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An orc with deep, almost red skin shot Arkk a dark look. Pausing his scythe-swinging, Arkk glared back until the orc averted its gaze.

Several under his employ were a bit unhappy with the situation. He recognized that mutiny might be near but this was something he wasn’t willing to budge on.

Harvest wasn’t a simple thing where one day everyone woke up and decided to harvest everything all at once. These things came in waves. Several crops overlapped; beets, oats, and barley all needed to be harvested within a few weeks of each other. Corn and beans would be a few weeks later. Winter wheat and sorghum came a few weeks earlier. Barley and oat fields were by far the largest, requiring the most work and the most effort to reap.

So, he had carefully explained to the orcs that, because they attacked his village, they would be paying reparations in service. Harvesting service, specifically. Although being hired as employees through the [HEART] required payment or some kind of promised exchange, they were not being paid for this specifically. Each orc was to receive one gold coin a month with special bonuses available for special services—combat if it should become necessary, blacksmithing, and Larry got a special stipend for his services as a butcher. Arkk was forcing every orc, even the likes of Rekk’ar and Olatt’an, to help with this year’s harvest if they wanted to remain employed. They were not receiving anything extra for it.

It wouldn’t be reparations if they were being paid.

Not his most popular decision. Still, no one had said no. Not after five of the fifteen orcs from the barrows had refused to join him. Those five had been sent in chains to the nearest burg where the Duke’s men would hopefully deal with them according to the laws of the land. No one was too keen on joining them.

Arkk sighed as he went back to sweeping the scythe over the ground, cutting the stalks of the oats. Things had settled into something of a routine over the three weeks that had passed since the barrows incident. He felt like he was starting to get used to his new life as… whatever he was. Owner of a magical fortress. Leader of a bunch of orcs. He preferred the former to the latter.

Honestly, part of the reason the orcs were sweeping scythes through the field was that he just didn’t know what else to do with them. It was easy for Vezta to say that minions would come in useful, but they couldn’t just sit around in the fortress all day every day, could they? They did seem content for now, especially after he had turned one of the rooms into a big pit for brawls with room for spectators and betting, but that wouldn’t last.

Looking around the field right now, Arkk decided that farm work was not an option. While they were doing the work, they were not happy with it. He had snapped at a few of them earlier who looked like they were deliberately sabotaging the harvest with wild and careless swings of their scythes.

No. Farm work would end up a disaster in some way, of that Arkk had no doubt. Was there other work they might be interested in?

Aside from Larry, working the kitchens and butchery, only one had stepped forward for a specialized position. Perr’ok. He didn’t talk much but did mention that his father had forged for the Duchy toward the end of the war with the Evestani Sultanate that ended thirty years ago. He took over a smithy that Arkk had constructed within the fortress. Aside from those two, everyone else was a raider. Warriors.

As much as Arkk hated the Duke, he did not want to start a war. If warriors weren’t to go to war, then…

Mercenary work?

That seemed like an idea. Now that it was in Arkk’s head, he couldn’t help but nod to himself in satisfaction. The orcs would likely revel in the opportunity. Maybe he could even use being sent on missions as a reward for good behavior.

Arkk talked with everyone who passed through Langleey Village. Several of those people were mercenaries. There was always work to be done. Sometimes it was protecting a merchant as they carried valuable goods between locales, hunting down criminals, taking out groups of highwaymen accosting travelers, and plenty of other martial matters.

Arkk didn’t need money with that gold mine still filling his coffers, so perhaps some could go to the village? Maybe even other villages, again as reparations.

As for the rest, the orcs needed some funds to bet on their fight clubs. A little income to gamble away would probably make morale soar.

Looking up from his work, Arkk found Rekk’ar and Olatt’an not far away. Rekk’ar looked as if the ground itself had been stringing insult after insult at him, but Olatt’an had a relatively soft expression on his face as he carefully swung his scythe through the stalks of oats. The older orc was a mystery to Arkk. For someone the others all spoke of in hushed tones, someone who others called the Ripthroat, he was… surprisingly mellow. Given that he was by far the oldest orc around and Arkk lacked a real frame of reference for orc culture—or the culture of these raiders—Arkk had to wonder if aging had calmed a more violent youth.

Or if he was just good at hiding it.

Before Arkk could head over to ask their opinion on his new idea, he spotted something beyond them.

A carriage drawn by a pair of horses with a man in a black cap seated at the reins barreled up the path toward the village. It wasn’t just any carriage either. The glossy walls gleamed with a shiny black lacquer and it had glass windows. As it turned along the path leading past the fields, he spotted the blue and white striped shield that was typically used by official representatives of Duke Levi Woldair and the Duchy as a whole.

The only representative that passed through these parts was the taxman.

Setting his scythe down, Arkk started across the field. He did not rush after the carriage immediately. Instead, he headed toward the adjacent barley field. Most of the villagers stuck to this field, not exactly keen on being near a bunch of angry orcs. More importantly, Ilya worked in the barley fields.

He spotted her quickly. The large straw hat couldn’t hide her long silver hair. She had her head down, back to the path. Had she not seen the carriage?

“Ilya!”

She glanced back, keeping her head down. Her silver eyes, wide with alarm, met his beneath the straw hat. Carefully looking around, eyes drifting toward the path, she pressed her lips together. In a hurry, she tucked her long silver hair down the back of her shirt before readjusting her hat to cover as much of her hair as possible. As soon as that was done, she tucked her long ears up into the hat.

“They’re weeks early,” she hissed as Arkk ran up.

“No large carts following them,” Arkk said, looking back down the path. “They aren’t going to take any tax in that small carriage. And it was so nice looking too. Never had something like that visit before.”

“I don’t like it,” she said, pulling her hat down tighter. “Something is different and I doubt it is for the better.”

The carriage had disappeared behind the terrain and a few buildings for a few moments but quickly came back into sight as it climbed the slight incline of the path leading to the plaza. “I’m going to find out what they’re here for. Find Hale. She can get you to the fortress if necessary.”

“Hale?” Ilya’s silver eyes darted around. “Where is Vezta?”

“Back at the fortress, working on a… special project for me.”

In her worry over their visitors, Ilya didn’t question what that project was. She simply nodded her head. Arkk still hadn’t told her about Vezta’s goal. He kept meaning to, but how did one bring up undoing the Calamity? He had time to figure it out.

“What about the orcs?”

Arkk bit his lip. “They almost certainly saw the orcs already. It would be too suspicious if they just disappeared now. If we convince them that the orcs were just a traveling troupe assisting with harvest instead of where they came from…” His eyes widened as he realized just who the people in that carriage were most likely to speak with first. “I need to get up there and stop the Baron from opening his big mouth.”

Arkk took off without another word.

He wished he could simply teleport up to the village proper. Within Fortress Al-Mir, Arkk could move anywhere at will. He could also move himself and any of his employees to the fortress. However, the village was not part of his territory. He couldn’t teleport to it, only from it. The lesser servants had to claim territory for the [HEART] and, with the relatively large distance between the fortress and the village, Arkk had decided to have them focus on the gold mine rather than spend the time slowly crawling toward the village. The teleportation circle worked well enough.

The teleportation circle didn’t help now. It could only go from a designated point to a designated point. He couldn’t even draw one. Vezta tried to explain how to select the destination location but it had gone over Arkk’s head.

It took a few minutes to run up the path. Because of that, he wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find the carriage deserted save for the coachman, who was now fanning his face with his large hat. Ignoring him for the moment, Arkk crossed the large garden before Baron Gert’s manor and opened the door without bothering to knock.

Voices were coming from a sitting room just off the entryway. Arkk meant to listen in for a moment before barging right into the conversation. An extremely tall man with thick sideburns and thin glasses stood just aside the open doorway, fiddling with some whittled decoration the Baron had on a shelf. He looked surprised for a moment but put on a smile.

“Ah,” he said, “it seems we have a visitor.”

“Visitor?” the Baron said, stepping into view. As soon as he saw who was there, he started beaming. “Arkk! I was just telling them! This is the hero of Langleey Village.” Stepping out and grabbing hold of Arkk’s arm, the Baron led him into the sitting room.

Two others were inside, both unfamiliar. The first was a rather small man with a tablet of papers he was looking at. He wasn’t that small, but next to the man with the sideburns, he looked tiny. When the man looked up from his papers, he started squinting as if he couldn’t see Arkk well at all.

The other person in the room was a woman with wild black hair. She stood near the window, apart from the others, and stared out. She must have seen Arkk coming, though she didn’t bother looking his way. Even without her turning toward Arkk, he could see several thick scars running over her face. The skin around her eyes was dark like her skin had charred or she had rubbed black ash on her face.

“The hero of Langleey Village,” the tall man said, drawing Arkk’s attention back to him with a clap of his hands. He stepped closer to Arkk, towering over him. He had to look straight down while Arkk craned his neck up. For a human, he was extremely tall. Maybe taller than Ilya, though only by a small bit. However, if he was trying to be intimidating despite his smile, it wasn’t going to work on Arkk.

After all, every orc was as tall if not taller and ten times as muscular. After dealing with them every day for the last few weeks, a skinny tall guy standing a bit too close was kind of annoying rather than unnerving.

“The dear Baron was just regaling us with tales of your heroic deeds.”

“Exaggerations, I’m sure,” Arkk said, not taking a step back. “I’m just a farmer. And sometimes I go out hunting.”

“Oh?” the tall man said, stepping past Arkk to look at a portrait on the wall. A painting that Gert’s wife had done of the river. Probably. It wasn’t that good of a painting.

“Arkk! You’re too humble. He fought off a hundred orcs that day and all their goblins too!”

Arkk closed his eyes. “Definite exaggerations,” he said with a sigh. “I only killed between five and ten orcs. And several goblins. I wasn’t exactly counting at the time.”

“Still quite impressive,” the tall man said, picking up a small wooden horse from the Baron’s mantle. As he spoke, he turned it over a few times like he wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to be. “I know several proud knights who would have balked at facing even a few orcs.” Sharp brown eyes met with Arkk’s eyes. “How did you do it?”

“I’m a spellcaster with some proficiency in lightning magics.”

“Ah, a fellow sorcerer?” He set the horse back down on its side as he stepped closer to Arkk again. The Baron slipped behind him to right the horse. “Where did you study? Hollens Sorcery Academy is my alma mater. Lovely trees around Hollens.”

Arkk’s eyes widened as he shot a glance around the room, wondering if all of them were spellcasters. They all wore a uniform of sorts. Long black coats with two columns of silver buttons down their front, holding the vests of their coat together with thin straps. Each had a small pin on its collar, a little metal depiction of an eye, except instead of a pupil, it had a vertical bar, adorned with a few notches, touching both the top and bottom of the eye. The shorter man seated on the couch was scribbling things down, looking more like a scribe than anything else, and the woman still had her back to the room as she faced out the window.

