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Arkk stood alone in a side hallway of the Duke’s manor. He wasn’t sure that he was supposed to be off on his own. In all the commotion of moving the guests around, no one had stopped him and right now, he just didn’t care.

Something about seeing Alya standing there behind the Duke ticked him off. He hadn’t meant to lash out. From Ilya’s account of their first visit to Cliff and the various people who had given him information on the Duke’s advisor, he knew that she wasn’t being held against her will. He thought he had been prepared to maintain a calm façade, carrying on the charade that was Company Al-Mir. Instead, he had lashed out, all but shouting at her for up and leaving without a word.

It was from seeing her. The way she stood behind the Duke like she was as trusted to that man as Ilya was to Arkk. Her clothing, a flowing dress with silk so fine that Arkk doubted anyone from Langleey had seen anything comparable. The dignified posture and slight smile on her face before she realized who he was…

All of it just stirred something inside him.

When he had left, Ilya had been talking to Alya. Arkk wasn’t sure what excuses Alya was coming up with but he hadn’t wanted to hear them. He made his excuses to the Duke and slipped away before he could say something he would end up regretting.

This party had been a bad idea. Not because it was a trap or because Vrox was present—though he wasn’t quite ruling that out yet despite Vrox’s words to the contrary—but just because this… everything disgusted Arkk. This party. The elites of society meandered about, feasting and celebrating nothing but themselves while, just a jaunt down the harbor, half the city lived in squalor. Non-humans were treated like trash while an elf ran about with such a fancy title as Vizier. The villages outside the city limits weren’t in much of a better state. High taxes forced villages like Langleey to overfarm, leaving little room for anything else, both physically and temporally.

On his first visit to the city, he hadn’t paid all that much attention. Fortress Al-Mir had been brand new at the time and he had other problems on his hands. The Duke living large and the people living small had just been how the world worked ever since he had been able to understand it. Maybe he could have done something then but he hadn’t been in the right mindset.

There was nothing that could be done about all those problems. He was a regular guy, not someone with the power and influence of the Duke. He couldn’t make large, sweeping changes that might affect thousands or tens of thousands.

He had been thinking too small.

Now, months down the line, he had stretched Fortress Al-Mir. Taken it out for a walk. He had defended villages, persuaded hostile beastmen to join his cause, defeated a contingent of inquisitors, and ridded the world of a blight of slavers. For the majority of those, he hadn’t even been in the vicinity of the actual fortress.

Early on, he had mentioned overthrowing the Duke to Vezta. He had been serious but he hadn’t really seen a way to do it, even with the supposed offerings Fortress Al-Mir could provide.

Now?

He was wondering why he had let the issue lie for months.

Not really. Obviously, there were issues. The number one of those being simple numbers. Twenty orcs, a few specialists, and, now, fresh recruits who might not even stick around if he started a war, wouldn’t be enough to take on armies. Even if he could somehow lure the armies to the fortress, the numbers alone would overwhelm him.

Although surely not his intention, Edvin’s actions that caused the recruitment spike might have been worth more than Arkk initially thought. Non-humans would likely jump at the chance to overthrow the Duke. Even humans, although treated better, might still be interested. Especially if they came from the most heavily taxed villages in the Duchy.

Then there were the promised allies from the Underworld.

He wouldn’t quite know what he had access to—or why people from an entirely different plane of reality might come to join him in a crusade unrelated to their current existence—until he completed the ritual. All he knew was what Vezta had told him. There would be magical beings interested in traversing the boundaries between worlds. They would likely wish to undo the Calamity as well, aligning themselves with that goal at the very least. As magical beings, they would require the support of the Heart to survive here. At least until the Calamity was reverted and magic could flow freely.

That was the real trick of it. Making sure everyone’s goals aligned.

The orcs would probably agree to anything. Theoretically, they didn’t have a choice if they didn’t want to be handed over to the Duke’s men given their raider pasts but… Arkk wasn’t quite so willing to hold that over their heads at this point. They had been through too much together. Arkk was fairly confident that they were entirely for a good—or at least successful—fight no matter who their opponents were.

The gorgon would be harder to convince. Arkk had enticed them to Fortress Al-Mir with promises of safety and security from an invading army. While a few of them were willing to help out with things like the slavers, he wasn’t sure how they might react to more. It would be something to think about and feel out a bit with Khan and Zharja.

Savren was a criminal and didn’t have a choice. Unlike the orcs… Arkk didn’t particularly like the man. Or perhaps it was easier to say that the man wasn’t a very likable person. Zullie, on the other hand, might have qualms. At the same time, if Arkk ended up fighting off the inquisitors and the Abbey of the Light as a whole, the freedom to research whatever she wanted would be an enticing reward for helping out.

As for the thieves, Arkk wondered if he could drag them into this. Lexa had jumped at the idea of riches. A gold piece a month was enough to buy her loyalty. At least for the moment. Would others jump at the opportunity—

“Master.”

Plots and plans flew from Arkk’s mind as his bones leaped out of his skin. The familiar yet completely unexpected voice of Vezta at his back had his heart hammering in his chest. He turned, hand over his heart, expecting to find the servant standing in the otherwise deserted corridor. Instead, he found a stalk of oily, violet-hued flesh sticking out of an oily shadow that didn’t quite fit with the lighting in the hallway. An uncannily humanoid mouth topped the stalk, aimed in his direction.

For as used to Vezta as Arkk had grown, she really had a way of unsettling him every now and then.

“I don’t mean to disturb you—”

“Too late,” Arkk grumbled, looking around. He didn’t think Vezta would do this if anyone could see. It still felt dangerous.

“But,” she continued, undaunted. “I must inform you that I smell bodily fluids.”

Arkk frowned. He didn’t think she had startled him that much. Taking a whiff of the air, he wrinkled his nose. The fetid stench of a latrine filled his nostrils. Beyond the rank scent, a metallic undercurrent stung his senses. A familiar scent, both from his days as a hunter and his more recent job as a mercenary leader.

Blood.

“I smell it too,” he said, wondering how distracted he must have been to have missed it. “Hide again. We don’t know how many of the walls here have eyes.”

Whatever corridor he found himself in appeared deserted, that didn’t mean it actually was.

It was a servant’s hall, he assumed, something they used to travel around the manor unseen. It was far too narrow for a man like the Duke. Not in the sense that he was overweight, merely that his status inflated him beyond the need to travel through a poorly lit, cramped corridor. Arkk hadn’t been traveling through it. He was pacing back and forth as he worked out his mental frustrations over the situation.

Having delved so deeply into his thoughts, he wasn’t sure which direction to head nor which of the many doors along the walls would get him back to the party and the guards who would surely want to know about this.

That scent grew stronger as he picked a direction at random, forcing him to pull the corner of cloth from his breast pocket to hold over his mouth. It probably meant that he was heading the wrong way. Just as he was about to turn around, he spotted a door ajar not far ahead. Curiosity got the better of him and he approached, peeking inside.

Dim, worn glowstones embedded in the ceiling provided enough light to see by. It was some kind of storage room. Large tarps wrapped around old, unused furniture. Chairs were stacked up along one wall and a table with its legs removed sat against another. Shelves, boxes, and a tall armoire littered the rest of the room.

The armoire drew Arkk’s attention. It was hard not to, what with the arm dangling from its partially opened wardrobe door. The strong stench of a fresh latrine was coming from it as well. Stepping into the storage room, Arkk pulled open the armoire’s door.

A filth-covered man slumped out of the closet, falling to the ground hard enough to make Arkk wince. Not that the man felt a thing. His throat had been slit, leaving lifeless eyes staring up at Arkk.

Arkk wondered if he should have been more repulsed or panicked at seeing a dead body. As a hunter, he had seen his fair share of dead animals. Humans, however, should have been unnerving. Yet this was probably the hundredth body he had seen in the past month alone. Rather than disturbed, Arkk found himself more curious about why the body was entirely naked.

It was fresh. He could tell that much from experience, even if he wasn’t an expert. Within the last hour, he guessed. What had happened? A lover’s tryst gone wrong? That would explain the lack of attire. Except clothes would have been scattered about unless the man and his lover had traveled through the halls in the nude. There were no clothes anywhere in sight. Not to mention, a tryst going wrong feels like it would have been more of an impulsive kill. The surgical slash across the man’s neck looked far too… steady. Planned or, at least, practiced.

In fact, the slit across the man’s throat brought up memories of how Lexa had dispatched the slaver beastmasters.

He quickly checked on his stealthy employee, making sure that she wasn’t somewhere nearby. To Arkk’s relief, he found her in a tavern somewhere, casually lifting a coin purse off a man who was distracted by conversation with Edvin.

He… probably should have a chat with them about that later.

Shaking his head, Arkk backed away from the body. Guards could figure out why and how the man died. Being caught standing over it wouldn’t be a good look.

Turning, Arkk froze with a cold sweat dripping down his back.

Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox stood tall in the doorway, watching the situation with no sign of his vapid smile anywhere to be seen. “You didn’t think I would let you slip off on your own, did you?”

