardly anything in comparison to White Company’s four thousand or the local baron’s guard which had several hundred.

It took only a few seconds to round up the gorgon and orcs. Arkk had to check in on where Agnete was using his employee link, though he wasn’t too surprised to find her down in the garrison’s local smithy. Ever since hearing fully about her patron, the Burning Forge, smithies tended to be her regular haunts, whether in Fortress Al-Mir or elsewhere. She didn’t usually participate in the work, often just watching or, occasionally, sitting entirely within the kilns and forges.

Whatever made her comfortable.

Today, she stood hovering over the shoulder of some poor member of White Company as the man fixed up a battered breastplate. The embers in her eyes lit bright as she watched and scanned, observing—even judging—the way he beat down the bent metal back into place.

“Agnete. We need to go.”

The wild mane of black hair she had shifted as she turned her head. “An attack?” she asked, embers in her eyes intensifying.

“No! No…” Arkk said quickly, both for her sake and the sake of the tense blacksmith at her side. He motioned, taking her outside and well away from anyone else before continuing. “Inquisitors. With a purifier who… I don’t even know how to describe it. He made spheres that destroyed everything inside them.”

“Purifiers wield holy flame,” Agnete said with a numb tone in her voice. She didn’t look worried but the glow under her skin started to brighten.

Arkk blinked, frowning to himself. Had he misunderstood? Perhaps there were more like Agnete and this new inquisitor was some other class of enforcer. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter at the moment. He could try to figure out what to call this new inquisitor later. “Whoever they are, they’re dressed like inquisitors. I’m not too interested in meeting them and I doubt you want to either.”

“Can you scry on them?”

Since scrying hadn’t been working on Evestani and the other inquisitors Arkk knew of had ways of blocking it, he hadn’t even tried. He quickly conjured his crystal ball. Fortress Al-Mir possessed two, one he kept to himself for the most part. The other had a team working day and night, scrying on various locales of import. Mostly areas Hawkwood had pointed out as being strategically valuable.

It did feel a bit bad that he kept one near himself when he wasn’t even using it every second of the day.

The value of being able to peer across a battlefield without resorting to Hawkwood’s limited spyglass couldn’t be understated.

He first did a quick check of the Evestani encampment. The crystal ball just went foggy. It was like Evestani had some spellcasters summon up a thick fog. That could easily have been what they had done. Arkk didn’t envy sitting around in a cold and wet fog in the middle of winter. Then again, he didn’t have that golden light staving off the elements.

Hawkwood had sent out lookouts throughout the mountains, making sure that no forces were hiking through with the intention of dropping those golden arrows on the burg. The mausoleums only protected the valley, after all.

Thinking of the valley, the viewpoint changed, dragged over to dozens of scooped-out divots in the terrain. The inquisitors were still working and were not doing anything to hide their presence from scrying eyes. Able to look closer with the crystal ball, Arkk spotted the familiar eye-shaped silver pin with a vertical bar in place of the pupil.

“Inquisitors,” Arkk said. “Recognize them?”

“No.”

Arkk felt a chill run down his spine as a new thought occurred to him. Were they inquisitors? They dressed the part. They had the right numbers, including one man who had a notebook, but that might only mean that someone had done their research. Taking an extra moment to think about it, something didn’t quite add up.

Where had they come from? They were out in the fields between the mausoleum defenses and the burg. They hadn’t passed through the burg or someone would have noticed them. Hawkwood’s scouts around the mountains had a whole system in place to check in on each other, making sure nobody disappeared and let anyone through. Thus far, the alarm hadn’t gone off.

Did that mean they had come from the mausoleums? Somehow avoiding that mental magic? Judging by Vrox and Greesom reflecting a gorgon’s petrifying gaze back upon the gorgon, Arkk wouldn’t be surprised if they could get past easily. But that meant that they were coming from the Evestani side of things.

“Are these inquisitors?” Arkk asked, voice a little more intense. “Even if you don’t recognize them, could they be new or just unknown to you?”

“That is likely,” Agnete admitted. “I can name… six inquisitors. Not including myself.”

“Six… that’s… Is that a lot? How many inquisitors are there?”

Agnete shrugged. Pinching a length of black hair between her fingers, she rubbed it in thought. “Three dozen? Maybe four. I don’t have exact numbers. That is a guess based on our typical operating area.”