Realizing that the taller man was still waiting for an answer, Arkk shifted uneasily. “Didn’t have any formal training,” he said. “Our town is sometimes visited by passing mercenaries and other travelers. I learned from the books of any who were willing to show them to me while in town.”

“Self-taught? And you’ve managed a lightning spell with some degree of success?”

“It is my best spell.”

“Anything else?”

“A handful of minor, beginner-level rituals. Most blow up in my face,” Arkk admitted. When he did so, he couldn’t help but notice the tall man and the short man making eye contact for just a moment, leading to a bout of furious writing from the scribe. “Are… you not the tax collector, sir?”

The tall man looked back to Arkk, teetering backward for a moment before letting out a brief breath; the start of a laugh. The laugh ended before it could get going as the man realized that Arkk was serious.

“How rude of me,” he said, entirely taken aback. “Introductions slipped my mind.” He motioned his hand to the shorter man. “Chronicler Douglas Greesom.”

The shorter man kept writing for a moment but looked up to Arkk with a squint before dipping his head in something that might have been a greeting.

“Purifier Agnete,” he continued, moving his hand toward the window.

The woman finally looked toward Arkk. Arkk couldn’t help but suck in a breath. Her eyes…

They reminded him of Vezta’s eyes. Not quite the same. This woman’s eyes were more human, but the whites of her eyes had gone dark. Not completely pitch-black slices of the night sky, just gray, but still. And her irises… Vezta didn’t have irises or pupils, just burning golden suns, but this woman’s irises had a luminescent yellow quality to them, though that might have been the light from the window.

She didn’t nod a greeting or otherwise react. After that brief glance shocked Arkk, she simply turned back to continue gazing out the window.

Some long-lost relative of Vezta? Arkk doubted it. Although her eyes were odd, she was human. He couldn’t quite explain how he knew that, he just did.

“And finally,” the tall man said, moving his hand to his chest. “I am Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox.”

He maintained his gaze through his thin glasses. The way he stared and the way he dipped his voice a bit deeper than he had been speaking made Arkk think that he expected some sort of reaction to his unfamiliar titles.

Whatever reaction he had been expecting, it probably wasn’t a sigh of relief. “So, you aren’t the tax collector?”

Vrox—or Darius; Arkk wasn’t sure if both were his name or if one was a continuation of his title—stared a moment before letting out a barking laugh as he clapped his hands together. “Oh, I can’t say I’ve ever been mistaken for a taxman before.”

“Not many others visit bearing official seals of the Duchy,” Arkk said. “Figured you were a collector wanting a report on the village’s yield for the year. That’s why I rushed over. I’ve been working in the fields these past few days and feel I have a pretty strong grasp on what we’ve got. If you aren’t the collector… uh, sorry for interrupting your meeting? Nice to meet you,” he said, slowly backing out the door.

Arkk didn’t know exactly what an inquisitor was, but he talked with everyone who came through the village. He had heard of them before, usually in hushed whispers. They somehow worked for both the church and the crown, hunting down the most dangerous individuals in the greater Kingdom of Chernlock, of which the Duchy was a member state.

Although he didn’t know what they were here for, not being present felt like a much better option all of a sudden.

“Mister Arkk,” Vrox said, tone polite yet slightly less pleasant. “We had a few more questions regarding recent events in the area.”

Grimacing, Arkk stopped. He shot a glance at the Baron. This was his job, wasn’t it?

He got a helpless shrug in return.

“The demon summoning. Tell us what happened.”

Although the Baron paled at the mention of demons, Arkk sighed in relief. Of course they were here for that. Not him, Vezta, or Fortress Al-Mir. They probably heard about it from the captured orcs Arkk had sent to Smilesville Burg.

“I’m not sure what to say. There wasn’t a demon summoning. We stopped it.”

“With the orcs now tending your fields?”

Arkk nodded, even though far fewer of them had helped to stop it than were present. “They warned us of the summoning and helped us fight their old chieftain and the orcs loyal to her. After all was said and done, those surviving orcs who refused to assist were sent to Smilesville Burg for the Duke’s men to deal with. The rest agreed to help with the harvest as reparations for attacking in the first place.”

“And the orcs were fine with you sending several of their number to execution?”

“Yes.” Seeing Vrox’s raised eyebrow, Arkk elaborated. “Their old chieftain was not popular, to put it simply, nor was anyone who willingly followed her.”

“I see…”

Arkk shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fully expecting a barrage of questions to follow. What were the orcs going to do after? The orcs had likely raided other villages under their former chieftain, should they not face the consequences of their actions? Why weren’t these orcs going to the Duke’s men for judgment following their reparations? What authority had Langleey Village to determine the fates of these orcs?

Instead, Vrox clasped his hands behind his back, taking a few steps forward to loom over Arkk once again. “You have neglected to mention the facet of this incident that I am most interested in, Mister Arkk.”

Arkk nervously swallowed. “And that would be?”

“The horror from beyond the stars.”

Arkk didn’t have to hide his confusion. Although he tensed, knowing they were talking about Vezta—she had said that she came from the [STARS]—he was still taken aback by the phrasing. “Horror from beyond the stars? I…” He trailed off, glancing around the room. All three of the inquisitor’s group were staring at him now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now, you’ve deliberately avoided mentioning the presence of that creature. You well know what I speak of.” He wrinkled his nose, all traces of good humor absent from his features. “I could smell its presence draped over you from the moment you walked in.”

“That’s… probably sweat from working in the fields. Sorry, sir, but it is hard work.”

“Black and gold eyes. Blue skin. Appears solid, yet made of slime. Numerous tentacles.”

“Oh!” the Baron said, raising a finger. “Vezta. You’re talking about…” He trailed off, looking between Arkk and Vrox, perhaps realizing that he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“So you do know it,” Vrox said, the corner of his lip twitching into an unpleasant smile. “I do not appreciate being lied to.”

“She’s not a horror,” Arkk said, mind racing. “She helped the village in a time of need. How were we supposed to know who you were talking about before you described her?”

Vrox moved back from Arkk a step, turning slightly to look at the chronicler. “Where is it now? I would love an encounter with the creature.”

Encounter. Not meeting. Arkk didn’t like this man’s choice of words.

Vrox turned back to Arkk after his question and stared for a long minute, eyes boring into Arkk’s as if he could detect a lie through willpower alone.

Maybe he could. Arkk didn’t know that much about magic.

“She appeared just in time to help fight the initial raid on the village and stuck around until the demon summoning was successfully stopped. Vezta hasn’t been to the village in at least a week,” he said with a shrug, picking his words carefully. He was telling the truth in full. It wasn’t his fault if the inquisitor took it the wrong way.

After another minute of uncomfortable staring, Vrox’s smile snapped into place. The same perfectly polite, friendly smile he had first used when Arkk walked in. “Shame. If it has moved on, nothing to do about it I suppose. Agnete, Douglas.”

The shorter man stood immediately, offering the slightest bow to the Baron before hurrying out of the room. The woman seemed much more reluctant to leave. She lingered at the window, staring out with a stony expression on her face.

“Agnete,” Vrox said again.

That was enough to get her to turn aside. She strode across the room with rigid movements, hands clenched into tight fists that made the leather of her gloves creak.

Away from the sun in the window, Arkk noted that her eyes didn’t glow nearly as much as Vezta’s did. However, the thick scars that marred her face did glow. Faint yellow-red lines at the deepest crevasses in her scars made her look like she didn’t have blood under her skin, but hot iron straight out of the smithy furnace.

She stopped in front of Arkk, locking eyes with him. Her lips, darkened much like the skin around her eyes, parted ever so slightly. “You feel… empty…” she whispered, voice barely carrying to Arkk’s ears. It looked like she was going to continue, but ended up turning and leaving the room instead.

“Your cooperation is appreciated, Baron of Langleey,” Vrox said with a shallow nod of his head. Stepping away from the Baron, he stopped at Arkk again. “You should visit the local Abbess and request a purification ritual.”

With that comment, he turned and left the room as well. The front door to the Baron’s manor clicked shut behind them.

Arkk let out a long sigh, stiff back turning to putty.

“I thought they would stay a little longer,” Gert said, obviously disappointed.

Arkk just shook his head. They had stayed quite long enough, in his opinion. He wasn’t sure if Vrox had believed his implication that Vezta wasn’t around anymore. Regardless, he had a feeling that Vrox would be back one way or another.

 

 

 

Ilya grasped at her side, teeth clenched tight. The ointment that Abbess Keena had slathered onto her wound helped to numb the pain, but only while sitting still. She tried not to move too much, but at the same time, she didn’t want to appear injured.

The orc, Dakka, sported a similar wound. A deep gash right in her side nearly twice as long as Ilya’s wound. She wasn’t grimacing and limping around. The Abbess hadn’t even tended to the orc. Yet Dakka carried around her ridiculous shield riddled with spikes that had to increase its weight by an absurd amount and her battle axe that looked like it could cleave a tree in two with a single swing. Neither hampered her movements in the slightest.

Orcs had always been a hardy sort. Ilya wasn’t envious, but she still didn’t want to lose.

“So what now?”

Ilya’s ears twitched as she picked out the gruff voice of the burly orc leader, Rekk’ar. He wasn’t speaking at full volume, instead having dropped to something akin to a whisper. She looked around carefully, not wanting to get picked out as an eavesdropper.

Arkk was ensuring the orcs who were emerging one by one from the barrows were disarmed and suitably cowed. Several of the villagers were helping, along with the healthier four of the six orcs who had been captive. Those orcs had already turned on their fellows before Arkk’s arrival and needed little convincing to keep those who had beaten and imprisoned them in line.

Dakka stood not far behind Arkk, snarling at the occasional orc while looking at others with pity in her eyes.

But Ilya’s eyes focused on Rekk’ar and Olatt’an. They were both nearby as well, though standing off a few paces. Close enough to ostensibly support Arkk, but far enough as to carry on a conversation in private.

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Ilya looked away. Her gaze focused on the next orc crawling out of the low tunnel, but her ears focused on the two behind her.

“What now?” Olatt’an said, voice even quieter than Rekk’ar’s. “We made an agreement.”

“The human? You can’t intend to carry through.”

“And what would you do, Rekk? Steal off into the night? Find another horde to join, raiding villages until the Duke’s men are finally roused from their sloth? You’ll die like a dog, pathetic and whimpering.”

Rekk’ar snarled at the older orc, loud enough to draw attention from more than just Ilya. The two fell silent. Rekk’ar glared at anyone who dared look in their direction, including Ilya when she chanced a glance. When they finally started talking again, Ilya had to strain to hear their hushed voices.

“The winds are changing. The stars are changing. In times like these, best to be on the side of change, wouldn’t you agree?”

“The human? He’s a boy. A peasant.”

“With the company he keeps, do you believe that? All great men and women, whether orc, human, or any other species, began their lives as boys and girls. They must begin somewhere.”