Arkk clenched his jaw, staring up at the tall man. “I had nothing—”

“Relax, Arkk,” Vrox said, tone serious as he swept into the room. Arkk tensed, doubly so as his shadow started roiling. However, Vrox merely stopped at his side, looking down at the body with a frown. “Not only was I following you, I told you that I studied you,” he said as he crouched down. He grasped the body’s head by the hair, looking at the man’s face before moving on to one of the man’s hands. “Murdering a random servant isn’t in my profile of you. Regardless of our… disagreements, you didn’t kill this man.”

Arkk let out a small breath. That… was good, right? Vrox could have used the situation to arrest him, he was sure. But instead, the man was inspecting the body.

“Servant?”

“His hair isn’t styled in the manner of the wealthy. It is grimy and unclean. Could be a guard but his hands aren’t calloused like those of someone who trains in martial combat.”

Arkk frowned down at the body. Hawkwood, during his first encounter with White Company’s leader, had pulled a similar trick, identifying Arkk as a peasant who recently came into wealth as easily as Arkk could spot the difference between a cow and a dog.

“I’ve seen kills like this before,” Arkk said, making a snap decision to assist Vrox. Not only would it hopefully keep Vrox from changing his mind about trying to have him arrested, a rather selfish aim, but it would hopefully help bring some solace to the man’s family if justice was done. Disgust with the Duke aside, the Duke’s household staff were probably innocent. “Professional, clean cut.”

“As have I,” Vrox said, looking up to the armoire. “The body was sloppily hidden.”

“Bodies are heavy,” Arkk said, again from experience. “Picking it up off the ground to shove into the armoire’s closet would have been a good amount of work for someone. Especially if they were in a hurry or…” Arkk blinked twice. “Or didn’t need it to be hidden for long. His clothes are missing. A servant’s clothes are missing.”

If this wasn’t a tryst gone wrong… if this was fully planned by someone who knew what they were doing…

“Assassin,” Vrox said, standing abruptly.

It would have been easy. Slip in during a crowded night and take a servant’s clothes. How many people knew the faces of every servant? The Duke and Alya didn’t, that much Arkk already knew from their reactions to the tall tale Zullie had spun. The majordomo might have known. Maybe a few other servants. In all the commotion of the evening, especially after all the guests had to move across the manor…

Arkk blinked in realization. Zullie had said that she hadn’t touched the lights. Even when Vrox had left and before the Duke arrived, she had said that it wasn’t her. He had thought she was just covering for herself but there was no need to lie to him. He wouldn’t care if she blew up the Duke’s manor. He might even give her a bonus.

“Zullie wasn’t lying about it not being her.”

“Excuse me?”

“The lights. They blew up. It wasn’t Zullie. She was telling the truth about the overload.”

Vrox’s eyes widened behind his glasses ever so slightly. “To get the guests to move. They must have needed a different room for some reason.” He turned toward the door but paused. “Why do you sound so surprised about her words?”

“Did you believe her when she said it wasn’t her?”

Vrox considered then shook his head.

Arkk just shrugged. “Same.”

Vrox didn’t say a word in response. He turned back to the hall. Arkk, figuring he knew which way to get back to the party, hurried alongside him.

“I trust you, Arkk.”

Arkk blinked at the sudden vote of confidence. “What?”

“Let me rephrase,” Vrox said without a pause in his steps. “I trust in my profile of you, Arkk. All of your actions demonstrate a need to help those less fortunate than you, those who find themselves in danger, and those whom you have personally impacted. You play the role of an idealistic hero. Do not betray that trust.”

“Don’t betray the… trust you have in your profile.”

Vrox half-turned his head, a vacant smile in place. “Now you’re getting it.”

Arkk disagreed. He wasn’t quite sure how Vrox could say that he trusted him even in such a roundabout way. If a fight broke out, Arkk doubted he could ever trust Vrox at his back. Even if they had a common enemy, he could just imagine that man waiting for the opportune moment to slip a dagger into his back. But then, perhaps that was just what the inquisitor was saying. Arkk didn’t think he was the kind of person to do that. At least not to Vrox. Assault on the fortress aside, they really hadn’t had poor interactions. Disagreements, as Vrox had put it, but nothing overtly hostile. Even the assault was the inquisitor carrying out his misguided duty to either rid the world of Vezta or control her.

Vrox paused in front of a door near the end of the corridor, hand on the handle. “Act as naturally as possible. If our assassin realizes that he has been discovered, he may take drastic and catastrophic action.”

“Right.”

Vrox threw open the door and immediately clamped a firm hand around Arkk’s shoulder. A spike of panic shot through Arkk, fearing he had been lulled into a false sense of security. That panic faded as he realized this was natural. The inquisitor ushered him into the large throne room where most of the guests had assembled.

That firm hand stayed on Arkk’s shoulder until they walked a few paces from the walls. Vrox didn’t handle him roughly. Sternly, yes. Arkk doubted his suit would even be wrinkled.

“Leave the gathering again at your own peril,” Vrox said, tone harsh.

“Just got lost,” Arkk grumbled, catching on quickly. “I clearly don’t know my way around as well as you. I’m surprised the Abbey sends you here often enough that you’ve learned its layout.”

“My duties carry me to a great many places. Some pleasant, some I’d rather not visit if at all possible.”

Arkk raised an eyebrow, wondering what the inquisitor was referring to. The Duke’s party? Or maybe the fortress? Or maybe they were just empty words for the charade they were putting on. Whatever the case, Vrox didn’t elaborate. He let go of Arkk’s shoulder.

“I’m looking out for anything suspicious,” he said, making deliberate eye contact. “This is your only warning.” Without waiting for Arkk to respond, he turned away, scanning the room once before making his way through the nearby onlookers.

Arkk shuffled his shoulders, straightening out his suit. A good dozen people, some of whom he had been introduced to even if he failed to recall their names, were watching him with expressions ranging from disapproval to moderated curiosity. Arkk didn’t find himself all that concerned with their stares. It was hard to feel self-conscious at the moment.

Not while there was an assassin somewhere in the crowd.

 

 

 

For all the negativity he had heard with regard to these monthly parties and his own biases against the Duke, Arkk couldn’t say that the party was bad. Strange and alien, yes. Social rituals were being conducted all around him, ones he didn’t quite understand nor could he participate in.

Arkk, led through the ballroom first by Hawkwood and then by Aron Wolf, bounced from group to group. He barely had time to talk to any of them before being whisked off to be introduced to the next little clique. Zullie, Ilya, and even Dakka were nowhere to be seen. None had alerted him to any problems…

If he were being honest, he wished one of them would have a problem just so that he could disentangle himself from smiling at some old man who was droning on about how well the glassblowing industry had faired this year. Arkk kept up a polite smile, not sure what to say or do. Aron occasionally interjected with his commentary on whatever business ventures he had entered into recently, mostly discussing his plans for Darkwood come spring.

At its base, the party was a festive feast. Not altogether unlike a good meal after a bountiful harvest back at Langleey. Yet the whole affair was so… subdued. People stood around, talking and making business deals rather than celebrating. This wasn’t exactly a celebration so maybe that was understandable. Still, it just felt off to Arkk. Then there was the food and drink. People drank but not like at a proper feast. They sipped at tall glasses, metering and measuring how much they consumed. The food was slightly less surprising, if only thanks to Hawkwood’s invitation to dinner upon Arkk’s arrival to Cliff. It consisted of a dozen plates of what was effectively samplings of a proper meal, though, as of yet, that proper meal had yet to be served.

“Ah!” Aron said, interrupting his own words. He reached out and patted the old glassblower on the arm. “I’ve spotted Geralt. I simply have to speak with him this evening.” He paused and glanced toward Arkk. “Head of a woodworking guild who I’m hoping to court to produce end products,” he explained. “Care to meet him?”

“That’s… very kind of you,” Arkk said, trying to avoid looking like he was searching for an escape while still looking for one. If he were being honest, he very much wished that he was still being led around by Hawkwood. At least the man’s mercenary contacts were more… interesting than hearing about trade commissions all evening.

Thankfully and luckily with perfect timing, someone in the room screamed. A sharp note of surprise, not pain. An instant later, blinding white light reflected off the slanted panes of glass overhead, making Arkk blink for a moment before an entire corner of the room went dark.

“But I should see what this is all about,” he said, moving quickly before Aron had time to protest. It helped that the man—and the other businessmen in this group—were looking around with obvious shock and surprise, trying to figure out if something dangerous was going on.

Arkk wasn’t concerned. At least not that the party was under attack. Weaving through pockets of people, he made it to the end of the room just after a small contingent of guards. Judging by the looks on their faces, the guards hadn’t expected anything to go amiss. They probably worked at a ton of these events, all of which went smoothly. Of course, all those events hadn’t had Zullie in attendance.

“—flimsy filigree! It is no fault of mine that the Duke’s contractors couldn’t build the ritual array to last! I was just looking! I didn’t even touch it.”

“—staring at it all night! I watched her walk around the column no less than eight times.”

“—tried to make it look like she slipped but she did something when she touched it. There was a flash. I saw it! Everyone saw it!”

A small crowd stood around in the darkened corner of the room, all talking at once. The poor guards were looking back and forth, trying to sort out the stories. It was clear that none of the guards were leader-types as none had taken charge. Figuring it was best to get in before things could degrade, Arkk started forward and froze.