That wasn’t many but it also meant that Agnete wasn’t likely to know any given inquisitor. Arkk bit his lip as he stared into the crystal ball, eyeing the woman, who he presumed to be in Vrox’s role within this group. She did not have pointed ears, he noted. The man at her side didn’t quite look like Greesom from a closer perspective. Their similarities ended with their height. Where Greesom was fairly rotund in a muscular manner, this man was thin and had a gaunt face. Maybe he had been ill recently, even.

The last man, the one causing the imploding spheres, looked mad. He had wide, crazed eyes and kept descending into fits of laughter. The woman snapped at him nearly constantly, though Arkk couldn’t hear what she was saying through the crystal ball.

“Is there anything that gives them away as impostors? Their clothes or that strange magic?”

Their clothes were almost identical to what Agnete was wearing now. Agnete’s weren’t official inquisitor clothing, but rather something made by the fortress tailor. From a distance, it was doubtful that anyone would be able to tell the difference—not taking into account Agnete’s lack of sleeves, having burned them off at some point or another. From close-up, it was a different story. The seams were bulky while parts that should have been protruding were flat. The stitching lacked regular finesse and the hems weren’t even. Were Agnete to stand next to a proper inquisitor, she would look like a cheap copy.

“Inquisitors seek out strange or anathematic magic. We don’t merely destroy it, however. We contain and, oftentimes, utilize that magic. Anathematic magic went into the Binding Agent that was used to control me.”

That fit with what Vrox had said to him in one of their meetings. He wanted Vezta and the artifact used to control her. With that in mind, it wouldn’t have surprised Arkk in the slightest if they intended for Vezta to take on a similar role as Agnete or this black-eyed man.

“As for their clothes,” Agnete continued, peering closer into the crystal ball. “I see nothing amiss. So long as they have the proper credentials, I wouldn’t blink an eye if they introduced themselves to me. Does something stand out to you?”

Arkk pursed his lips, staring down into the crystal ball. “The situation. They show up and start destroying the golden statues. Great. But where did they come from? With Evestani’s penchant for disguised assassins… Hawkwood will just let them in at the gate. They walk in, act like inquisitors. As soon as night falls, they take out anyone in a leadership position. Maybe try to find a weakness in the mausoleums. Assuming they don’t just use that magic to destroy them.” Drumming his fingers against his thigh, he looked to Agnete. “These proper credentials, would someone like Hawkwood be able to tell if they were true or forged?”

“Hawkwood has mentioned in the past that he doesn’t have much experience with inquisitors.”

That was a no, then. “Can you?”

“Unless something drastic has changed since absconding from the organization.”

Arkk ground his teeth, hating what he was about to ask. “How dangerous do you think it would be to meet them if they are real inquisitors?”

“Not any more dangerous than if they were assassins.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

 

 

“Edvin, get back to Fortress Al-Mir,” Arkk said, lowering his crystal ball. “I want Agnete here immediately. The gorgon as well. Have Vezta show you which ritual circles to use to reach her.”

“Me? Interact with the scary pyromaniac? Are you—”

Arkk turned, eyes casting a red glow over Edvin’s face. “Now,” he said.

“Going!” Edvin said, his voice tinged with forced cheer. He fled, not bothering to hide his rush as he dashed out of Elmshadow’s garrison office that Arkk and Hawkwood had taken over.

They had a teleportation circle in the dark cellar with a lesser servant burrowed beneath, ready to destroy it if anyone unauthorized so much as stepped into the room. Fortress Al-Mir was seven hops back. Arkk hadn’t liked using them before but found them to be too efficient. Now, however, their tactical advantage in moving small numbers was too great to ignore. There were traps and decoys around each actual teleportation circle, other circles were designed to look like a proper teleportation circle but would kill or maim any users. He worried it wasn’t enough. All it would take would be someone scrying to reverse engineer where the teleportation circle went, then they could follow that straight back to Fortress Al-Mir.

It wasn’t so much of a concern with the inquisitors as they already knew where the fortress was—even if he hoped his ruse of moving the fortress was still intact. Arkk didn’t know if that was true of Evestani, however, and fully intended to keep the location as hidden as possible. He didn’t know Evestani’s scrying capabilities but imagined they had some methods of keeping watch on distant matters. He wanted to find out how the inquisitors were blocking his scrying so that he could use the same protection around the teleportation circles. Until he—or, more likely, Zullie—figured that out, he had taken to enclosing the ritual circles in pitch-dark environments, easily constructed with the help of lesser servants.