“He didn’t even fight. The coward hid behind us. Did the chieftain ripping your teeth out also rip your spine out?”

Ilya tensed, fingers curling tight around her bow. Toothless, she knew, was an insult and slur among orcs. The kind of insult that started fights to the death.

Yet, to her surprise, the old orc just let out a low chuckle. “You didn’t see his eyes, did you?”

“Eyes?”

“When his woman cried out.”

Ilya bristled. They were talking about her. “His woman?” she grumbled under her breath. She shot a glare at Arkk on reflex, though with his back turned, he would never know it.

“Red,” Olatt’an said after a short moment. “Glowing red. Could you not feel the charge in the air at that moment?”

Ilya raised an eyebrow, glare on Arkk turning to a curious examination. Arkk had blue eyes. Bright blue eyes. It would be hard to mistake them for red. Unless, of course, orcs saw color differently than she did. Ilya honestly didn’t know.

And glowing?

“I was a bit caught up in the fight,” Rekk’ar said, murmuring.

“There is a lecture on awareness here, but I’ll spare you for the moment,” Olatt’an said with a friendly laugh. His tone sobered again as he said, “Regardless of your thoughts, my interest has been piqued. If he turns out to be nothing, I’ll leave, but for now, I wish to see his change for myself.” He shrugged. “I can think of far worse, less honorable fates than serving a human boy in any case. Serving our former chieftain, for one.”

“Good riddance. That is one thing I will give the boy. Watching her squirm in her final moments was the most satisfying experience I had with her.”

“If you decide to leave, that is your choice. Just know you’ll get no support from me.”

A grumble from Rekk’ar ended the conversation. The two split apart after, with Olatt’an simply walking around the captured orcs while Rekk’ar went to yell at one that might have been looking too uppity for his liking.

Ilya remained where she was, eyes still following Arkk. He looked tired. Exhausted. Even more so than after the battle in the village. Ilya could only imagine that his lethargy came from Ken’s death, Benji’s arm, and the various other injuries the villagers had sustained. Ken’s death stung Ilya as well. He had always been a nice guy, even if his beer was terrible.

But he hadn’t died under Ilya’s command. He hadn’t died while following Ilya’s plan.

It was too much to hope that everyone would have survived a battle like that. Arkk would beat himself up over it anyway.

Arkk’s eyes, his blue eyes, met with Ilya’s for a moment. He gave her a smile. Not exactly a joyous smile, but a smile nonetheless. Straightening his back, he seemed to recharge just a bit before turning back to the disarmed orcs. Ilya wasn’t sure if he was planning on hiring them as well.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. The four who had come to them with the warning about their chieftain were understandable. The six captives as well. Even the two who had surrendered in battle, maybe. But there were another fifteen who had crawled out from the other side of the barrows. They were all murderers, but at least the others had turned on their demon-summoning chieftain.

Ilya wanted to toss them to the Duke’s men for trial. They would probably end up executed, but that was the consequence of raiding villages.

Leaning back, gripping her side again as the movement shot pain through her wound, Ilya stared at the night sky. A million tiny lights stared back as she considered the orc’s words. The winds and stars changing? She didn’t see anything different.

With a shake of her head, she steadied herself. She would have to warn Arkk of the orcs and their possible desertion. And, at the same time, she would have to keep a closer watch on Arkk.

And Arkk’s eyes.

“No! Hale!”

Hale jolted back at the sudden shout. She almost tipped her chair over. Only the wild swinging of her arms kept her stable long enough to kick her foot into the bottom of the desk, knocking her back forward.

Arkk was back. Under other circumstances, she might have run up to him, demanding to know what happened and why he had left her alone for so long. The obvious anger on his tired face locked her into her seat.

The book she had been reading disappeared from the desk in front of her, reappearing in Arkk’s hand. He stared down at its black and red cover for a long moment, looking angrier with the book than he was with her. Thankfully. The book disappeared from between his fingers after a moment. She didn’t miss it reappearing on a much higher shelf than she had found it on but did her best to keep her eyes on Arkk.

“You can’t be reading books like that,” he said, voice hard and angry.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know. It just appeared and—”

“I know,” Arkk said, taking a breath and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I forgot you were here.”

“You forgot?” Hale glared. Arkk didn’t look quite so upset, so she felt like she could get away with a little anger of her own. “Where were you? It’s been days. You just left me here? And that thing wouldn’t even let me leave!” Hale said, pointing to the little monster that was guarding the door.

“It hasn’t even been one day,” Arkk said with a sigh. He locked eyes with Hale. “I need you to understand, that was not a good book. Don’t do anything you learned from it, okay?”

Hale crossed her arms, frowning. “I couldn’t read most of the words,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I was just looking at the drawings!” she snapped. John had taught her some words, but not most of the ones in that book. Instead, she had been looking at all the drawings. There had been a lot of skulls, for some reason. Skulls and circles like the one Arkk popped out of just a moment ago. And maybe directions for moving her hand in a specific way while casting spells. “What happened with the orcs?” she asked, sitting up.

“Oh, well…” Arkk trailed off, glancing back to the magic circle just as it flashed with a faint white light.

A hulking green-skinned man stood in the middle of the circle. He had a flat nose and black hair that ran around his face and chin. Yellow eyes locked on Hale. As he stared, he curled his bottom lip away from two long tusks.

Hale jumped out of her seat, hiding behind Arkk.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, patting her on the head. “This is Rekk’ar. He helped fight the bad orcs.”

“Bad orcs?”

“You employ children?” the orc said, voice like the lumberyard saw.

“No. And step out of there,” Arkk said, waving his hand away from the magic circle. “I don’t know what happens if someone tries to come through while someone else is standing inside. I would really rather not find out.”

Grumpy. That was how Hale would describe the orc’s movements. The way he stormed across the floor, crossed his arms, and even how his eyes looked over the empty shelves of the library. He was grumpy about it all. Not quite angry but he didn’t want to be here.

“Empty place.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

“Mhmm…”

Arkk didn’t speak with any kindness in his tone either. The two didn’t exactly glare at each other, but Hale doubted they were as friendly as Arkk had tried to make it sound.

The magic circle flashed again a moment later and another orc appeared. This one was much older, with brown-tan skin rather than bright green. Although he looked mildly surprised to see Hale, he didn’t sneer or growl at her. He just looked at her for a moment before examining the rest of the room. When he finished, he offered Arkk a polite nod of his head.

Hale liked this orc much better than the other one.

“Well,” Arkk said, shifting. “Welcome to Fortress Al-Mir. Most of the place is empty, but Vezta drew up some schematics for rooms she thought you and your kin would need.”

“Where are we?” the green orc asked.

“The middle of the Cursed Forest.”

“The Deadlands?”

Arkk shrugged. “The people of Langleey call it the Cursed Forest.”

“We’re in the Cursed Forest?” Hale gasped. “We can’t be there!”

Arkk glanced down, running a hand through her hair. “Right. We should send you back to the village.”

“No! I can be good.”

Rolling his eyes, Arkk shook his head. “Fine. When I go back, you’re going back with me. Understand?”

“Okay.” Hale didn’t want to be left behind with orcs anyway.

“Come,” Arkk said to the orcs. “I’ll show you where you’re staying. We’ll discuss further arrangements and duties later.”

“Duties?” Green-skin said with a growl as they walked down a stone corridor. “You expect us to work?”

Hale was more focused on her surroundings than on the orcs now. Every few steps, a small blue-purple gemstone glowed on the floor. They passed some huge doors built into the walls, each of which opened for the tan-skinned orc as he peered inside.

“I did hire you. I’m fully prepared to continue paying you a regular allotment.”

“And where would we spend our pay?”

“I…” Arkk trailed off. He clearly hadn’t thought about it.

The tan orc saved him from having to answer. “Every room we’ve passed has been empty. Not much here, is there?”

“As I said, it is a work in progress,” Arkk said, stopping at a door. Hale wasn’t sure what made this room different from the last. It was just as empty as all of them, but he stepped inside. “Wait here,” he said, motioning for them to stop just inside the door.

A pile of gold coins appeared at his feet from nothing. Hale’s eyes bulged as she stared. John occasionally got work for the merchants, mercenaries, and adventurers that passed through town. Often to make new arrows or, occasionally, to repair broken parts of carts and wagons. They usually paid in small silver coins. Hale had only seen a gold coin once before, and John hadn’t wanted it, saying it was too much for the job.

Arkk stood over an ankle-high pile of gold coins.

The coins didn’t stay in place for long, however.

The room changed. Instead of the gray tiles patterned with points and those blue gemstones, smooth dark tiles rippled into place within the room. The bright yellow flames of the torches on the walls snuffed out. In their place, more glowing stones formed in fancy star-like patterns. They weren’t as bright as the torches but combined with the dark tiles, it made the atmosphere a lot cozier.

“You turned an empty room into an empty room,” the green orc said with a disgruntled snort.

“Well, if Vezta was right, you should—”

The tan orc interrupted Arkk, stepping into the room. “There is magic here.” After looking around the room with narrowed eyes, his gaze settled on the corner nearest to the door. He walked over and held out a hand.

A thick wooden pole sprouted up from the dark tiles a short distance from the wall. Several smaller poles emerged nearby, arrayed around the large pole. Crossbeams locked into place near the tops, joining all the poles together. Sheets of leather, stitched together like they had come from a number of different animals, unfurled from the crossbeams, forming an upright, circular tent. The orc shoved aside the front-most section of leather, the only piece that wasn’t fastened to the upright poles.

A bed sat against one wall of the tent. Fur rugs covered most of the floor, though a small pit dug a short distance into the ground burned as a small campfire. The flames had a little pewter pot resting on long legs. Something bubbled inside. Taking a deep breath of the air, Hale felt her mouth start to water. Meat and potatoes in a thick brown gravy.

The orc hung his crossbow from a hook attached to the center pillar. He undid some of his armor as well, hanging up a heavy armguard that was probably just there to keep the sharp blade on the crossbow from cutting into his arm. “This,” he said, reemerging from the tent, “will suffice.”

“How did you do that?” the green-skinned orc growled.

Arkk looked like he wanted to know too. Naturally, Hale listened close.

“I just did what felt natural.”

Grumbling under his breath, the green-skinned orc moved up to the spot next to the large tent and held out his hand. He seemed to struggle a lot more but did get something to pop up from the ground.

It wasn’t as fancy as the large, circular tent. The green-skinned orc managed to make a triangular tent with sloped leather walls. It did have a bed inside, but was much shorter than the circular tent and lacked the little campfire.

Ignoring the complaints from the orc about the state of his dwelling in comparison to the tan-skinned orc, Hale hurried over to a different side of the room and held out her hand.

No matter how much she tried to ‘do what felt natural,’ she didn’t manage to get anything to pop up out of the ground before Arkk herded her back to the village.

She scowled the entire time.