A tall man broke the barrier formed by the crowd before Arkk could. Hands clasped behind his back and wearing an empty smile, Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox reached the pillar in just a few quick strides of his long legs.

“Zullie, Zullie, Zullie. How lovely to see you again.”

A change rippled over the crowd. If these people didn’t know who Vrox was, the gleaming silver pin of an eye with a bar through it told them enough. Many onlookers turned, not-so-subtly edging away from the area. If an inquisitor was involved, they didn’t want to look like they might have had anything to do with the problem. Even the guards, while immediately deferring to the inquisitor, shuffled in obvious discomfort.

Arkk, for his part, remained in the wings, watching to see how the situation played out. If Zullie looked like she was in trouble, he would jump in without hesitation. Until that moment, however, he wanted a better read on the situation. This was the first they had seen of the inquisitors. It had gotten to the point where Arkk figured they just didn’t care. Vrox knew that Zullie worked with Arkk and, by extension, the ‘being from beyond the stars’ as well. Zullie had even fought against Vrox during the invasion of the false fortress, though she hadn’t played a very focal role.

How Vrox interacted with Zullie would tell Arkk a great deal about how the inquisitor might treat him. Would a fight break out right here in the middle of the party? Would Vrox act cordial as he had their first few encounters? Was he upset and holding a grudge? Was it just business?

“Darius,” Zullie said, tone cool and with a note of familiarity. “Finally decided to crawl out from under your church to harass a respectable researcher more intelligent than yourself again?”

“I would never describe you as any of those three words,” Vrox said, tightening his smile ever so slightly. His eyes flicked up to the top of the pillar, which, Arkk noted, was leaking a bit of smoke. Thankfully, the glass ceiling had panels that could be opened. The room wasn’t filling up. “You overloaded the array. Beginner’s mistake.”

“If someone had designed a proper shunt, it wouldn’t have been possible to overload. Not that I did. I was just looking when the cycling magic overloaded itself.”

“Ah yes. Spontaneous overload. One of your earlier research projects. You wrote a paper on the subject that almost got you laughed out of the academy. A way of excusing your mistakes in array construction, so claimed your peers, with no factual basis in reality. Haven’t heard a word about it in the years since.”

“The context of those essays was overlooked,” Zullie snapped, stomping her foot. “Spontaneous overload only occurs in planar arrays that fail to compensate. Not regular ritual circles. Everyone ignored that bit… And I didn’t shut up about it because my ‘peers’ mocked me.” She used her fingers to accentuate the comment. “I dropped the research because you came knocking at my door.”

“I recall that conversation. Early in my career, I was a little more generous. Shouldn’t have let you go free, should I have?”

Zullie shifted, looking a little less confident. She adjusted her glasses in a way that Arkk had come to understand meant uncertainty. “I appreciated it,” she hedged.

“Well—”

“Darius Vrox,” Arkk said, deciding to not let his employee suffer any other threats to her life. “How good to see you again.”

“Arkk,” the man said, turning. His circular glasses slid down his nose as he looked down from his height. “I heard you were in town,” he added, tone as flat as Arkk’s.

“I’m hurt you didn’t come visit. I was expecting you from the very first day and you never showed.”

“That, Arkk, is exactly why I didn’t come. You’re one of those types who isn’t as clever as you think you are. The difference between you and those incompetents is that you have a frankly absurd degree of luck to fall back on,” Vrox said. His smile slipped during the latter part of his comment. Taking a breath, he let it out as a long sigh before smiling once again.

“I try,” Arkk said. “I think I’m getting better.”

“That concerns me.” Vrox cast a glance around the room. “You didn’t bring the purifier with you?”

“Agnete said that she isn’t interested in these kinds of things. Even if she was…”

“You wouldn’t want to put all these people in danger,” Vrox finished, nodding his head.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to. I know the purifier. Though not as well as I had thought. I honestly expected you to slip up and leave the Binding Agent aside, opening yourself to incineration. I suppose that was too much to hope for.”

“She isn’t that bad.”

Vrox hummed a note of disagreement.

“So,” Arkk said, eyes flicking down to his shadow just to confirm that it stretched a little too long. With the column in front of him darkened and the rest of the room lit, it reached clear across the space to Vrox. “What now? Fight? Try to arrest us?”

“Unless you’ve come with war in mind, not today, Arkk. Hardly a suitable location for it here, is it? No. I’ve studied your movements and actions for the past several months. You aren’t the type to place unrelated people in danger. I am not either.” He shook his head, looking mildly upset despite his words.

“You sent random people searching through the Cursed Forest.”

“And none were harmed,” Vrox said with the worst smile. Like he knew that there had been no danger in the first place. He was right. It still irritated Arkk. “Arresting you would be within the realm of reasonable action. If I thought it would work. I do not believe you would have come here without some trickery or foolhardy plan on how you might extricate yourself.”

At that, Arkk dipped his head in acknowledgment. That one was true and Arkk didn’t mind admitting it if it was a factor in not trying to arrest him. “So what then? Smile and wave and go our separate ways?”

“It isn’t too late to avoid all conflict. Have you given any further thought to our last discussion?”

Arkk blinked, taking a moment to remember. His first thoughts were of the invasion of the fortress. Aside from panicking over an unleashed Agnete, they hadn’t talked about much during that fight. The last discussion had taken place in Langleey just after he sent Hale and John off to the fortress to keep them out of the inquisitor’s hands.

“About handing over my companions?” Arkk asked with narrowed eyes. “I haven’t spared a single second thinking over such nonsense.”

“Shame.” Vrox’s eyes flicked up and over Arkk’s shoulder. Arkk didn’t turn. Although he couldn’t see any eyes lighting up his shadow, he trusted Vezta to have at least some awareness of their surroundings. If someone was sneaking up on him, she would react. “Very well, Arkk. I trust you to not cause issues tonight.”

Trust. An odd way to put it. Arkk doubted he would have trusted Vrox if the man were wandering around Fortress Al-Mir during a party. Nevertheless, Vrox clasped his hands behind his back once again and started away. The guards watched him go, still unsure about what to do with the situation. They had been hoping the inquisitor would definitively resolve it and he clearly had not.

Arkk took advantage of their uncertainty, rushing forward and taking Zullie by the arm. “What were you doing?” he whispered, trying to lead her away. “Blowing up their lights like that?”

“I didn’t. I was just looking. There is something unusual about the lights here. The light isn’t generated normally and it isn’t emitted as a byproduct like what happens with a flame. It is… siphoned from somewhere. Planar magic. Right in the open and on full display.”

Arkk stopped short, glancing back. He had thought he understood the array when he saw it. Granted, he had only looked briefly before his attentions were stolen away by the rest of the party. His studies hadn’t reached a point where he had started learning anything about planar magic, unfortunately. He only knew how to draw out teleportation circles from rote memorization, not from any actual knowledge of the subject.

“You’re sure?”

“It is subtle,” Zullie admitted. “But it is there.”

“Where is the light coming from?”

Zullie shrugged. “That’s what I was trying to figure out. Could be the other side of the world where the sun is still up. Could be… elsewhere.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“How am I supposed to know that? I don’t even know where it is coming from. Unless it is brand new, other parties have been held here and nobody has—”

“What is the meaning of this?” a deep voice bellowed in anger.

Arkk hid the grimace that appeared on his face as fast as it came. He wished for a moment that he hadn’t stopped to look back at the column. It was a silly wish. The guards wouldn’t have taken any time to track him down if he stayed at the party.

Now, he had to deal with the main man.

Arkk had never before met—or even seen—the Duke Levi Woldair. That didn’t mean he didn’t recognize the man before him instantly. He had heard from Ilya, from Aron Wolf, and from Hawkwood what the man was like and how he looked.

With bloated cheeks, a round belly, and eyes a smidge too large for his face, the man looked like a toad. A toad dressed in a flashy red and black suit with thick lapels. Golden thread adorned the hems of his suit jacket, the legs of his pants, and even the ruffled ascot tucked down his front. More gold bands wrapped around each of the man’s thick fingers. Enough to buy a small room back at Fortress Al-Mir.

But Arkk’s eyes lingered on the red-faced man for only a moment. The figure behind him, standing tall with an uncomfortably familiar ethereal grace, stole his attention. Her long hair flowed behind her, draped over her bare shoulders above her light gray dress. There was no doubt about her identity. If there had been, the way her sharp silver eyes flicked over Arkk, Zullie, and the pillar would have removed any uncertainty. It was the same look Arkk had seen a million times while Ilya was out tracking down game.

Although, when she looked at him, Arkk failed to see any familiar recognition in Alya’s eyes. He supposed that made sense. It had been fifteen years since she last saw him. He had been a boy. A peasant at that, off in some backwater village that most of the Kingdom had likely never heard about. Now, he wore fine clothes and stood with dignity among those who would have passed him by with an upturned nose before.

Hopefully, the back of his neck wasn’t quite so sun-worn now.