He did wish there was a way to move larger forces around. Scaling up the ritual circle did not work. It would only transport one ‘thing’ at a time. A person. A horse. A cart. A person could carry another person or things, but there was a limit. A cart couldn’t even be fully loaded. At some point in loading the cart, seemingly at different levels every time they tried, it would just leave behind everything beyond the cart itself. Neither Zullie nor Vezta had an explanation as to why. In addition, for everyone beyond him, Vezta, Zullie, Savren, Agnete, and Hale, activating the ritual circle more than once or twice quickly became magically exhausting. Even they would tire after a dozen or two uses.

Not exactly a feasible option for transporting thousands of soldiers, their supplies and sustenance, and all the support personnel required for running an army.

Which was incredibly disheartening now of all times.

Standing, Arkk turned to the window in the garrison’s office. Elevated above the rest of the burg, it allowed a clear view out between the Twin Elm Peaks, over the wide and currently vacant fields nestled in the valley. Far in the distance, near where he had been setting up Elmshadow’s defenses, he could just barely make out the movement of the approaching White Company, fleeing from a few dozen golden soldiers.

Arkk wasn’t sure what was up with those things. Nor why Hawkwood had his company, four thousand strong, fleeing from no more than fifty of them. They were sluggish and heavy, judging by how deeply they sunk into the ground with every step. When Arkk had first scried on Hawkwood’s fleeing army, they had been much closer. Now, Hawkwood had put some distance between them. Their movements seemed stiff and janky, not at all like how a human would move. When he had scried on them earlier, he hadn’t noticed any flesh under their detailed armor and cloaks, just more gold.

The mausoleum defenses needed minds to target. These things looked more like animated statues. Had that all been a waste?

He hoped not. Even if the golden soldiers got close, the mausoleums should survive. The lesser servants had constructed them to be sturdy enough to hold up to all but the most dedicated of long-range bombardment. They would have been useless if any old archer could have knocked them over. A sword, especially a soft golden sword, would break before the hard stone.

The army made it past the mausoleums without problem. That was one small thing he had been worried about, especially with them being chased, but the talismans were exceedingly simple to make. Just a few quick marks that redirected the specific magic used. They weren’t even magically active themselves, more like an extension of the fear-inducing ritual that didn’t do anything while too far away.

Unfortunately, the golden soldiers followed. They didn’t stop to attack the mausoleums but neither were they turned aside by their power.

A heat at his back signaled the arrival of Agnete. With the temperature rise, she didn’t even need to announce her presence. Khan slithered into the room at her back, a step behind.

“Agnete, can your flames melt gold?”

She quirked her head to one side, sending her wild hair bobbing with her head. “I have encountered exceedingly little that my flames will not consume.”

“Good enough. Khan,” Arkk stepped closer to the pair, crystal ball in hand. “What do you make of these golden statues?”

The gorgon’s tongue darted out of his mouth as if it were possible to taste the statues through the ball. He shook his head a moment after. “They move. Thiss iss not gorgon magicss.”

“I figured,” Arkk said, tone polite yet deadpan. “Can you stone them? Or at least solidify them?”

“Unssure. I have never encountered ssuch creaturess.” He leaned in closer. “Sshow me their eyess.”

Arkk, looking down at the crystal ball, adjusted the scrying angle. Several of the golden soldiers were wearing armor and helmets. Only a few were lacking. He quickly closed in on one dressed as a priest, focusing on its face.

He recoiled involuntarily at the sight of the golden statue. The skin was nothing short of astounding. It bore an uncanny resemblance to human flesh, capturing every intricate detail with perfect precision. Every dimple carved around its lips, every wrinkle etched upon its forehead, and even the faintest scars were faithfully rendered in gold.

What truly sent a shiver down his spine was the hair. The tiny, delicate hairs that adorned the statue’s face. He had a trim beard, minute stubble on his cheeks, and even faithfully crafted eyebrows, drawn up to the golden man’s forehead. It was a masterful display of craftsmanship that Arkk couldn’t quite comprehend. They were being used as soldiers. Surely the artisan wouldn’t have bothered in going quite so in-depth when it was likely the solder was going to take a bludgeon to the face, deforming it all.