Dakka stalked through the halls of Fortress Al-Mir, armor clinking and clanking with each step. Some of the others had taken to leaving their gear behind in their quarters. Not Dakka. Her shield hung from the back of her armor and her axe was looped into a rope strung around her waist. She had an image to maintain and could not afford to be seen as anything less than a ferocious warrior.

She had been the runt of the group for long enough.

Her position of power wasn’t anything formal, unfortunately. In fact, if she hadn’t had the good fortune of being put on watch with Rekk’ar and Olatt’an the night they slipped away from the barrows, she likely would have been a nobody here, assuming she had survived at all. Just another face among the horde. As it was, she wasn’t consulted often.

Rekk’ar had taken up the position of leader for their horde, working under Arkk. They butted heads but had yet to come to blows. For the first few days, Dakka had thought that Rekk’ar would challenge Arkk for leadership, but that had yet to come to pass. Arkk had powerful magic and… well… Vezta wasn’t someone anyone wanted to cross.

Olatt’an helped keep things calm as well. Arkk tended to go to Olatt’an next. As he should. If Arkk knew anything about orcs, he would have ignored Rekk’ar entirely. The Ripthroat, though his teeth had been stolen by the old chieftain, still managed to command respect.

Arkk came to Dakka third. It wasn’t often, as he usually stuck with the first two when he needed to discuss living arrangements or figure out if any of the orcs were skilled blacksmiths to work forges that he had conjured up from a small pile of gold. However, Arkk came to her often enough for the others to take notice. Dakka did her best to flaunt her position as much as possible without being too overt about it. She couldn’t appear desperate.

Of the four that Arkk originally hired, only Larry was left out.

Not that the oaf minded.

Dakka stopped walking at a large door not far from the living quarters. A cheerful, oblivious whistle drifted out from inside, along with the sound of panicked, clucking chickens. Peering inside, she watched Larry happily wring the neck of a chicken before he started plucking the feathers, filling a large basket. Three other chickens, already plucked clean, hung from hooks above a long, bloody table.

At least he was being useful. That was more than Dakka could say about half the orcs Arkk had hired.

Dakka continued, heading toward the neighboring tavern. Every day, she made use of the training room for longer than anyone else. It worked up quite the appetite. When considering it like that, Larry was perhaps the most useful of all of Arkk’s hirelings.

Before she could reach the door, Dakka heard the clink and clank of armor that wasn’t her own.

Turning her head, she narrowed her eyes.

Kazz’ak was in full armor as well. What was more, he had a heavy war pick out and in his hands. His movements were not overtly hostile, but his eyes were locked on Dakka. She knew a challenge when she saw one.

Dakka wished she could say she was surprised. There were murmurs among the orcs. Following a human did not resonate well with some of them. She didn’t think that Kazz’ak had been a part of that group, but when someone crawled out of the barrows squealing that they had never wanted to serve their old chieftain despite never having shown signs of hesitance, she figured they would betray just about anyone to save their lives, honor be damned.

Kazz’ak was a head taller than her with a longer reach. His war pick would puncture straight through her armor if he got a good hit in.

So, he couldn’t get a good hit in.

Dakka struck first, unleashing her axe and swinging it around in one swift strike, putting him on the defensive.

She wasn’t sure why he was after her. Maybe he wanted her position as third in command. Maybe he held some grudge that she couldn’t even recall. Maybe he blamed her for their chieftain’s downfall and was too much of a coward to challenge Rekk’ar or Olatt’an. No matter what his thinking was, it was foolhardy.

Dakka swept her axe through the air, missing his arms by a hair’s breadth. She took care to keep her swings short and swift. They might not do much damage, but the attacks she was using wouldn’t overextend her either. Dakka had no intention of taking a hit from that pick.

If Arkk had been an orc, attacking and beating her might have been a good way to gain status, but he wasn’t. Arkk was a human. Dakka hadn’t spent a lot of time around humans but doubted he would be pleased to find fighting among his employees.

Their fight wasn’t silent. It didn’t take long for someone to step out into the corridor, notice the fight, and shout for others to come. Naturally, they didn’t help. They started cheering. Egging on the fight. Calling for bets, perhaps. Dakka put them out of her mind and focused on her fight.

Would Arkk punish her for fighting? Possibly. Especially because she could open her mouth and call his attention here at any moment. But that would just make her look weak. Like she had to hide behind him, to count on him to win her battles for her.

Kazz’ak’s eyes widened as his foot bumped against the spiked decoration on the tiles.

Dakka didn’t hesitate, swinging hard to capitalize on his poor footwork.

His foot slid aside the moment she started her strike, gliding out of the way. A feint? His strike was already coming in.

Giving into the momentum of her swing, Dakka pivoted around her foot. The war pick slammed into the shield on her back, making her stumble a step forward. As fast as she could, she continued turning around, adjusting the angle of her axe blade to keep the edge in line with her momentum. There was a bit of resistance in her turn, but when she rounded on Kazz’ak again, she saw him staring in surprise at his own empty hands.

The pick must have gotten stuck in the shield.

The blade of her axe bit into his chest. It wasn’t as strong as a proper blow would have been, but it still sent him reeling back, blood gushing to the floor.

Dakka was about to go in to finish the job when a force threw her back. She backpedaled, barely managing to remain standing, and eventually stopped.

Arkk stood between her and Kazz’ak. His eyes were wide, staring at the taller orc for a moment before rounding on Dakka.

“What is going on here?” he hissed.

She had been right. He was angry.

Dakka lowered her axe, keeping it in her grip but showing deference to Arkk. “He thought he’d get a promotion if he killed me, sir,” she said, taking a guess at his motivations. “I handled it.”

“What?” Arkk’s eyes flashed, briefly turning red as he rounded on Kazz’ak.

“No! I…” He met Arkk’s eyes for just a moment before ducking his head, not meeting Arkk’s gaze. Dakka took that as a confession.

Arkk apparently did as well. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking back to Dakka.

“Not a scratch.”

Nodding, Arkk looked back to Kazz’ak. He slowly looked around, staring at the watching orcs with a deepening scowl. Eventually, he looked to Kazz’ak once more. “Congratulations, you’ve volunteered to help me test a new spell,” he said, speaking loud enough that the entire corridor heard.

They both disappeared, popping out of the corridor.

Dakka curled a lip, hoping that Arkk’s new spell was a painful one. Looking away, she turned her gaze to the orcs. “Well?” she shouted. “Who all bet on me?”

It took a moment. A few of the orcs started cheering. Not as many as she would have liked, but enough that at least she hadn’t just raised a fist in celebration of an awkward silence.

She took careful note of the faces most upset with her victory and filed them away for later.

Dakka wouldn’t be a runt again.

Pontiff Benjamin Bernardin ascended the many steps to the Grand Old Church in a slow and methodical fashion. He paused often, making sure to greet everyone he passed. It didn’t matter if they were the lowliest acolyte or initiate, a random member of the public, or the Ecclesiarch himself—not that the Ecclesiarch visited Cliff. If no one was in sight, he would take his time and read from his copy of the Holy Texts. Perhaps even taking a seat on the stairs to do so. Others, he knew, saw his movements as pious, dedicated, and humble.

In reality, Ben did not wish to enter the old church out of breath and sweating through his robes.

He was getting much too old for this. If only he could be reassigned to some other province.

The City of Cliff, the Duchy of Mystakeen’s capital city, was not so named because it had been built on wide open plains. A grand river flowed out to the ocean, offering a wonderful harbor for trade and fishing. Much of the city had been built around the harbor, down where it was a bit more level. However, mountains surrounded the entire settlement. One tall spire jutted out right in the middle of the harbor, connected to the rest of the city by a fine stone bridge. Some great fool from ages long past thought a church set atop the island mountain would impress all who saw it.

It did. That didn’t make it any easier to reach.

For that reason, he was all too happy to pause upon a landing of the stone stairs that had been carved into the cliff face when he heard someone calling him from behind.

“Your Holiness!”

A much younger boy took the steps three at a time. He wasn’t dressed as any member of the church but rather had fairly plain attire. Ben didn’t recognize the boy’s face, nevertheless, he smiled when he saw him, raising a hand in greeting.

“How might I be of service this fine day?”

The boy shook his head, reaching into a small satchel that hung from his shoulder. “Just a message for you, sir,” he said, holding out a small letter.

Technically, a delivery like this should go all the way to his office in the church above. Ben didn’t blame the boy for wanting to shave off half the trip by delivering it to him directly.

It was a good excuse to stop. Ben didn’t mind in the slightest. “Thank you,” he said, pulling a few silver coins from his pocket to tip the young boy. “May the Light go with you.”

The boy looked far more excited about the coins than his words. Which Ben didn’t blame him for either.

Looking down at the letter, he noted the wax seal on the front. The marking of the Abbey of the Light had been pressed in. This particular version indicated that it was sent by either a priest or an abbess. That likely meant that it had come from one of the many tiny villages strewn throughout the land. It was a bit odd that the letter was coming to him. Local religious guides would normally send messages to their bishop, rather than to him.

Curiosity piqued, Ben broke the seal and pulled out the letter.

The more he read, the more alarmed he became. An army of orcs and goblins alone almost had him rushing back down the steps to the Duke’s manor. A demon summoning by those orcs might have had him crying in alarm on the spot were the passage not prefaced with word that the situation had been handled.

The small village with a population numbering less than one hundred, most of whom were not fighters, had managed to drive off the initial attack by the orcs. Then, after hearing of an imminent demon summoning, they allied with a few orc deserters to put a swift end to the orc leader’s plot.

Ben’s relief was short-lived, unfortunately. As he read further, he found the true cause for the missive. Concern over an unknown monster that aided the villagers. It hadn’t hurt any of the villagers, yet every time this abbess looked at it, it filled her with a deep unease and dread. A feeling of impending doom struck her.

And it wasn’t just the monster. The sensation was spreading to those with whom the monster associated most.

The letter was a simple plea for guidance. How to respond to such a monster that hadn’t obviously hurt anyone, and had saved them, yet caused such feelings within the Abbess. There were questions of whether or not the Abbess was imagining the feelings since no one else seemed to notice.

Ben skimmed past the remainder of the letter before returning to the description of the monster.

Hiking up his robes in a most undignified manner, Pontiff Benjamin Bernardin ascended the steps to the Grand Old Church in a hurry. He did not greet anyone as he passed them. He did not stop at each landing to admire the view. He made haste to the church’s archives, headed straight to the back, and pulled an old and dusty manuscript from the furthest shelf.

He flipped it open and began to read.

Every word turned worry into dread.

 

 

“She’s still down there. I can see movement.”

“It’s too dark to make anything out. Did she bury the glowstone knowing we were watching or did they get buried in the rubble?”

“Can she summon the demon without sacrifices?”

“Don’t ask me how it works, human. You’re the spellcaster here.”

“Does she have sacrifices?”

“We saved the other humans.”