“Duke Woldair,” Arkk started, forcing his eyes off Alya before she realized how much he was staring. “Pleasure to finally make—”

“Enough,” the man interrupted, face turning shades of purple that couldn’t be healthy. “What happened?” he said through grit teeth. It wasn’t too surprising given what Arkk knew about the man. He valued appearances and wealth. Having a whole corner of his ballroom plunged into darkness with smoke billowing out from the skylight wasn’t the best look.

And Arkk didn’t quite know how to answer him. So he looked to Zullie.

The witch rolled her eyes before donning the fakest smile Arkk had ever seen. “I’m a magical researcher with Company Al-Mir. While enjoying your fine festivities, I started hearing a fizzling noise. A sure sound of improperly vented magical circles. Following my ears, I found the source to be the lighting ritual here,” she said, motioning back toward the pillar. “I began a cursory examination. Following the Keppler array and applying Ragnold’s transvector theorem, I deduced the problem as a violation of Leibniz archaeo-ingnem horaspace directional slipstream. Unfortunately, before I could figure out a way to properly vent the system of excess magical energy… well…” Zullie glanced up, looking and sounding genuinely sorry.

Arkk just stared at her. He had only been properly studying magic for a few months now and only between all his other tasks. Still, he was fairly certain that he should have heard of at least one of those things she mentioned. He hadn’t. Had she made it all up? Arkk honestly could not tell.

At least the Duke looked less angry and more confused. He clearly had even less of a background in magical studies than Arkk did. “This room was built in my grandfather’s time and has never had a problem.”

“Not surprising,” Zullie answered instantly. “An issue like this is only apparent if the one activating the array has a drastically above-average capacity for magic. Fairly rare. Was someone new in charge of turning on the lights this evening?”

Woldair shared a look with Alya. It was clear that neither knew. Arkk doubted that the Duke involved himself in what was likely the duties of the lowest servants. Arkk wasn’t exactly sure what role Alya played. From what he had heard, she had served as some kind of advisor for the last five years or so. Managing servants was probably not among her duties either.

After frowning up at the thin layer of smoke that wasn’t quite venting out the open windows fast enough, the Duke looked back to the main entrance and made a swift motion with his hand. One of the finely dressed men announcing incoming guests hurried over.

“Majordomo,” the Duke said, sounding far more reasonable now that he wasn’t apoplectic. “Have tables set up in the throne room. Have the guests head to the entrance hall for the time being. We can’t carry on here.”

The servant nodded without a word, turned, and made a few hand motions of his own that gathered a few other servants to his side. They quickly left, departing the room while others began ushering the guests out. Arkk noted Dakka among the first few out the door, talking with what was likely the only other orc in the room.

“Company Al-Mir, you said? I appreciate your efforts at preventing this, even if they failed,” the Duke said, clearly skeptical still. Perhaps he just didn’t want to make more of a scene. “I’ve heard of you. Got the mines of Silver City running again?”

“Yes sir,” Arkk said, hoping his smile didn’t look too forced. Being recognized startled him somewhat. Given that their invitation had been forged, this was the moment when everything might crash down around them.

“A good metal,” the Duke said, nodding his head. Or maybe not. As with the lighting arrangements, the Duke didn’t send out invitations himself. “Not my favorite. It tarnishes too quickly.”

Arkk just kept his smile, not sure what to say to that. Eyes flicking down to the rings on the Duke’s fingers, he had a feeling he knew what metal was his favorite.

“I heard you turned down the reward.”

“The city looked like it needed all the help it could get. Taking what little they had wouldn’t have helped.”

“A man should be entitled to the fruits of his efforts,” the Duke said.

“In that, we agree completely,” Arkk said, trying to keep anything unpleasant out of his voice. Hoping he hadn’t slipped up, he quickly added on, “It was really no effort at all. I just asked the gorgon to move somewhere a little less disruptive.”

“If that was all,” the Duke said, relaxing even more than before. He stepped forward with a smile slowly forming on his face, making him look even more like a toad. “I can’t say I’m upset that you didn’t take my silver.”

Arkk’s eyebrow twitched as Woldair laughed and clapped a hand on his arm.

“That isn’t the first reward you turned down for a job well done if I remember right. Keep that up and you’ll go far indeed. Some of these mercenaries are greedy beyond belief.”

Arkk doubted any mercenary company could turn down rewards while still paying their men. Fortress Al-Mir was a bit special in that regard.

“Arkk was it?”

“Yes sir. Leader of Company Al-Mir. This is Zullie, my chief magical researcher. My field commander, Dakka, just got swept out into the hall with some of the other guests.” Arkk paused, turning slightly. “My second in command is standing just over there.”

Through his employee link, Arkk could see exactly where Ilya was and the conflicted, hesitant expression on her face as she watched the goings on.

The Duke turned to follow his gaze. Alya did as well. The Duke’s eyes took on a far more disgusting look as he mumbled something about “A man after my own heart.” Arkk had nothing polite to say about that and kept his mouth firmly shut.

Alya, on the other hand, drew in a sharp breath of air. She hadn’t reacted upon seeing him or even hearing his name. If the Duke knew this much about him, she had probably heard it before. It was very likely that she hadn’t thought he was the same Arkk that she had helped raise for a little under a decade. Arkk doubted he was the only one with his name in the whole Duchy let alone the greater Kingdom.

Seeing Ilya standing off to the side, however, dispelled any notions that he was someone else. She placed a hand on her chest, wrinkling her dress as she stared at Ilya. Through obvious force of will, she managed to look back to Arkk with renewed interest, looking him up and down with nostalgia in her eyes.

“Arkk?”

“Ah,” the Duke started before Arkk could say a word. “My vizier, Alya.”

“Yes. I’ve… heard of her. Though she is nothing like I imagined.” Namely, a slave chained to a dungeon wall, not someone high in the Duke’s confidence.

“Exotic and beautiful,” the Duke said, nodding his head in total agreement with nothing Arkk meant. “I have a taste for good… people,” he added with a wink.

“People…” Arkk said with an ill feeling in his stomach. He shook his head and smiled once again. “Does she ever write home to her family?”

Woldair propped an eyebrow up, not quite understanding. Alya, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes.

“Ilya, my second in command over there, worries a lot about her family. She frets and fears the worst. Just a few months ago, she made her way back home only to find out that the place had been raided by slavers. The poor woman was beside herself, thinking her entire family were slaves, sold off to the most deplorable sorts for reasons nobody wanted to think about.”

“The Duchy condemns slavery,” the Duke said, frowning as he started looking around.

“Oh yes, officially. Rogue elements still operate between burgs. Company Al-Mir just took out a large slavery operation near Moonshine Burg.”

“Terrible business…”

“Indeed. But just imagine poor Ilya’s surprise when she found out that one of her family wasn’t sold off at all but was leading those slavers.”

“Arkk…” Alya said, fully frowning now. “You don’t understand…”

“Oh? I don’t, do I?” Arkk asked, anger rising. “I was there, seeing everything with my own eyes. Saw Ilya’s mother cavorting with—”

“Arkk!”

Arkk clamped his jaw shut, looking to where Ilya was hurrying over.

“That’s enough,” she said, voice cracking. “That’s enough.”

Arkk disagreed. Fifteen years, they thought Alya was some slave to the Duke, taken against her will. Yet here she was, standing tall next to the Duke. He didn’t know the dynamics of the situation exactly but he was willing to bet that she was one of the more powerful people in the Duchy in terms of politics. Vizier? And she couldn’t even write a letter to her daughter?

But he didn’t open his mouth again. He was fairly certain that, despite speaking obtusely, he was going to be thrown out of the party if he kept talking. If not by the Duke, then by Alya. So, after lightly resting a hand on Ilya’s shoulder, he stepped back.

“Ilya,” Alya said, word careful and guarded.

“Hello, mother.”

 

 

“I feel like an impostor.”

“We are impostors,” Ilya said, fiddling with the sleeves of her dress. She grasped hold of long, dangling strips of cloth. “What are these for? Can’t I cut them off?”

Arkk looked over her. Madame Webb’s Fine Threads had come through. Last night, the day before the party, Arkk had received the delivery at the Cliff’s Edge. Clothes for himself, Ilya, Dakka, and Zullie.

Ilya’s dress was a long white gown that hugged her waist and left the tops of her shoulders bare, save for a single white strap on each keeping the dress up. Long sleeves looked relatively normal right up until they reached her wrists, at which point the cloth hung down for almost another arm’s length, drifting loosely in the wind. Down at her feet, her dress spread out over the floor of the carriage, leaving her feet hidden.

“And what’s with the tightness around the knees? I can barely walk.”

“The tailor assured us that this was current fashion,” Arkk said, forcing his eyes back to Ilya’s face. He had been somewhat skeptical as well. The bare shoulders especially. The bare shoulders with sleeves extra especially. He couldn’t fault the end result, however. “You look beautiful.”

Ilya glanced aside. Embarrassed? Her expression quickly switched to a flat look that she leveled at Arkk. “Like I can trust your opinion.”

“You’ll draw every eye there, I’m sure of it.”

Ilya put up one eyebrow. “Is that a good thing?”

“I… don’t know. I might get a bit jealous if too many good-looking young men approach you.”