And the face… What a face. The expression frozen in such intense detail was an amalgamation of fear and terror. As if the artisan had looked upon a dying soldier and decided to use that pained visage as the inspiration for his construction. The eyes, so lifelike, held a silent scream of anguish that made him shudder.

Tearing his eyes from the crystal ball, Arkk noted his two companions. Agnete, though stony-faced as always, had taken a half step back. Khan looked unaffected. Being a gorgon, perhaps a human posed in such a state didn’t affect him or perhaps his inhuman features were simply better at concealing his disquiet. Either way, Arkk couldn’t help but wonder if there was some magic to these statues beyond simply animating the gold. A fear effect much like what he had tried to erect around Elmshadow would explain why Hawkwood was running instead of just crushing the soldiers.

“Their eyess are not flesshy,” Khan said, startling Arkk into a small jump. “Gorgon magicss won’t work.”

“Alright. Thank you for your input. Agnete, you up to turning these soldiers into puddles?”

The embers in her eyes intensified and the glow in the scars marring her face doubled over. She didn’t say a word but she did nod her head. Arkk could feel the sudden eagerness coming off her in the form of heat.

“We’ll take some of the garrison’s horses,” Arkk said, moving around the two. “Khan, stay ready here. Agnete, let’s ride.”

“I thought you said your fire could melt gold!”

“Give me a gold coin and I will make it flow like water,” Agnete shouted back, one of the few times Arkk had heard her raise her voice.

A gout of flame hot enough to make Arkk dive to the ground surged forth from Agnete’s extended arm. The fire wasn’t aimed in his direction, but rather toward a golden knight bearing the chevron of White Company. Orange flames wrapped around the statue, intensifying to the point of turning a nearly transparent blue. Snow evaporated in an instant, plants buried beneath went up in smoke, and even the ground turned to glass.

The golden knight took another step forward, foot sinking deep into the molten glass.

Although unharmed, that at least gave it pause. Once its other foot sunk up to its knee, it couldn’t move forward. Arkk’s eyes widened. “Stop, stop!” he shouted, hoping Agnete could hear over the roar of the fire.

She did. Agnete quenched her flames. In the absence of the immediate heat, the ground quickly returned to a solid state, solidifying around the golden man’s legs. Arkk watched from his spot on the ground for a long moment. The statue could have easily hacked away at the ground with its sword until the rough glass chipped and broke away from his feet. Instead, the thing merely wiggled back and forth, clearly lacking the intelligence necessary to free itself.

There were other golden statues steadily approaching.

“Can you do the same thing to the others?” Arkk asked, latching on to the solution, even if it was only a temporary one.

Agnete, the sleeves of her long coat completely missing, let out a misty breath of air as she straightened her back. She looked down at Arkk but didn’t offer a hand to help him up from the ground. Arkk probably wouldn’t have taken it if she had. Burns and boils on his hands were the last things he needed right now.

Although all the snow had melted off, Arkk still felt muddy and damp as he stood. Taking a few steps closer to Agnete, who was now aiming a baleful glare in the direction of the nearest statue, solved the damp feeling. Unfortunately, that left dried mud caked all down his front. Brushing himself off a few times, he backed away, letting Agnete have some room as she spooled up the heat once again.

Agnete deliberately waited until the next of the still-mobile statues was a fair distance from the first. Arkk figured that she didn’t want to risk softening the ground under the first’s feet. Once she felt ready, flames surged forth once again, this time focused on the earth. The golden statue walked right into the liquid-yet-viscous earth, sinking clear up to its thighs before Agnete cut off the flames.

Gaining confidence in the strategy, Agnete advanced, preemptively melting the earth in front of an approaching trio. One stumbled from the uneven terrain and ended up knocking the other two face-first into the viscous glass. Their legs and arms sunk in, leaving them stranded even more than the others. Agnete smiled at the sight, a faint red glow illuminating her teeth.

Arkk let her move on, staying behind to get a closer look at the closest of the statues.

Not too close of a look. They had passed Hawkwood’s forces on the way, leaving their horses behind to avoid cooking them alive in Agnete’s heat. While there, they had been handily informed not to, under any circumstance, engage the golden statues in melee combat. They were far stronger than they looked and could turn their victims into more golden statues. Hawkwood hadn’t been sure if it required death or just a grievous wound but he had personally witnessed several fine soldiers turning those golden blades against their own.