“What if some goblins fell in with her, could she use those?”

Arkk stared into the crystal ball, trying to glean anything from the dark orb. Vezta stood to his side while Olatt’an, Rekk’ar, John, and Hurtt peered into the ball. Ilya sat on the ground not far away, refusing to stay put near the Abbess despite her injury.

The wounded were laid out on the grassy field, recovering. Those who could still carry weapons, orc and human alike, stood guard, watching for any stray goblins or orcs. Those guarding the entrance had already found them, though they couldn’t be counted among the living anymore. Arkk had not dug into the barracks yet. If those inside knew their chieftain was dead, they would be far more willing to surrender without a fight.

“Not too keen on getting close to her magic,” Olatt’an said, speaking as if he were discussing nothing more interesting than the weather. “Seen it do some nasty stuff to those who cross her.”

“Can we just leave her there?” Hurtt said. “She can’t escape, right?”

Arkk shook his head. Vezta would have been able to escape with her teleportation circles. He didn’t know if the chieftain knew any magic like that—he thought she would have used it by now—but it was too great a risk. Even if she couldn’t do that, who knew what else her magic was capable of.

“Drop the barrows on her,” Rekk’ar said, spitting on the ground. “Bury her alive. A warrior’s death is too good for the likes of her.”

“Will that kill her?” Arkk said. He could do it. Two of his lesser servants had died in the tunnel collapse, but he could summon more if the remainder didn’t suffice. “Quickly, I mean. I’m not going to take any chances. She dies tonight. If she escapes, this will only have enraged her even more. She’ll flee and summon another demon another day. One that we might not have the fortune of knowing about in advance.”

A moment of morbid silence followed Arkk’s words. The villagers paled at the mention of another summoning and the orcs didn’t comment on the likelihood of her survival. With the powers she learned from that book on her hip, Arkk guessed that they genuinely had no idea.

“I could stand at the top of the pit and throw lightning down it until she stops moving, but I’m sure she can toss magic back up…” Arkk glanced over to Vezta. “I don’t suppose we can carry out your former master’s final orders and get some help that way,” he said, vaguely. He didn’t exactly want everyone present to know about the [HEART] or anything to do with it if he couldn’t help it.

Vezta, unfortunately, shook her head. “Not unless you’ve dug up a magical researcher without my knowledge. I would suggest we recruit the chieftain but one who resorts to demon summoning is hardly an ally I would take comfort in having at my side.”

Nodding his head in definite agreement, Arkk asked, “Any other ideas?”

“I could drop down there myself and tear her apart.”

“Could you survive her magic?”

“I have survived a lot in my time,” Vezta said with a wan smile.

“But could you survive her magic?” Arkk asked again, not willing to let her skirt around the question.

She just shrugged. “Unsure.”

“A bomb,” Rekk’ar said. “Black powder. Toss that down and boom.”

“Where are we going to get a bomb from?” Hurtt asked with a sneer. “We’re a farming village, not an outpost for the Duke’s army.”

Rekk’ar bared his teeth in response, flashing his tusks. Hurtt, to his credit, didn’t back away, though he did look back to the crystal ball with a contemplative look on his face.

“Could we get a bomb?” Arkk asked Vezta.

“I’m sure we could acquire the materials, but without a skilled craftsman to put it together, I imagine we will face disaster.”

“Does anyone know how to make a bomb?” Arkk asked, addressing the others. He knew none of the villagers would.

Unfortunately, his two hopes glanced at each other. Olatt’an and Rekk’ar shrugged their shoulders, not saying anything as they glanced back at him. If any of the surviving orcs knew, they weren’t saying.

Arkk scowled, looking back to the crystal ball. He wasn’t sure why. The image in the glass was just darkness. He started trying to think of all he knew, which was distressingly little. Lightning, possession—which wasn’t something to be used on enemies, according to Vezta—and a smattering of rituals. Most of which didn’t…

Arkk blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “Wait, I can make a bomb.”

Ilya glanced up, scrutinizing Arkk. “Since when could you…” She trailed off, frowning. The frown quickly turned into a wide grin as her eyes widened. “You’re going to explode her.”

“I’m going to explode her.” He paused, looking at Vezta. “I haven’t exploded a spell since… then, but I haven’t really tried. I feel more in control of my magic, but that just means I should be able to let go of that control for this. Right?”

“Her blood,” Ilya said. “She was using it on the altar.”

“Perfect,” Arkk said, jumping to his feet. One of the lesser servants was already squirming over toward the barrows, ready to dig through to the room where the altar had been.

While the servant started digging, Arkk started ripping grass out of a large patch of ground. He wasn’t sure if the grass would interfere but definitely didn’t want to mess this up. Or rather, he did want to mess it up, but in a very specific sort of way. Tearing up the grass wasn’t easy. There was too much, and it was all too small.

Vezta saved him, gently moving him aside before a tendril swept across the ground. It left a thin smear of oil on the ground that ate the grass before quickly dissolving into nothingness, leaving dirt behind. She gave him a nod of her head before stepping aside, hands clasped together in front of her navel.

Arkk wasted no time, scrawling the tracking ritual into the cleared ground.

By the time he finished, the lesser servant had accomplished its task.

Vezta and Rekk’ar accompanied him into the newly dug tunnel, just in case there were still goblins clinging to the walls or if the chieftain had a surprise up her sleeve. However, they found nothing.

The altar was there, lit by a bowl of glowing stones in one corner. Arkk, having grabbed a leaf outside, smeared it through the still-damp blood on the surface of the heavy stone altar. What had to have been hours of work drawing out the intricate ritual were ruined in a second. Having what he needed, he turned to go.

“That’s it?” Rekk’ar said with a bit of a snort-like scoff.

“That’s it.”

Rekk’ar snorted again before grasping the side of the altar. Muscles bulging, he pushed. A bit of a creaking groan in the unstable ground had Arkk taking a few steps back down the tunnel, but Vezta stepped forward to assist. She grasped the altar with a myriad of tentacles and flipped it into the deep pit.

Screaming echoed out. Anger, not pain, unfortunately.

Rekk’ar looked to Arkk and shrugged. “Was hoping it would crush her. Now hoping it screwed up whatever she was surely planning down there.”

“If nothing else,” Vezta said, tendrils disappearing under her dress, “the glowstones may provide insight into her actions.”

“Well, shouldn’t be necessary now,” Arkk said, clutching the leaf tight.

He hurried back out of the barrow and rushed over to the ritual he had scrawled into the ground. Setting the leaf in the triangle, Arkk took up his position opposite from it. Just as he had done with tracking the stag, he poured just a little magic into the circle.

Ethereal silhouettes formed in his vision. He ignored the bush he had plucked the leaf from and focused downward. The orc chieftain glowed, appearing through the ground. She was working on something down there. From her movements, Arkk guessed that it was a ritual circle carved into the walls.

Not knowing what it did and definitely not wanting to find out, Arkk started to focus more magic into the spell. With the stag, the spell had started to fade and he had panicked, flooding it with magic in an attempt to keep the spell going.

Here and now, he opened the floodgates to their fullest intentionally.

The bush started to sparkle and crack first. Smoke drifted from its withering twigs. But Arkk’s eyes were on the chieftain down below.

She noticed something was wrong. Her scrawling stopped and she stared at her hands. That lasted a mere moment before she started panicking. Arkk couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing, but it didn’t matter.

Wincing, snapping his head back reflexively, Arkk grimaced at the sight.

He could see the chieftain’s blood, having used blood in his tracking spell. It was everywhere. The pit had a fresh coating all around its bottom. The largest mass of blood, presumably the remains of the chieftain, barely looked humanoid anymore. Just a smattering of ruined meat.

A cheer from behind him drew his attention to a whole crowd that had gathered around the crystal ball. A few of them, especially the villagers, looked like they were going to be sick. Hurtt, however, let out a loud whoop and promptly slammed his fist into Jorgen’s shoulder. The orcs were a bit more subdued in their reactions, though Arkk did not miss a glance exchanged between Olatt’an and Rekk’ar. The former nodded at the latter, a barely perceptible dip of his head.

“Vezta,” Arkk said, silencing the celebration with that single word alone. “Can you get me down there?”

“You wish to descend into that?” she asked, pointing a slender finger that dripped with a little tar toward the crystal ball. “Would you like to look first and reconsider? She appears to have suffered injuries quite incompatible with continued life.”

“I want to make sure.”

“It looks pretty sure to me,” John mumbled, averting his eyes from the crystal ball.

Vezta ignored him. “Very well,” she said, not offering any other argument as she walked to Arkk.

Together, they returned to the barrows. Vezta split apart into a mass of tentacles, losing her human guise from the waist down. Arkk raised an eyebrow but didn’t otherwise protest as she wrapped one tendril around his waist and under his arms while her arms wrapped around his shoulders, securing him in a harness made from herself.

The rest of the tendrils jammed into the rock walls of the pit. Using them as anchors, she started descending, jamming new tendrils into the walls as they went.

Arkk had experienced many strange things in the past several days, but this was probably the strangest. Still, he didn’t complain. Vezta was only doing as he asked.

The scent of viscera stung Arkk’s nose as they descended. He tried to breathe through his mouth alone, but it didn’t quite get rid of the pungent scent. It only made him taste a metallic note in the air.

He tried not to think about it.

He and Vezta soon reached the bottom. She kept hold of him, making sure that he stayed well above the pool of blood that had gathered at the bottom of the pit. The glowstones were coated in blood, making the light they put off an unpleasant, violent red color. It probably made the entire pit look worse than it was, but not by much.

Arkk… couldn’t take his eyes off the… thing. If someone had told him that it was an orc a few minutes ago and he hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have believed them. There was absolutely no skin left anywhere that had been exposed to air. He could see flaps of green flesh clinging to the interior of the cowl, which had also been thrown off the chieftain’s head. It had no eyes. No… anything. Bone. It had bone. The skull looked like something had tried to escape from inside it.

Arkk couldn’t help it. He vomited. Vezta kept hold of him, even going so far as to lightly pat his back.

“I did try to warn you,” she said, voice gentle.

“Yeah,” Arkk said, wiping the corner of his lip. “I… Remind me, if I ever want to try something like this in the future, to not.”

“But it was so effective.”

“Too effective. There have to be better ways of dealing with an enemy in a situation like this.”

“If you insist,” Vezta said with a sigh. “Shall we return?”

“Yeah, we—” Arkk paused, eyes roaming down the body of the orc chieftain. “Wait. Lower me, just a bit.”

“Lower?”

Though she questioned him, Vezta did as he asked. Arkk reached out, brushing aside now loose chains. The black book the chieftain had was, improbably, still black. It had managed to avoid the coating of blood that covered everything else. Arkk wasn’t sure if it was that its owner was dead or simply that he could easily grasp it, but the moment he touched it, he felt the [HEART] acknowledge it as his property.