Ilya pressed her lips together. He expected some admonishment about how who she interacted with would be her decision. “Frankly,” she said instead, “I don’t think I want anyone at one of these parties to approach me. I spoke with that Wolf guy’s daughter once or twice over the week. She had nothing good to say about anything.”

“If anyone bothers you, we can handle it. Though let’s try to avoid making too big of a scene.”

“And if the Duke bothers me?”

Arkk’s teeth clenched together, unable to keep his irritation at the thought from his face. “We’re not peasants. We have status and renown. He can’t just… steal you away.”

“If he does?”

“Then we switch to Plan D,” Arkk said, voice hard.

Ilya stiffened then, slowly, smiled as she nodded to herself. It was a small thing. A shy smile that made Arkk’s heart calm.

“What if he comes after me, boss?”

Arkk turned, pulling his eyes away from Ilya. He had almost forgotten that there were others in the carriage with them.

Dakka sat across from him, leaning against a wooden panel next to the carriage door. Bare shoulders were surprising on Ilya. Arkk wasn’t quite sure what to think about Dakka’s dress. Madame Webb had never designed for an orc before and, given the short notice with which they needed attire, had instead cobbled together a few different pieces that she had lying about. Madame Webb had claimed that she wished to show off the orc physique with her creation. Arkk was fairly certain that she simply didn’t have the time to sew together enough cloth.

The end result was bare arms and a bare midriff. Dark blue cloth, sprinkled with lighter blue highlights woven into the fabric, criss-crossed over Dakka’s chest, looping around her neck and the middle of her back. A light gray sash looped around her waist, underneath which long strips of the same blue cloth hung down to her ankles. Part of the lower dress was split, letting her walk a whole lot easier than Ilya while showing off one of her legs.

Dakka didn’t look bad. Quite the opposite. It was strange and unusual attire. If he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Dakka said that she came from some far-off kingdom where the weather was always warm. He was sure that the wealthy and elite would balk at the multitude of scars adorning her tan skin but Arkk thought they added a bit of character. They and her impressive muscles showed off that she was a warrior.

Arkk had thought she might balk at the dress. He had been right, though for the wrong reasons. Her main issue wasn’t in the attire itself but rather the lack of weapons at her side.

“Stare too much and the elf will get jealous,” Dakka said with a grin. Confident in her tone yet he could see the way her hand hovered where her axe should have been.

Ilya scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Oh? I saw you watching Arkk just now, looking for his reaction to me.”

“You misunderstand. I watched in the hopes that you would take this love-struck fool off my—”

“If you people are done with your primitive mating rituals,” Zullie cut in, looking irritated as she adjusted her glasses. “We’re crossing the drawbridge to the Duke’s Manor now.”

Zullie wore something more akin to Ilya’s dress. Bare shoulders—though her black dress had three sets of straps over each shoulder, one vertical, one at an angle, and the last parallel to the ground. A crescent moon cutout on the front of her chest had some semi-transparent sheer cloth over the top. The same material adorned her waist, loose as it draped down to the floor. Some thicker cloth underneath covered her legs. Rather than sleeves, she wore long black gloves that stretched up above her elbows.

“You look good too, Zullie,” Arkk said with a smaller smile.

The woman just scoffed. “I can’t believe I’m here. I would rather be back at the stayover, reading through the books we stole. Ugh. I can’t believe Savren was right about the counter-clockwise magic collision problem. Where did he even learn about that? But I was right about the anti-magic seepage barrier. Planar magic is far more chaotic than mind—”

“Should we be talking about that here?” Ilya asked, looking around with obvious discomfort. As if someone might hear them talking.

Technically, their coachman wasn’t part of Company Al-Mir. Rather, someone in Hawkwood’s employ whom he had hired to take them to the manor. But the carriage was fully enclosed. Unless they raised their voices, they shouldn’t be heard that easily.

Despite Ilya’s concerns, Arkk leaned forward, interested. “Katja can provide ten spellcasters. With what you know now, is that enough? Do we need to find a few more?”

“That should be enough. The ritual should only need minor alterations at this point. I’ll know more once I get back and can do some proper calculations.”

“Good,” Arkk said, sitting back. As he did so, he felt something else move at his side.

The other member of their group had been leaning forward as well.

“Excited?”

Vezta hummed. She was the only one in the carriage who did not have fanciful attire on. She didn’t even have her heavy cloak. Vezta sat in her usual body, white and dark violet in parts that gave off the impression of clothing. A multitude of her golden eyes swiveled in their starfields to focus on him. “Breaching the Calamity and reaching the Underworld will be a great step toward undoing the Calamity in its entirety. I’m surprised at how close that task feels after a thousand years of stagnation.”

“I’m surprised you sat around in the fortress for a thousand years.”

“I could not leave the Heart,” she said simply, not using the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE] for perhaps the first time. Arkk had specifically asked her not to do anything that might draw extra attention to them. While employees of Fortress Al-Mir seemed fine with hearing the language, anyone else got headaches, stabbing pains, or just feelings of deep discomfort. “The Heart is my responsibility. Abandoning that to languish without a master, even temporarily, would have been a severe dereliction of my duties.”

“Even if you would have been able to find a new master sooner?”

“You came eventually. My patience was rewarded. I need no other Master.”

Arkk stared a moment, eyes lingering in Vezta’s burning suns. After a short moment, he nodded his head. “Well, I can’t say I’m upset that someone else didn’t steal the opportunity from me. Hopefully, I’m living up to your expectations.”

“Moving from a peasant to a proper Keeper of a Heart isn’t a simple jump. You are performing most adequately.”

“That’s good. I—”

Arkk cut himself off as he felt their carriage come to a stop. Looking away from Vezta, he gazed past Ilya and out the window of their carriage. Even though night had fallen, the Duke’s Manor was lit up to the point where he might have been confused about the time of day. Statues of lions flanked the entrance while rows of guards wearing gleaming silver armor stood up and down the path to the main entrance.

“Vezta,” Arkk said. The servant nodded and ripped herself into his shadow without a word. He looked to the other three. “Remember, if you need help, you can call to me. I’ll find you as fast as I can. Or Vezta will if the situation is dire enough. Hopefully, we won’t need that, though. Let’s just try to have some fun, talk to Alya, and get out of here in one piece.”

Their coachman, after tapping his knuckles against the door as a warning, pulled open the doors.

Ilya stepped out first. For the first time ever, Arkk watched as her natural grace failed her and she almost stumbled out of the carriage because of the tight dress around her knees. Arkk caught her by the arm, keeping her from falling outright. The coachman promptly mumbled an apology and held out a hand to help her out.

Arkk moved next, accepting the coachman’s help but not needing it. His attire wasn’t that difficult to move in.

He wore a light brown jacket over a white, ruffled shirt. The jacket wasn’t closed or buttoned together. A thin pair of varnished leather bands kept it from fluttering open in the chill breeze but it was otherwise open to display the fancy shirt underneath. Intricate designs were woven into the jacket up and down the edges and a white cloth poked out of a breast pocket. His trousers were far simpler than any of the dresses, barely being anything different than what he might normally wear except in terms of how fine the cloth was.

The coachman didn’t help Dakka out of the carriage. Arkk offered his arm instead. She placed a hand on his arm but didn’t put any weight on him, not needing the help to get out. Zullie, the last one out, scowled at the coachman and then at Arkk before hopping out on her own.

“Try to smile,” Arkk said, forcing his face into a casually pleased look.

“I’d rather be back at the stayover.”

“Yes. You said that. Just imagine what kind of magical protections the manor has. Doesn’t that sound interesting? Maybe you can get a tour of that tower,” Arkk said with a wink.

Zullie just scoffed. “More interesting than planar—”

“Ilya’s right. No talking about work while we’re here.”

Her violet eyes glowered behind her rectangular glasses.

Arkk just forced himself to smile a little more.

“Sir. Ladies,” a newcomer said, dressed in fine attire yet nothing flashing. One of the manor’s servants. “If you would be so kind as to follow me.”

Leaving the coach behind, Arkk walked alongside Ilya with Dakka and Zullie a step behind. He had to frown as they passed the guards outside the entrance. It was a soft noise but he could hear metal rattling. Given the cold air, he had to imagine they were shivering something fierce inside their armor. Even with a thick gambeson under their armor, being made to stand around in the cold as they were was a fairly cruel posting. Had they upset a superior to be assigned here or did they draw straws? Whatever the case, they surely could have performed guard duty from a slightly warmer locale.

They were here to show off. Their gleaming, polished armor was evidence enough of that.

Arkk wasn’t wearing as much as he would have liked either. Hawkwood, Wolf, and even Madame Webb had all said that it would be warm inside, however, so he just steeled himself until a pair of guards pulled open overlarge doors, admitting them into the manor proper.

And what a manor it was. In his travels, he had seen a few keeps and manors for the various barons that ran the Duchy. He hadn’t been inside too many of them. Just the Moonshine Burg keep while reporting on his efforts against the slavers and Edvin’s former crew. Most were fairly modest affairs, even the large keeps. The smaller village barons had small homes with only a few rooms. Maybe a second floor or maybe not.