“Electro Deus,” Arkk intoned, opening the floodgates to his magic. A thick bolt of electricity hit the statue, lasting far longer than any natural lightning bolt. It did have some effect. The statue spasmed and seized, twitching and thrashing far more violently. Arkk kept the bolt of lightning going for nearly a full minute, stopping just as he felt the beginnings of fatigue setting in.

Fatigue was something other spellcasters had to worry about. Even Agnete, an avatar of the Burning Forge, couldn’t throw around flames continuously for too long. Zullie, the next most powerful caster in his employ, could only manage about a dozen Electro Deus casts of brief, instant lightning before collapsing. A dozen more than before she had entered his employ by still only a handful compared to what he could unleash.

And yet, the golden statue still twitched and jerked. His lightning affected it but what he had just put into the statue would have turned any normal person to ash and dust.

Arkk waited, watching the statue. It continued to twitch and did not resume its smooth yet sluggish movements. He must have damaged some of the spell that was keeping it animate. Zullie had taught him some diagnostic magic that should tell him for sure and might uncover what these things were and what kind of magic powered them as well. That would be the first step in figuring out how to stop them permanently. Unfortunately, that would also require getting far too close.

Perhaps if Agnete managed to trap one on its hands and knees like the trio without any upright nearby, he could try.

However, he had a feeling he knew what was going on. Not exactly and he didn’t know how to undo it or shut the magic down. Still, he had enough information to know that this had to be the work of a miracle passed down by one of the three traitors to the Pantheon. The Heart of Gold, he guessed just based on the name of the deities.

He had suspected before. The assassins suddenly having glowing eyes, the fact that Evestani was home to the Golden Order, and the suddenness and unexpectedness of the invasion, which nobody seemed able to explain. Now these golden soldiers with magic that even Agnete was struggling to defeat.

Arkk wasn’t sure if it was him or something he had done, Vezta or something she had done, or just that they existed at all, but it was clear to him that they had garnered the ire of a god. This, more than anything else, made him sure that Evestani was after Fortress Al-Mir, not Cliff City and the Duke.

Would he still have accepted the power of Fortress Al-Mir if Vezta had mentioned that it would make him an enemy of the only three gods that could access this world? Probably, if he were being honest. The situation at the time had felt dire, the most harrowing event he or Langleey Village had ever faced at the time. The threat of the orcs and goblins and, later, demon summoning had been a very real and lethal threat. On the other hand, gods were some vague and distant entities, only spoken of in terms of vague myths by Abbess Keena during the Suun sermons. The source of power for healing miracles. Not something that could or would bother to affect regular people.

The situation did make him wonder about the traitors and their intentions. The Abbey of the Light, the dominant religion within the borders of Chernlock, likely owed patronage to the Holy Light. So why was the Golden Order of Evestani in the middle of a full-scale invasion while the Abbey of the Light had sent out three inquisitors who hadn’t understood the scope of the situation. Vrox, as he had admitted, wanted to control or contain Vezta and other archaic magics. They hadn’t known anything about what Vezta actually was.

Those assassins at the Duke’s party had been taken over by something. Possessed, or some similar spell. The one that spoke had recognized Vezta and had even used the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE]. Evestani knew. Maybe not the soldiers marching across the Duchy. Their leaders? The one sending them here? They knew.

So what about the Abbey of the Light then? Could they be allies? He had brokered some kind of truce with Vrox. Then again, Vrox, in his ignorance, could have gotten the entire scope of the situation wrong. Maybe he had been imprisoned and was suffering torture or even death for letting Vezta out of his sight. Arkk didn’t know. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Vrox since the night of the Duke’s party.

Looking up, watching as Agnete immobilized the rest of the slow-moving statues, Arkk frowned. It was something to keep in mind. Thinking about it in terms of what Vrox had said, he couldn’t trust the Abbey of the Light because he didn’t know how they would act or what they wanted. The same was true with the Holy Light and the Heart of Gold. He didn’t know what they wanted, other than him and Vezta. He wasn’t even sure that it was possible to know what a deity truly wanted. They were being of such incomprehension that even Vezta, who supposedly knew them better than anyone alive, couldn’t guess what they wanted beyond their stated domains.