The book vanished in a flash, reappearing on a shelf in his library for later perusal.

“Master,” Vezta said, her gentle tone absent from her now harsh voice. “I hope you are not planning something unbecoming of a Keeper of the [HEART] of Fortress Al-Mir.”

“I’m not going to summon a demon, Vezta,” Arkk said with a small sigh. “But if someone else has a similar book or similar magic, I want to know what they can do.”

Vezta hummed. Hugging him tighter, she somehow managed to turn Arkk around to face her. She didn’t say anything. She just stared into his eyes with her luminous golden suns.

“I promise,” Arkk said.

“Good.” Vezta moved her head closer, dropping her chin on his shoulder. She didn’t speak anything more, choosing to remain quiet aside from her tendrils puncturing the rock as they ascended the pit. When they finally reached the top, it felt like there was some reluctance in releasing him.

There was still much to do. The other orcs in the barracks needed to be dealt with. The wounded still needed tending. He needed to figure out what to do with the orcs they had rescued.

Their dead needed to be buried.

And yet, despite that, Arkk felt like a pressure had been removed from his back. The possibility of a demon appearing was no more. They could take their time. Do things carefully.

Arkk let out a soft sigh, wondering how an amateur hunter had wound up in this position.

 

 

“A barrow?” Arkk said with a scowl. There went his best plan.

The horde had holed up in an old burial mound some distance south and east of Langleey Village. He had been hoping for a nice open field where Ilya would have had a clear shot at the summoner from afar. Even if she couldn’t get a shot, somewhere open would have been better. Arkk had never been inside the barrows here. He knew from stories of mercenaries hunting down the odd necromancer that they weren’t spacious areas.

Tight quarters with around over a hundred goblins and a few dozen orcs sounded like a good way to get overwhelmed. If they were only attacked from one direction, the terrain might favor Vezta. Arkk couldn’t guarantee that, however.

“Is the summoning being conducted inside the barrow or out here?” Maybe there was still some hope for Ilya’s skills to put a quick end to the situation.

Olatt’an, the elderly orc with the battle-scarred face, shook his head. “The chief was preparing it within.”

“Damn.”

“Problem, ‘boss?’” Rekk’ar, the leader of the four orcs, said with a curl of his lip.

Arkk didn’t rise to his tone, instead taking the crystal ball from Vezta. He didn’t have as much control over it, being less experienced, but he had enough to scan through the tunnels beneath the earthen mound.

Goblins packed the tight corridors. There was only one entrance to the barrows, a narrow entrance that would probably force most orcs to duck as they walked through it. A short way in, the path split in three different directions. Following one goblin-stuffed path in the crystal ball, Arkk found what looked like a temporary barracks inside a larger chamber with skulls and other bones lining the walls. A little over a dozen orcs had cleared away the goblins, leaving space with small mats for sleeping on. The room and the corridors seemed to be lit with glowing stones similar to those that lit Fortress Al-Mir’s new library. Arkk wasn’t sure if they had been left behind by the ancients who had built the barrows or if the orcs had brought them in.

Following the center path, Arkk saw a much smaller chamber with a low altar. The altar was adorned with the same symbols as the Langleey church and it looked to have been built into the ground, meaning it was part of the original architecture. However, new symbols had been scrawled into the top using… well, it looked like blood, so it probably was. A much smaller orc stood hunched over the altar wearing a dark cowl and long robes, drawing a fresh profane symbol with her fingertips. It looked like she had cut her hand for the blood.

“That’s the chief,” Rekk’ar said, leaning over the crystal ball. “Fool,” he spat, watching her work.

“I thought orcs tended to follow the strongest of the group. She doesn’t look like much.” There were two other orcs in the room, standing near the entrance. Both towered over her. She might even have been shorter than Arkk or any other average human.

“Ah, but you don’t look like much either,” Olatt’an said, a smile creasing the wrinkles on his face. “Yet here we are, following you.”

“I… intimidated you into following me.”

Olatt’an nodded, then motioned toward the crystal ball. “The same is true here, though it is true that the only thing that saved the chief from being the runt of the group was her brother. Then she found that book in a village we… visited.” Tapping the ball, Olatt’an pointed at a thick tome that was chained to the cowled orc’s hip. A thick black book with glimmering red circles interlaced within each other on the cover.

Abbess Keena, though she stood a few paces away, narrowed her eyes. “The symbol of desecration,” she said, making a gesture with her right hand from her navel to her chin, then left shoulder to the left hand. She murmured a prayer as she did so.

“Whatever it is,” Olatt’an said, “it taught her magicks of foul nature. Put herself and her brother in charge after… embarrassing the previous leader.” Both Rekk’ar and Dakka, the shorter orc, looked to Olatt’an as he spoke with frowns spreading across their faces, but neither commented. “Turned our little group toward more vicious activities, taking more risks and… subjugating every goblin we came across. Be warned, the chief will not go down as easily as other orcs and the goblins will not fight against her.”

“Noted.”

After watching the summoner work for another moment, Arkk pulled the vision in the crystal ball back to the crossroads and followed the right path to another small open space inside the barrows. Goblins swarmed the room along with twelve heavily armed and armored orc guards.

“Humans!” John said with a gasp, looking over Arkk’s shoulder.

Three humans sat, huddled together. One was dressed in the tattered remains of what might have been a fancy suit at one point in time. To his left, someone wearing boiled leather armor tried to keep a straight back, but his face, black and blue with an eye swelled shut, looked like it had been used as a punching bag. A woman sat to his left, looking better than either of the other two yet still wearing the remains of a once fine dress. Arkk could see gashes along her arms and face, though none so bad as the armored man.

“The ones the chief is planning to sacrifice,” Rekk’ar said. “Looks like some more orcs have joined them.”

Six orcs were in the room as well, stripped of their weapons and armor. They sat apart from the humans yet they had not been treated any better.

“If we free them, they’ll help against the goblins and the chief?”

Rekk’ar crossed his arms. “We don’t speak for all orcs,” he said, then dipped his head slightly. “But it is likely, yes.”

“Good. Then—”

“Wait!” Dakka said, leaning close to the crystal ball. She pointed to two of the guards standing to the side of the room near the entrance. “That’s Orjja and Pett’en. They were thinking about leaving with us. If they knew there was another option…”

“Too late, girl,” Rekk’ar said with a sad shake of his head. “After our desertion, the chief will have her most loyal on watch. You’d never get in there. The most you can hope for is to shout in the fight and hope they hear over the bloodlust of battle.”

Dakka bared her tusks but slowly nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said, teeth clenched together.

The ones on watch, Arkk had already seen. The orcs had helped to point out where they would be. Three orcs stood outside the cave, crouched around a small campfire along with a bunch of goblins. But there were others, further out. The area around the barrows was made up of gently sloping hills with the occasional tree. Nothing as dense as a forest. Arkk had called the villagers and orcs to a stop well in advance of getting close specifically to avoid being spotted over the relatively empty plains.

“We need to take the watch out first,” Arkk said. “If we can get close before raising the alarm, we have a better chance at catching them before they bunker down. It looks like they rigged the entrance to collapse unless it was always that unsteady looking. Either way, I would drop the entrance, buying time to begin the summoning while any invaders were trying to dig their way in.”

“Master,” Vezta said, sliding forward. “If I may remind you of Fortress Al-Mir’s mines…”

“Mines? What… Oh. Oh!” Arkk’s eyes flashed with acknowledgment. “That… Does that work out here?”

“I don’t see why not. Those walls are hardly fortified and this barrow does not appear to have an active claimant that would hamper the magic of their teeth.”

“Got it,” Arkk said, mind churning over the possibilities. No matter what, however, they needed to deal with the watchers first to get closer. “These guards in the trees around the barrows need to go. Ilya, can you and…” Trailing off, Arkk looked over the group.

They had not brought most of the teens from the village. Only the eldest two. Nine men and six women had joined up. Of them, only Archie carried a bow. Despite his name, Arkk knew he was nowhere near a good enough shot to hit someone in a tree from a hidden spot.

Looking back to the orcs, Rekk’ar carried a particularly nasty-looking pike—more of a halberd—and Dakka wielded a shield covered in thick spikes alongside a battle axe large enough that Arkk doubted he could lift it. Olatt’an carried a crossbow but was quite the elderly man for an orc. The other carried a crossbow too, but… his size… any guard worth posting would see him coming long before he got within range.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Arkk said to the rotund orc.

The orc stiffened, drawing in a deep breath. “They, uh, they call me The Butcher,” he said, voice slightly deeper than normal.

“I’m not calling you that,” Arkk said, tone flat.

“Oh.” His shoulders slumped slightly, earning mocking laughs from all three of the other orcs. “I guess you can call me Larry then.”

“Larry.”

“That’s my name,” he said with a sigh.

“Not… Larr’ak or… something else?”

“No, I was raised among humans,” he said with a shrug. “Had a nice little shack to myself on the outskirts of Pineberg Burg. The village huntsmen would bring me their kills and I’d chop it up for them in exchange for keeping some for myself.”

Arkk blinked. “You were literally a butcher.”

“That’s what I said.”

Arkk closed his eyes and let out a small breath. “Why don’t we have you sit this one out?”

His comment got another round of laughs from the three orcs. Arkk got the distinct impression that they didn’t think too highly of their comrade here. Though, probably rightfully so. He didn’t look like a fighter and, if what he was saying was true, probably wasn’t a fighter.

How did he wind up in a group of raiders? A question for later. They only had about two hours before this ritual was supposed to begin. No time for chatting.

Arkk, left with little choice, looked to Vezta. He didn’t want to send her away. Without her at his side, even a small group of goblins would overrun him in moments.

Then again, this time he had the villagers at his back and the orcs, as long as the latter didn’t break their bond and backstab him, but he was fairly sure a lightning bolt was faster than a battle axe.

“Vezta, Ilya, can you take out the guards in the trees without alerting the others?”

“Of course,” Vezta said with a deep bow.

“Yeah. As long as your monster doesn’t get in my way.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You—”

“Please,” Arkk said. “We need as much time as possible.”

Vezta bowed again and, after taking a few steps away from the group, tendrils ripped out from her own shadow, lashing around her as they pulled her down into the grass. That got a few gasps from everyone else around. Ilya headed off toward the southeast, opposite Vezta, drawing her black and white bow as she sprinted. Despite the speed at which she moved, Arkk heard nothing of her footsteps in the grass. Years of keeping silent and hidden from wild game would hopefully serve her well against the orc guards.

Luckily, orcs didn’t see any better in the darkness than humans did.

“Right,” Arkk said, waving both humans and orcs to his sides. “Don’t be too alarmed. Slave Natum,” he intoned.

“You know,” John said, “telling us not to be alarmed just makes me more nervous.”

“Might want to close your eyes,” Arkk said, pushing magic into the intoned spell.

A bubbling mass of flesh, eyes, and mouths formed before him, earning a groan from John.