The entryway alone to this manor could have held three stories. A mural adorned the high, vaulted ceiling depicting a cloudy sky with a few figures engaged in revelry. A dozen men poured what he had to assume was fine wine into each other’s glasses, toasting the skies and feasting on a lavish spread of meats and fruits. Magical rituals had been carved into the stone columns holding up the ceiling, providing enough illumination to see everything. Enough illumination that the large shadow underneath his feet should probably have been a lot smaller. People didn’t notice that sort of thing, luckily.

While there were a few others, guests judging by their attire, standing about the large room, the valet led them through to the large glass-roofed ballroom just off the main entrance. Although lit in the same way, Arkk felt like the mural was a bit more impressive than the glass. Perhaps a bit too gaudy though. A bit too on-the-nose with regards to the Duke’s greedy taxes. In that respect, Arkk preferred the peaked glass.

They came to a stop just inside the ballroom. One well-dressed valet swiftly approached and held out a hand. “Invitations, please?”

Arkk tried not to look nervous as the moment of truth arrived. Would Edvin’s forgeries be enough? They had passed Hawkwood’s examinations but there was always the chance that these people were trained to spot such forgeries. Reaching into his jacket, Arkk withdrew the folded piece of paper.

The valet skimmed over it with half-lidded eyes before turning to the room at large. “Company Al-Mir has arrived,” he announced.

And then he walked back to his post. No one came to stop them. No one looked twice at the unfamiliar announcement. In fact, of the packed room—there had to be at least two hundred people present if not more—only those closest to the door looked over at the announcement and they all quickly went back to what they were doing.

People mingled about, all wearing attire roughly in the same vein as theirs. Tables were set out along the sides of the room but the central area was left free for people to stand. Off to one side, atop a small wooden platform, a few minstrels provided music using windpipes and stringed instruments. They played quietly enough that conversations wouldn’t be disrupted but loud enough that awkward silences wouldn’t be completely silent. A set of stairs at the far end of the room led to a dais with a statue set on top. It wasn’t the Duke, which Arkk would have expected of the man, but rather something that looked vaguely similar to the statues in Fortress Al-Mir’s temple room.

It was a tall man with a strong jaw and a mask hiding his upper face, holding onto a spear in one hand and a staff in the other. A long cape made from brass spread out behind him while a golden heart-shaped emblem stood proud on his armor. A sort of mixture of the three statues Vezta had pointed out as traitors.

Arkk wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Vezta noticed, though he wasn’t quite sure how as he couldn’t see any eyes in his shadow. Still, he saw the way the edges of the shadow twisted and churned in agitation.

“It will be alright,” Arkk said softly, stepping further into the room. He didn’t want to block the entrance if there were more guests on their way. More importantly, he didn’t want to stand around gawking like a peasant. Although he had no fondness for the Duke, some of the people present could be valuable contacts for information or even goods that Fortress Al-Mir couldn’t produce.

Ilya, tall at his side, scanned the room from one end to the other. “I don’t see Mother.”

Arkk looked around and frowned. Most of the attendees were human, as he expected. A few weren’t. There was a scattering of elves throughout the room that looked dressed in a way that Arkk would presume meant they were guests. However, there were several nonhumans mixed into the crowd. Some danced on their own, separate from the guests, while others carried around small trays of food and drink. A few, Arkk noted with his frown deepening further, weren’t dressed too dissimilarly to Dakka.

If Madame Webb thought that Dakka was entertainment rather than a proper member of their team, she wouldn’t be receiving his business again in the future.

“It’s the start of what I am sure is going to be a long night,” Arkk said, whispering as he took a flute of amber liquid from a passing dark elf. Elves and orcs stood out easily because of their height. He didn’t see Alya either. “I’m sure there will be time to find her. If it is getting toward the end of the night and still no sign of her… we’ll see what we can do.”

Ilya opened her mouth but didn’t get to speak before a boisterous voice called out. “Arkk! You made it.”

Hawkwood approached with a bright smile. He looked much better than he had the last time Arkk saw the man. There were still hints of fatigue around his eyes. Arkk wasn’t sure if he was faking his enthusiasm or if he had genuinely gotten some rest recently. Either way, Arkk put on a smile of his own.

“Hawkwood.”

“Come, come. We’ve some time before the meal begins. Would you like an introduction to some of the other mercenary leaders around?”

“I think that would be excellent,” Arkk said, looking back to the others.

Dakka was standing a little closer to him than he might have expected, looking like a bodyguard despite her attire. It was her eyes and the way they scanned the room. Not for familiar faces as Ilya had done. Rather, she was on the lookout for threats. Her fingers kept close to her side where she normally kept her axe.

Zullie, on the other hand, had drifted away and was frowning up at one of the supporting pillars, eyes looking over the ritual circle inscribed in its side. Arkk didn’t see anything special about the magic used for lighting—he was educated enough to recognize it for what it was now—but perhaps she noticed something he had missed?

“I’d like to look around for a minute,” Ilya said, taking a step away from Arkk.

Arkk held out a hand, lightly touching her elbow. “Careful,” he whispered. “Remember, if you get in trouble and need help—”

“I know, I know. I’m not going to do anything. Just see who I can talk to around here. Maybe some of the other elves.”

Arkk nodded and turned back to Hawkwood with a smile. “Well then, I suppose it is just Dakka and myself.”

“Wonderful. I must say, you’ve been garnering some notoriety,” Hawkwood said, walking away while half turned to speak to Arkk. “The current commander of the Order of the Claymores has been asking about you.”

“Uh oh.”

“Hm?”

“I… uh… might have poached a few of her people.”

Hawkwood’s grin spread wider. He gave Arkk a hearty clap on his back. “Don’t worry. Happens all the time. It’ll be fine. No one is here to be enemies.”

“If you say so,” Arkk said, not so sure at all about the truth of that statement.

He was still waiting for the inquisitors to drop down on his head. They or the Duke… Or even Alya herself.

There was a lot that could go wrong. He just had to smile and hope for the best.

While planning for the worst.

 

 

Arkk looked around the commandeered room of the Cliff’s Edge, eyes meeting with those of the assembled recruits. There were just under forty in total—not including a few he had hired outright earlier in the day before realizing just how many people had shown up. About half were beastmen and a quarter were demihumans with the remainder being humans. Not many. Especially not compared to how many people he had seen throughout the day. It was more than he expected upon arriving at Cliff, however, that number having been less than twenty.

He still wasn’t sure that doing this was the right idea but there were a few advantages. Immediately, it made Company Al-Mir look even more legitimate. Mercenary companies recruited often. Maybe not quite the way he had but similar enough. He knew that from his talks with Hawkwood.

Secondly, as much as Company Al-Mir wasn’t a regular mercenary company, they sure had been doing a good job of acting like it. More boots on the ground meant that larger operations, like handling the slavers, would hopefully be safer and far more achievable even without the heavy hitters like himself, Vezta, or Agnete. They couldn’t be everywhere.

Third, though it wasn’t necessarily an advantage, deciding against antagonizing the Duke in the immediate future made it far more palatable to hire people who had less dependence on Fortress Al-Mir. Although Dakka pointed out that he preferred to recruit those under duress, he had decided that it was more like he was willing to recruit those who had nowhere else to go. If they had nowhere else to go, their loyalties felt more firm. Maybe that wasn’t true but it made sense somewhere in his mind.

All the new recruits had to worry about were the inquisitors. Speaking of…

“There are a few things to note before you finish signing up with Company Al-Mir,” Arkk said. It was the same thing he had already told those he already recruited. Part of deciding to wait to hire the rest all at once was purely to save his breath explaining this several dozen times. “Chief among them is that the Inquisition of the Light isn’t too pleased with us. We’ve had a few run-ins with inquisitors. Only one incident turned violent. There may be incidents in the future. If that offends your morals or otherwise sounds too dangerous for you, the door is right over there,” Arkk said, motioning to the back of the room.

He paused and waited a moment, fully expecting at least one person to get up and leave. To his surprise, however, nobody did. A few glances passed between some of the assembled crowd but aside from a light cough in the back, nobody even said anything. Arkk wondered what to think about that. The beastmen, he could easily imagine, were a little too desperate for coin to concern themselves too much. The rest? He wasn’t sure about.

He would have to keep an eye on everyone for a time to make sure there were no spies among them.

Shrugging, Arkk carried on. “Company Al-Mir makes use of a magical contract for employees. It primarily offers a method of grabbing my attention. Panic, pain, or deliberate attempts to call me will let me know that you’re in trouble. Might not do a lot of good if I’m on one side of the Duchy and you’re on the other but it can—and has—meant the difference between life or death for some of our employees. As a side effect, you might be able to cast spells where you hadn’t been able to before. That is a facet we’re still experimenting with. If magical contracts sound frightening or unappealing, again, the door.”

This time, someone did stand up. Or flew up. A fairy beat its long, dragonfly-like wings and, without a word, drifted over to the door.

Arkk didn’t know too much about fairies. They were a demihuman race that had, according to legend, once been powerful spellcasters. Then the Calamity struck and magic withered. Unlike many magical species, the fairies didn’t die off. They did lose their magic. They were effectively shorter humans—though taller than gremlins—with insect wings now.