“Arkk.”

“Is that all of them?”

“All the ones chasing White Company,” Agnete said, steam roiling from her bare shoulders. “If any broke off… They may find their way to an undefended village…”

“Damn it.” Arkk grit his teeth. She was right. Hawkwood and his army had been focused on not falling to the golden soldiers as they fell back to Elmshadow. He might not know if any had separated. “Get back to Fortress Al-Mir. Have the scrying team focus on the area around here and around where Hawkwood was camped. They’re slow and shiny. Should be easy to notice.”

“Understood.”

“Return here after. If Evestani has more tricks up their sleeves, we might need you.”

Agnete nodded her head. “There is one other thing,” she said, raising a scarred yet muscular arm. The embers in her scars were at a low glow, visible only thanks to the overcast skies.

Arkk followed her pointing finger.

Evestani’s army had followed along in the wake of the golden soldiers. It probably wasn’t all of them, merely their vanguard. Arkk watched as a small squad, mounted on horses, rode across the vacant fields and empty plains. Perhaps, seeing that there were only two enemies out here, they intended to rush forward and take his and Agnete’s heads.

Whatever they wanted didn’t matter.

Their bravery and courage despite witnessing Agnete’s flames vanished in an instant upon approaching the mausoleums. Even from the distance, Arkk heard the blood-curdling screams of terrific horror, the shrill whinnying of their horses, and the violent clattering of armor. Horses threw their riders, falling to the snow-slicked ground before scampering in the opposite direction. The riders scrambled along the ground, crying out in long shrieks of fright. They fled, arms forgotten on the ground, back toward the bulk of the army.

“Well at least that is working,” Arkk said, glad that they had finished the line of mausoleums before Hawkwood had to retreat. He wasn’t sure how long it would last, whether or not those affected would continue running until they collapsed from exhaustion, or if their comrades would be able to bolster their courage once more.

Such was the consequence of using experimental mind magic from a man who had thought it was a good idea to live for months in an abandoned mine, surrounded by creatures who would have killed him in an instant if they knew what he was.

“Come, I don’t want to stand out in the open any longer. Get back to Fortress Al-Mir and return as fast as possible.”

“Shall I fetch Zullie to investigate these golden soldiers?”

Arkk hesitated. She might be able to figure something out. Maybe she knew of some longer-distance diagnostic magics that she hadn’t taught him. But every time he took her, Savren, or Vezta off the ritual project, it just delayed it. She had said one week just a day ago. Disrupting that now…

“No. We’ll have to be enough.”

 

 

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

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

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

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

But all that momentum was going to stop here.

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

Long enough for Arkk to finish his task.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think it will be that easy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose that makes sense.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wouldn’t last forever.

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

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

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

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

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

“Adjutant,” Hawkwood called out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Incoming!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Father—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But first, he had a monster to please.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We will still them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y… Your Holiness…”

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

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

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

“Problem? Of course, it’s—”

“Will it affect our operations?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sultan?”

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

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nevertheless, he made good time through the city.

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

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

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

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

The door swung open far sooner than he expected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things were going to get… unpleasant very quickly.

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

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

“Seen by many?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t ask that of me.”

“I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m aware.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did the Duke survive?” Arkk asked.

“He did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And calling the church down on me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you, Master?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you. Vezta.”

“Understood, Master.”

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

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

“Yes?”

“You went after that assassin.”

“Naturally.”

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

Arkk simply shrugged.

“You didn’t succeed in stopping him.”

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t be up. You need rest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir, shouldn’t you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

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

“Not Duke Woldair?”

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

“They made it out then?”

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

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

“The Evestani Sultanate?”

“Sir?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” Dakka snapped.

“Almost there. Gently. Gently.”

“Will you shut up?”

“Three, two… Lock it in place.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What…” Hawkwood said, “is that?”

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

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

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

“I…”

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

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

“Is… she dangerous?”

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

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

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

“Why not shut up?”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

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

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

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

Where had Arkk dug up something like this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We have to get you out of here.”

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stopped.

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

“It’s you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had to focus on Ilya.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Master, I won’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

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

Did one look suspicious?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything alright there, Arkk?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or…

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

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

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

He spoke one single word.

“Vezta.”