“I was right.”

Arkk shook his head, focusing on summoning the lesser servants. He managed five before he started to feel the exhaustion. Stopping there, for now, he leaned down and whispered a few words. The lesser servants listened intently before turning away. Their bodies turned into one large mouth which promptly aimed downward at the ground. The five disappeared beneath the surface of the ground.

Turning back to find a group of sick villagers and orcs, Arkk frowned.

He wondered if Vezta could modify that spell so that miniature Veztas popped out instead.

Later.

“While they’re doing that, let’s go over the plan I have in mind…”

Arkk stood on the opposite side of the burial mound from the entrance. The large heap of earth was eerily silent. Being filled to the brim with goblins and orcs, Arkk would have expected some noise, but the air was as dead as those interred within.

Vezta and Ilya had been successful in their task, allowing Arkk, the villagers, and the orcs to approach the barrow. They had left the guards out front alone. They were too close and their deaths would surely cause a ruckus. Right now, Arkk had the element of surprise and he did not intend to give that advantage up.

A large hole now existed on this side of the mound where there had been none before. The lesser servants were swarming over the mound as Arkk directed. Why fight through a horde of goblins and trapped passages when he could simply make his own tunnels? He was just waiting on a few finishing touches.

Arkk glanced around, making eye contact with those around him. The majority of the villagers stood alongside him, as did Dakka, the brown-skinned orc warrior. She had a serious look in her eyes, staring at the incomplete tunnel ahead of them. No one spoke. Not even Jorgen and Hurtt. Everyone knew the plan and, with a few alterations suggested by Olatt’an and John, they had agreed that it sounded like the best course of action.

Olatt’an, along with Vezta, Ilya, Rekk’ar, and the braver villagers were a short distance away, positioned in front of a near identical hole in the mound. Vezta either sensed his gaze or noticed with the multitude of burning eyes positioned around her body. She turned her head, meeting his look with her proper eyes, and offered a small nod of her head.

Arkk could sense the lesser servants nearing the completion of their tasks. Turning his gaze to the crystal ball, he checked in on each of the rooms. Orcs in the makeshift barracks looked to be rousing each other. Likely in preparation for the ritual. Goblins still packed the corridors, but he was hoping to avoid dealing with the majority of them. There was movement in the prisoner’s room as well. One of the guards looked to be having a bit of a disagreement with the others, who were advancing on the human prisoners.

They were running out of time.

The summoner herself seemed to have finished drawing her patterns on the altar in the barrow. She stood over it, inspecting her work. Arkk couldn’t hear through the crystal ball, but he watched as she barked out orders at the pair of guards in the chamber with her. One turned back to the corridors immediately, but the other hesitated. He opened his mouth, saying something.

The chieftain took exception. She raised a finger, muttering something. A bolt of sickly green light crossed the distance between them.

The guard started screaming, tugging at the skin on his face. Blood started boiling from his mouth, eyes, nose, and ears. Lacerations split his skin. Blood gushed from his chest and arms and even his fingernails. He collapsed in short order, shuddering a few times before going still.

All the while, the chieftain simply turned her back to him, hardly a care in the world as she looked back to the altar.

If she had been a little more attentive, she might have noticed the crack split the rock between her feet. The gap widened, splitting apart to the point where she did finally notice, but it was too late. The ground disintegrated under her as the maw of a lesser servant ate into the floor of the room. She screamed as she drew a crooked knife from her sash and dark magic erupted from her free hand. Arkk felt the servant die near instantly, but not before wrapping a tongue around the chieftain’s leg, dragging her down into the deep, deep pit it had been digging for the last hour.

As other servants began collapsing the corridors on the goblins, Arkk drew a sword, dropping the crystal ball.

“Now!”

Servants ate through the walls of the prisoner room, completing the tunnels just as Arkk and the others charged in.

“Electro Deus,” Arkk shouted, frying an orc that Dakka had pointed out as one that would never betray the chieftain. Several goblins fell to lower-powered bolts as others rushed into the room.

The captive humans were screaming. They had probably been screaming ever since the orcs had started advancing on them, but that didn’t change now.

A cloud of dust billowed out from the collapsed corridor, but it brought with it a large horde of goblins that had managed to get out of the way of the falling ceiling.

They were intercepted, along with the surprised orcs, by Vezta’s group. Two orcs, a few humans, an elf, and a servant charged into the barrow, attacking anything that looked like a threat. Dakka rushed forward as well, running after her two friends to try to get them to give up… or else to be the one to grant them a warrior’s death. Her words.

The rest of the villagers behind Arkk weren’t here to fight. They had weapons, but their task was the prisoners. Both humans and orcs. John helped the leather-clad mercenary to his feet while Jorgen hauled the man in the wealthy clothing over his shoulder.

Arkk himself headed to the orcs along with Hurtt and the village blacksmith, Irving. The two largest non-orcs among their group. Larry followed as well. Not a fighter, but the hope was that a familiar face would convince the captive orcs to move a little faster.

A few lightning bolts sent after stray goblins were more for a display of strength than killing them. Vezta certainly needed no help. Fingers still crackling, he held his hand out to the orc in front of the group of prisoners, which caused a wince, but the orc set his jaw in defiance.

Arkk twisted his wrist, now holding his palm out as if to help the orc to its feet. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“It’s okay,” Larry said, sweating profusely as Hurtt slammed his weapon down on another goblin. “He hired us. Said he’d keep the humans from hurting us if we help take down the chief.” He paused, then glanced to Arkk. “Uh… Right?”

Arkk glanced aside, speaking in a flat tone. “Yes, Larry. That’s—”

A cry had him whirling around.

Ilya, back near the tunnel entrance trying to shoot arrows from afar, cried out as a goblin crawling along the wall pounced on her back. The goblin’s weapon was more a rusted slat of metal than a proper knife, but it was still sharp enough to cut as it flailed its little arms around. Blood spurted from Ilya’s face just below her eye before the goblin rammed the blade into her side.

Arkk didn’t even get a chance to cast a lightning spell before a crossbow bolt appeared between the goblin’s eyes.

His eyes traced the path of the bolt in a flash, noting Olatt’an already whirling to use the blade fixed to the end of his crossbow against one of the larger orcs. He slammed the butt of the weapon into the larger orc’s face before the blade sliced open his neck.

“Electro Deus.”

Six other goblins that had been clinging to the walls fell to the ground in smoking, twitching piles of limbs. The last one hit looked like it was about to get back up, only for a thick tendril to sprout from the floor and crush it against the wall.

Ilya, teeth clenched, had her hand pressed against her side, pinning the rusty blade in place as blood dripped from her fingers.

Arkk wanted to run over to her. She was alone, separated by the distance she had been trying to use to her advantage.

John made it to her first. With the battered mercenary already leaning on him for support, John scooped up Ilya into his arms and started carrying her out through the tunnels. The Abbess was outside. She could do more for Ilya than Arkk could.

“The Throatripper joined you?”

Arkk whirled back to the prisoners he had almost forgotten about. Something in his expression must have betrayed his anger; the entire group flinched backward as he faced them.

“Olatt’an,” Larry whispered, answering the question before Arkk had a chance to ask it.

Throatripper sounded far more vicious than Larry’s epithet, especially knowing that Larry’s was his profession. He wondered what kind of history Olatt’an might have behind him to garner that. Whichever of the prisoners had mentioned it had done so in reverence, not scorn. He probably had quite the body count. Then again, that was the man who had just saved Ilya from further injury entirely on reflex while engaged in his own battle.

“Are you coming or not?” Arkk said, deciding not to address it to anyone at the moment, prisoner or even himself.

The orcs seemed far less hesitant now, nodding near instantly.

Arkk turned away, unleashing a bolt of lightning over Vezta’s shoulder. She probably had been aware of the orc coming at her from behind, but it didn’t look like she had been moving to handle it.

The battle was dying out. With the corridors collapsed, the enemy couldn’t reinforce their numbers. Were it not for the goblins, both those in the room and those that had survived the collapse, the twelve orcs would probably have fallen long ago simply due to the villagers having superior numbers.

Dakka had blood on her axe. The woman she had pointed out earlier was at her side, but not the other one. She had blood dripping from under the leather armor she wore, leaking from a gash around her waist. Not that she looked to care. She wasn’t even hunched over.

The captive humans were gone, as were those who had been assigned to escort them out. Larry, Hurtt, and Irving were leading the captive orcs out. One enemy orc had thrown his weapon to the floor, keeping his arms in the air in the universal signal for surrender.

The rest were dead. Rekk’ar lifted his blade from the punctured skull of the last one who had been fighting.

Arkk couldn’t help but grimace as he noted that their side had not survived entirely intact despite surprise, numbers, and Vezta. Ken, the village brewer, was on the ground. A blade had bit into his neck, leaving him partially decapitated. The Abbess couldn’t cure death. Several others were sporting wounds that ranged from scrapes and cuts to deep gouges, especially in the arms. Vezta was treating the worst injury in much the same way as she had treated Arkk after a goblin gnawed on his arm. The village shoemaker, Benji, was missing his left arm below the shoulder. Vezta had his stump wrapped in her tar-like body.

Clenching his teeth, Arkk gnawed on his lip. He should have done more. He could have done more. The plan had been made with him going to the captive orcs in the hopes of keeping them from attacking their backs if they decided to stick with their kin. He had expected more of the orcs to switch sides after what Rekk’ar and Dakka had said. But only two had, the one who had thrown down his weapon and the woman at Dakka’s side.

And the night wasn’t done yet. They needed to get back to the Abbess. They had left her a few villagers—the teenagers and one other—as guards, hoping that everyone else would rejoin her before anything happened. The orcs and goblins at the entrance would surely have noticed the collapse and while they might spend a few minutes investigating there, they would eventually make their way around.

Then there were the orcs in the barracks. With the corridors collapsed, they would be trapped. Arkk had half a mind to leave them there after this.

But he was already forming a plan for them. Without captives in their room, Arkk had no reason to enter. A lesser servant could eat a small hole into the side of the barrow, forcing them to crawl out if they wanted to ever leave. They could be captured one by one from there.

That still left the chieftain. Arkk was hoping she had fallen to her death—the servant had dug quite a massive pit—but he wasn’t going to count on it. If she lived or escaped, she would certainly try again.

The chieftain was now the priority.

Teeth clenched together, he led the group out of the barrows, back to the field where Vezta and the Abbess could tend to the wounded before they had to continue.

 

 

 

Like last time, Arkk expected to find himself thrust into combat the moment he was through the ritual circle. Instead, he found the air oddly calm and lacking in the sounds of battle. Hurrying around the carpentry workshop, Arkk spotted a group gathered out near the bridge over the river.

A divide ran through the group. On one side, wary villagers took up arms with whatever weapons they had been able to grab. They didn’t look nearly as organized as they had been while preparing for the initial defense a week ago. Across from the villagers, a quintet of orcs stood, shuffling in obvious nervousness.