All that made him think that she had been offended at the idea that he could grant people the ability to cast spells. Or maybe she didn’t want to get her hopes up only to find out that she still couldn’t use magic. Either way, Arkk waited for the door to close behind her before looking over the rest of the crowd.

Nineteen beastmen, including three who weren’t allowed to leave, sat on one side of the room. Most had watched the fairy depart with pitying looks, furthering Arkk’s suspicion of the fairy’s reasons. The eleven demihumans—seven orcs, two gremlins, and two dark elves—just shook their heads. The seven humans maintained stiff shoulders and barely paid any attention to the rest. Not out of malice, Arkk hoped, but simply because most of them were more disciplined, having jumped ship from the Order of the Claymores.

Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any problems with that company over his stealing of their members.

“The pay is a gold coin every month. There are bonuses when you see combat and for other work performed. I mentioned this during the interviews but, as a reminder, anyone with skills outside the realm of combat is in high demand. Bonuses in pay are available for blacksmiths, magical researchers, carpenters, tailors, and so on. You can speak with one of us later on.

“As for us… Once again, I am Arkk, leader of Company Al-Mir. Outside of life-or-death situations, we’re fairly casual. Call me Arkk, boss, or whatever else you like. This is Ilya, my second-in-command.”

Ilya gave a curt nod of her head, making sure people knew who he was gesturing toward. She didn’t speak, however, and from years of knowing the elf, he could tell that she was at least a little nervous. Which Arkk found mildly amusing. She charged off with a bunch of raider orcs in tow, rescued slaves on her way back, and interacted with everyone at the fortress without trouble but set her up in front of a crowd and she balks?

Cute.

“Dakka is a primary field commander and who you’ll likely be reporting to in the immediate future.”

The large orc took in a breath, making herself look just a little taller. Her hard eyes looked over the crowd but kept drifting back to the orcs. There wouldn’t be any problems with her being the ‘runt’ of Company Al-Mir. Arkk had made sure of that during the interviews. Unless Arkk had misread the situation with the orcs currently employed, Dakka had proved herself worthy of her position. Still, he could understand her nervousness as well.

It was also cute in a way.

“Zullie is the head of magical research. If you do have a background in spellcasting, you’ll want to speak with her.”

“Please don’t,” Zullie said with a tight smile, using her middle finger to adjust the position of the rectangular glasses she wore. “Unless you have five years of study at Cliff Academy or equivalent, have invented your own spells, published books on theoretical magics, or apprenticed to any well-known names in the magical community, you’ll be useless in Al-Mir’s research division.”

“So she says,” Arkk said with a smile. “But if you have unorthodox training, you might want to check in with her anyway. She has been surprised by the capabilities of those without a formal education before,” he said, hardening his tone as he shot her a look.

Her tight smile turned to a tight-lipped frown but she nodded, accepting the point.

“Lastly, at least among those present today, Vezta. My adjutant—” He decided to steal Hawkwood’s term for his assistant as he felt it best described what Vezta was to him. “—and the primary caretaker of our headquarters. A quartermaster, in other words. If you have material needs, please ask her.”

At her introduction, Vezta lowered the hood of her heavy cloak. That caused a reaction. Not as much of a reaction as he had experienced during his first encounter with Vezta. Then again, that time had seen her spreading her mass throughout an entire room with dozens of glowing yellow eyes peering out from the shadows. Here and now, she really did look just like an unusual demihuman.

Alma, one of the recruits who wasn’t allowed to leave, visibly shuddered. The hat on her head hid her ears but small movements in the hat made it look like they flattened down against her head. She did not join in on the low murmuring going on among the rest of the recruits.

“Any questions?” Arkk asked as the noise died down. A few looked about ready to stand up and speak but Arkk headed them off. “Any questions not related to Vezta? It’s just a minor skin condition. Not contagious or harmful to anyone around her. We’d all appreciate it if you didn’t make it into a big deal.”

Despite the disbelieving looks passed around, most of those who had been about to speak didn’t. There were still a few questions. Where were the headquarters located? What kind of training was available? How did the contract work? What kind of work did Company Al-Mir specialize in? Several of the questions he had answered during the interviews but not to everyone. Some questions he had to make things up on the spot. Others he answered evasively—mostly any question related to the location of Fortress Al-Mir.

After a time, the questions tapered off. Aside from the fairy who had left, not a single one of those remaining seemed to have any kind of major problem with any of Al-Mir’s various oddities. All of them stuck around until the end.

“Queue up, please. Sign your name on the parchment. If you cannot write or read, Ilya will assist and there may be lessons available in the future. After that, you’ll receive an advance on your payment. A single gold piece.”

Let them think that the paper was the magical contract. It had a lot of text on it and several symbols that wouldn’t do anything, thanks to Zullie. There were a few hesitations in signing it but everyone did so in the end. No one hesitated to take the gold.

“Is this Evestani gold?” asked one of the former Claymores. Joanne, if he remembered correctly. “I don’t recognize it… except this is your company’s heraldry?”

“Company Al-Mir mints its own gold coins. Rest assured, I’ve not run into any problems using them within the Duchy. They typically exchange for between thirty and fifty silvers, depending on how generous the merchants are feeling.”

“Odd. Why not use the King’s stamped coin?”

Arkk shrugged. “This is what I’ve got. In any case, once paid, you’re free to go for now. As mentioned, Company Al-Mir has no official presence in Cliff City. We’re staying in the city for one week and one day for other business, which you all don’t need to be involved in as new recruits. In a week, we’ll meet back here and leave the city, heading westward. We’ll reach Fortress Al-Mir and get you all settled in properly. Enjoy yourselves, don’t spend your payment all at once, and if you need us in the interim, we’ll be here. Just find anyone with the compass maze badge and they’ll find one of us later on if we’re not around.”

“If we…” one of the beastmen started. A younger boy. Glancing down at the paper, Arkk quickly picked his name from the list. Luc. Arkk wasn’t quite sure what kind of beastmen he was, only that he had feathers instead of hair but wasn’t a harpy as he had humanoid hands and no wings. “If we don’t have anywhere else to go, can we stay here?”

Arkk considered a moment then nodded his head. “I believe there are a few bunks free in the room the majority of the employees are staying in. Anyone else wish to stay? I’m willing to rent another room if necessary.”

About two-thirds of those present voiced agreement. Every one of the beastmen plus both dark elves and one of the former Claymores. More than Arkk expected but he wasn’t all that surprised. Knowing how Cliff treated nonhumans, the chance to stay in a fancy stayover or head back to the streets they had lived on before wasn’t that difficult of a choice.

“Alright, I’ll have arrangements made. Everyone else is free to go. Alma, stay behind, I need to explain—”

“Arkk,” Ilya whispered, leaning over with a hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to be late to our other appointment for the day.”

Arkk grimaced then nodded his head. “Right. Alma, Vezta will explain a few more things to you now that you’re one of us properly.”

The poor werecat looked like she was going to be sick. “Can I just wait for you to come back?”

“No. She won’t bite.”

“But…” The werecat peered over at Vezta—who had a prismatic smile on her face, completely ignoring the horror of the situation—and let out a shaky sigh. “Okay.”

“Dakka, Ilya, we’re heading out in a few minutes.”

Standing in front of a larger manor, one that easily exceeded the Baron of Langleey’s home, Arkk had to frown at the large head of a wolf adorning its front gate. It wasn’t a real wolf but was some metal artwork designed to look like one. The home of Wolf Trading Company’s founder, Aron Wolf.

If Arkk were being perfectly honest with himself, he had completely forgotten about his brief encounter with the man and his daughter out in Darkwood Burg. The same was not true in reverse. Much as Hawkwood had done in sending out his adjutant to invite him to dinner, Aron Wolf had sent out a servant with a similar invitation. Not for a meal, just for a quick chat to catch up.

Arkk wasn’t sure that he had made that large of an impression on the man. Still, the invitation had come and there was probably some good that could come from cultivating relations with a renowned merchant. No sense throwing it away. It could have come at a slightly better time. Although he trusted Vezta and Zullie to see to matters involving the recruits, being there in person would have been ideal, at least for now.

“Ah. Sir and madams, you have arrived.” A lanky man with a bushy white mustache appeared at the gate, hardly using any effort to swing it open. He stepped aside, motioning with one hand over his waist as he offered a respectful bow. “If you would follow me.”

Arkk, smoothing down the front of his black suit, stepped forward. Ilya and Dakka fell in step just behind him.

“Mister Wolf was quite thrilled to hear of your arrival. Although, he did express some disappointment when you neglected to reach out to him.”

“I’ll be sure to apologize,” Arkk said. “It was a busy few days and we just haven’t had the time for social calls yet.”

“Of course. But you made time today. I’m sure Mister Wolf is most appreciative.”

After leading them up a flagstone courtyard, they stepped into an entry hall furnished with polished wood. Several pedestals lined the walls, each bearing a curio of, presumably, high value… though Arkk doubted he would ever be interested in displaying a curled conch or broken sword. Higher on the walls, paintings lined the entry hall. Some were of simple scenery. Others were portraits of people that Arkk didn’t recognize.

Off to one side of the entry hall, the butler brought them to a small lounge. Wood cabinets, decorated with more curios, broke up smooth tan-colored walls. A few life-sized portraits and one large polished mirror filled in the spaces between the cabinets. A fireplace, already lit, warmed the room with an accompanying yellow glow.

At the center of the room, surrounding a small table, two chairs sat across from two larger couches. The chairs were occupied. For a moment, Arkk almost didn’t recognize the people. Arkk wouldn’t have described the Wolf family’s appearance in Darkwood as peasants but they had certainly been wearing cheaper traveling attire. Here and now, a middle-aged man with graying hair, styled with a tasteful touch of grease, puffed on a wooden pipe in a rich velvety-red jacket. At his side, wearing a slim yet elegant white dress, Aron Wolf’s auburn-haired daughter waved an irritated hand in front of her face, trying and failing to dispel some of the smoke.

“Mister Arkk! Welcome, welcome!” Aron Wolf stood, leaving his pipe behind in a tray on the wooden table. When he stepped around the table, hand extended to greet Arkk, his daughter grabbed it and emptied the contents into the fireplace. “Please, join us. Take a seat. Your companions as well. I think I recognize you,” he said to Dakka, “but never had the pleasure of hearing your name.”

Arkk wondered if that was true or if he was just guessing that she was one of the orcs he had with him back during their previous meeting. Dakka wasn’t wearing the armor she had used at Darkwood, but black pants, an underbust corset, and a white shirt with small wooden buttons. Her hair, braided tightly against one side of her head while hanging loose on the other, wasn’t nearly as chaotic as it had been while they had been out traveling in Darkwood. She did have her axe, even now. Slung through a leather loop hanging from her belt, she had to remove it in order to sit on one of the red couches around the table.

“Dakka.”

“Lovely,” Aron said, smiling. “And, speaking of lovely, I’m sure I would have remembered someone as beautiful as you, my dear,” he said, turning to Ilya.

Ilya started to roll her eyes. Arkk saw the very moment where she decided that doing so would be a bad idea and forced herself to stop. Instead, she put on a smile and took his offered hand.

“Ilya, Company Al-Mir’s second-in-command,” she said.

He twisted her hand to the side and stooped over, planting a kiss on the back of her glove. While his head was down, Ilya did roll her eyes. An action, Arkk noted, which Arianna mirrored.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, taking a little longer than necessary to release her hand.

When he finally did, Ilya and Arkk took their seats. Dakka, muscular and large as she was relative to the humans, occupied an entire couch on her own, leaving a single couch for Ilya and Arkk. They were large enough that there should have been plenty of space between them. To Arkk’s surprise, Ilya leaned over toward him, half resting against him as they settled in.

Aron hesitated a moment before smiling and retaking his seat. His hand absently grasped at the tray where he left his pipe but, finding nothing as Arianna still had it, he quickly motioned to the other occupied seat. “Arianna, my daughter, I’m sure you remember.”

“Greetings,” the girl said, tone flat.

Arkk smiled in turn. “She did leave an impression at Darkwood,” he said, prompting a polite laugh from Aron.

“I’d hope so. She’s going to be the face of Wolf Trading Company one day and needs to leave all the impressions she can!”

“Let us not discuss this now, father,” Arianna said, tone stiff. “You invited our guests to talk about them, not me.”

“Now, now. When socializing, you must offer yourself up as much as you ask of the other party. Otherwise, one side ends up feeling awkward. But, you aren’t completely incorrect,” Aron said with a laugh, looking back to Arkk. “When you said you got out to Cliff on occasion, I thought we might see each other sooner than this.”

“I don’t know that I said on occasion… just that I had been now and again.”

“Glad you arrived when you did. We’ll be taking off on business again in about two weeks. Almost missed us. Heading out to a little salt flat in Lockloch to see what we can make of the place. How about you, though? Here on business?”

“Something like that. Company Al-Mir has garnered enough renown for the Duke to take notice. We received an invitation to his next party.”

Arianna made a very vocal “Ugh,” glancing off to one side as she did so.

“Ah. I do recall you mentioning wanting to attend one of those. Next Suun, yes? I’ll be there as well. Arianna… is avoiding this one.”

“Really? Any reason why?”

“The Duke is a pig,” Arianna said in the same flat tone. “Everyone there is scarfing through his scraps. The worst of the worst—”

The smile on Aron’s face vanished in an instant. “Arianna! Please.” He looked back to Arkk, eyes stopping over Dakka and Ilya on the way. His worried expression slowly lessened, likely taking in the expressions on their faces. They were no allies of the Duke.

Ilya especially.

“Well… you shouldn’t let her comments get you down if you’re excited to go. At the very least, the food is excellent. Even Arianna agrees.”

Grudgingly, she gave a curt nod of her head.

“Though, I have to ask… you aren’t attending in… that, are you?”

Arkk glanced down at his suit and frowned at Ilya’s casual tunic. “No, no. Of course not. Hawkwood made us an appointment with a tailor. We’re seeing them tomorrow morning, actually, for some quick attire.”

“Tailor?” Aron said, latching onto the safe topic as quickly as he could. “Anyone I know?”

Arkk hesitated, drawing a complete blank. Thankfully, Ilya came to his rescue.

“I believe it was Terrier’s Silken Goods?”

“Oh. Oh no, no, no. That won’t do at all.” Aron shook his head back and forth. Even his daughter nodded along.

“Is that a problem?”

“Not if you want uniforms for a mercenary company, I suppose. Gowns and dresses for a party? Don’t worry. We can still fix this. Madame Webb’s Fine Threads is where you’ll want to go. I’ll send a letter explaining the situation. Webb is an old friend of mine. She’ll get you what you need and in half the time. I doubt Terrier would be ready by next Suun. You are cutting it a bit close, though. Next time, it would be best if you made arrangements at least a month in advance.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arkk said. If there was a next time.

“Now that business is out of the way. Sebastian! Tea, if you please.” Aron clapped his hands together. The man with the bushy mustache quickly set out cups in front of everyone, including a larger cup for Dakka. “And while we drink, I would love to hear about your adventures. I say, Darkwood was a bit close to the adventures of a mercenary group for my tastes but I can’t deny that it was thrilling! Been up to anything else in the interim? Something impressive to have garnered the attentions of the Duke, no?”

“Well…” Arkk started. “There was a group of slavers…”

 

 

 

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

“This the place?”

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

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

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

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

“M-Me? G-Going inside?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, unless they wanted to eat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Either way, his gaze passed over her without pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She talked?”

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

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

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

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

“Rescue,” Ilya cut in.

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

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

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

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

Thanks, Edvin.

And yet, they had been left entirely alone.

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

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

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

“Maybe—” “I’m not sure—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vezta?”

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

“Who sent you?”

“N-No one.”

“How long were you out there?”

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

“Why?”

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

Arkk closed his eyes. The stupid recruitment thing.

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

“Like what, exactly?”

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

The cat ears flattened even more.

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

“Heard from a friend who heard from—”

“Skip to the end, please.”

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

“Was this other friend a gremlin?”

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

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

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

“Are you listening?”

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

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

“You wouldn’t.”

“You were thinking about grabbing my ass.”

“Maybe. Could you blame me?”

“No. I’d still kick you off.”

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

“Arkk, focus, please.”

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

“Lies.”

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

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

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

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

“Why robes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Backwards?”

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

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

“Just like that. Easy.”

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

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

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

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

“Arkk!”

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

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

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

“Cranium Internum.”

Arkk slammed into the ground.

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

And opened his eyes.

And opened his eyes.

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

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

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

He could feel it.

He could hear it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spell? Spell.

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

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

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

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

“Arkk?”

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

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

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

“Possessed?”

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

“I would have caught you.”

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

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

“The [STARS],” Arkk said.

Vezta nodded. “Always.”

“What are they saying?”

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

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

Because it was broken.

The shattered sky.

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

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

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

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

“Your kind… There are more of you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe we can snuggle later.”

“In your dreams.”

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

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

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

 

 

 

“Still no sign of the inquisitors?”

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

He simply raised an eyebrow.

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

“Just making sure,” Arkk said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… it is a fortress? Or isn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even still, she could see it in their eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably for the best.

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

“Apparently not,” she huffed.

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

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

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

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

“Never seen him before.”

“Same.”

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

“Not even going to show your cards?”

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

The city hadn’t changed. Arkk had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Cliff’s Edge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. We’ll be there.”

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

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

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

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

“Easy,” Zullie said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That earned him a flat look from Hawkwood.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” Hawkwood forced his eyes on Arkk.

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

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

“You go often?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um…”

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

“Is this our meal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

“I concur,” Olatt’an said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Understood.”

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

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

“What’s that?” Ilya asked.

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

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

“Now they’re just being obvious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Arkk…” Ilya said, tone flat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No complaints, just timeframe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“Brilliant enough to learn his spells?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My duties?”

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

“Understood.”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll set Dakka on it.”

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

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

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

Arkk nodded his head. “True.”

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

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

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were like her.

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

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

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

“What are you doing out here?”

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

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

“You’re a gremlin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give it back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is going on out here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lexa promised to teach me how to fight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cancelled.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The point is to avoid another war…”

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

“If we could just speak with Princess—”

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

“Her father endorsed the marriage!”

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

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

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

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