At first, Arkk thought they might have been an entirely different group of orcs, ignorant of the horde that had attacked just days prior. It wasn’t like orcs were a species constantly trying to pillage and raid. Just the opposite. In contrast to the few hostile, many orcs were like any other being trying to live their lives. Not an easy prospect in the Duke’s territory. As long as demihumans and beastmen avoided the main cities where the majority of the Duke’s army patrolled, it was perfectly possible.

Or so he heard from the various visitors to the village over the years.

Arkk’s suspicions reignited upon examining them a little closer. They wore armor, not clothes. Two wielded crossbows, gripped tight in gloved fingers, while the other three had a mix of axes and pikes. These were not simple travelers. They were mercenaries at best. Given recent history, they were almost certainly from the horde that had attacked the village.

But they weren’t fighting now.

Arkk hurried over, a dozen paces behind Ilya and Vezta, the latter still in the former’s shadow.

John moved to intercept him and Ilya, concern on his face even as he gripped one of his lumber axes tight in his hands. “Hale? Where is Hale?”

Ilya glanced back, meeting Arkk’s eyes.

“She’s safe. I told her to stay put for now. What’s going on?”

A flicker of relief crossed John’s countenance as he half-turned. “I think they want to speak with you. They won’t talk to anyone but the ‘Warrior of Lightning’.” He paused, pressing his lips together. “I saw Hale disappear. Just… gone.”

“She’s safe,” Arkk said again. “Though I didn’t know she could use magic.”

“Nor I,” John said, looking back to the orcs. “I knew she had talent, but… I suspect she’ll want to apprentice herself to you now.”

Ilya let out a hefty scoff, rolling her eyes. Arkk just shook his head. “I don’t know magic.”

Despite the tense atmosphere, John still managed to inject a little sarcasm into his tone. “Oh? I suppose you’re not the ‘Warrior of Lightning’ then.”

“Okay. I know one spell, a ritual or two, and a lot of ways of blowing things up.” Arkk shook his head again. “Later. We need to deal with this. Any idea what they want?”

“You. Maybe your head on a pike? Maybe just a chat. They didn’t say much.” John paused, then added, “Glad you kept her away. This could get messy. Hurtt and Jorgen are ready to hammer their heads in. The Baron is with the other villagers, but Abbess Keena went to fetch him as soon as the orcs started demanding to talk to you.”

“No sign of goblins?”

John waved a hand. “Don’t know anything else beyond what you see.”

“Great. At least nothing is burning yet.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath. Talking with visitors to the village was normally the Baron’s duty. The Baron wasn’t a fighter, nor did he possess much physical strength to fight if necessary. He spent his spare time whittling toys for the village children. An activity that made him popular but wouldn’t help here if the situation turned chaotic.

Ilya met his eyes. She nodded her head ever so slightly, then stepped aside. “They want to talk with the one who beat them.”

“Right.”

Arkk stepped forward. John stayed a step behind to one side and Ilya, with Vezta, stayed on the other side. He stopped a few paces away from the orcs, not sure at all what to say to them. Up close, they were all at least a head taller than he was. Ilya was far more their vertical equal, yet their eyes were locked on him. The silence was going to grow even more uncomfortable if he didn’t say something, however, so he opened his mouth.

“You would dare return here?”

He felt like cringing the moment the words were out of his mouth. Was threatening the right move? Was that even threatening? It didn’t sound like it. Arkk had a hard time seeing himself as threatening, but… well, lightning was an incantation away. Vezta’s darkness was slowly spreading out underneath their feet as well, though it didn’t look like the orcs noticed in the dying sunlight. Her tendrils would probably crush all five of them in an instant.

Maybe he was intimidating.

One of the orcs snorted, baring his teeth. “The human doesn’t look like a monster of lightning and shadow and fury. Demonstrate.”

“Demonstrate lightning? By frying one of you?”

Another orc, the smallest of the group, grabbed the metal armguards of the first, tugging on him. “I saw his face. That’s the one that turned Jakk’en to ash.”

Arkk didn’t remember turning anyone, goblin or orc, to ash, but if he was being vouched for, he supposed he shouldn’t complain. Instead, he straightened his back, trying his best to look even a little more intimidating. The orc in the lead, a hulk of muscle with a flat face and thick black hair from his ears to his chin, just snorted again.

Arkk blamed the height difference. It was hard to intimidate someone so large.

The shorter orc, who still stood a head over Arkk, was a woman with grayer, more tan-colored skin and dark hair braided tight against her skull on the sides but hung loose on top. She stepped forward. “We have come to seek your aid,” she said. She opened her mouth to say more but caught the closed fist of the taller orc in the stomach instead. Aside from a brief step back and a snarl revealing sharp lower tusks, she didn’t react. None of the other orcs looked concerned in the slightest.

“Aid?” Hurtt called from somewhere behind Arkk. “Burning down more villages?”

“Kill ’em before they can try!” Jorgen shouted.

Arkk felt more than saw John turn at his side. He assumed John did something because a brief rallying cry from a few of the other assembled villagers cut off before it could really begin.

The lead orc didn’t move his eyes from Arkk. He crossed his arms, curling a lip to show his tusk. “You killed our chief’s brother,” he said, tone surprisingly neutral, though it still had an exaggerated snarl under the words. Most orcs spoke with a guttural growl, but he was laying it on thick.

Arkk had no idea how to respond to the accusation. It was probably true. He had killed several orcs. “Shouldn’t have attacked?” he tried.

One of the others, the older orc, snorted. Laughed, even? Arkk wasn’t the best at reading orcs. Especially angry orcs.

“Any other orc and we would have moved on. Found easier prey. But the chief wants revenge for her brother.”

“They’re coming back?” someone behind Arkk whispered.

Someone else, far louder, barked out a forced laugh. “Arkk and Vezta will thrash them again. These are the cowards, running away!”

That comment got the lead orc to unleash a full snarl, taking an aggressive step forward. Two of the others grabbed his arms, barely keeping him a step outside Vezta’s shadow. Arkk might have backed up from that if it weren’t for Vezta. She had tendrils at his back, snaked up his legs under his trousers, forcing him to maintain his stance.

“The chief captured travelers off the road,” another tan-skinned orc, bald with a wrinkled and battle-scarred face, barked out. As he spoke, Arkk noted that he didn’t seem to have tusks. His teeth were not that different from a human’s, though aged and missing one or two. “She’s going use them to summon a demon to fight your monster. Tonight.”

The jeers and laughs from the villagers cut off instantly. The shadows underneath Arkk’s feet twisted in a way that he could only describe as anger. A sharp gasp from the approaching Abbess took Arkk’s attention off the orcs for a moment. Long enough to see the Baron at her side topple backward, fainting. That got a raucous round of laughter from the orcs.

All except for the shortest one. She took another step forward. “The chief will destroy us all! Some fled already. She killed or captured those trying to flee. Most support her,” she said, teeth clenched together. Her fists clenched. “You don’t care about us, but the demon will come for you next. Help us.”

“Help you?” Jorgen shouted. “So you can go back to raiding other villages?”

“Or stab us in the back.”

“Kill ’em! And the summoner!”

The orc backed up in line with the others, all of whom now looked far warier. They weren’t quite brandishing their weapons, but they were a lot closer now that they were facing an angry mob. Angrier mob.

Arkk’s heart hammered in his chest. Demons. He didn’t know exactly what a demon was. A deal maker that could grant almost any wish in exchange for a price too steep for anyone to pay. His mouth felt dry. Could he and Vezta fight a demon? Vezta was strong, but as she said, she was not a fighter. Even against pathetic goblins, they had almost been overwhelmed. A demon would likely be far stronger than dozens of goblins.

They had to kill the summoner before the demon could appear. It was the only option. And without knowing where the summoner was…

“We can’t kill them,” Arkk said, turning his back to the orcs to face the villagers. “They know where—”

“She wants you!”

Arkk spun back around at the cry. “Electro Deus!” he shouted before he even saw the orc rushing him with a pike. Lightning sparked from his fingertips, catching the charging orc in his chest. An arrow appeared between his eyes, fired from over Arkk’s right shoulder. At the same time, oily tendrils sprouted from the shadows, looping around the orc’s arms and legs. Pulling him taut, the tendrils twisted in opposite directions.

A broken, skewered, smoking corpse hit the ground long before it could reach him.

Arkk’s extended hand slowly moved over the rest of the orcs. The older orc didn’t move, but the shorter orc flinched back. The leader set his jaw and glowered. The fourth, a bulbous orc even rounder than the Baron, shirked back, using the woman for cover as he cowered. “We didn’t… it wasn’t…”

“We agreed,” the old orc said, looking down at the broken body with a gaze of utter contempt.

After a brief moment of shocked silence from the mob behind him, Arkk heard Hurtt shout out a huzzah! Arkk could feel the pressure on his back. The villagers wanted blood even though it should have been obvious that the other four hadn’t been planning on attacking him like that. If they had been, they all would have attacked at the same time.

“Master.” Vezta used her tendrils to pull herself from the ground at Arkk’s side, an action that made everyone, villager and orc, take a sudden step back. Only Ilya resisted, more used to the servant than the others. “You clearly cannot let these creatures see your back. If I might offer a solution—”

“I know,” Arkk said. “Hire them. They can’t betray me if what you said is true.”

“They can, but you’ll know in advance.”

“Right.”

“In addition, it solves more problems,” she said, speaking softly. “Fortress Al-Mir can sustain any number of creatures, providing everything they need with the proper rooms constructed. There will be no need for them to pillage and raid. It keeps them from raiding your village, or any other. In addition, we gain minions. If we wish to progress with your other goals, minions—”

“Employees, Vezta.”

“Regardless of the word, they will be an asset.”

“You want to hire them?” Ilya hissed, close enough to hear Vezta. “You heard them, they were happy to go on raiding if not for this demon business.”

“I gave my reasons,” Vezta said, stepping aside.

“They’re not good people.”

Arkk held up a hand, locking his eyes on the green-skinned lead orc. “When is this summoning to take place?”

“When the sun is farthest from directly overhead,” he said, no longer willing to play games. “You humans call it the witching hour.”

Glancing to the horizon, Arkk frowned. The sun was starting to set. They had but a few hours.

“Regardless of your decision with the orcs, you must stop this summoning, Master,” Vezta said, voice far more intense than usual. “Demons are the enemy of all.”

“Agreed,” Ilya said, hand tightening around the leather grip of her bow.

“How many orcs and goblins are still present?” Arkk asked of the assembled orcs. “How many are likely to fight with your chief or fight against her if we show up and start attacking? How well-defended is she? Can we kill her from afar—”

The shortest orc started talking, only for the lead orc to snap his hand into a fist in front of her face. “No more answers until you guarantee our safety.”

Someone started to say something behind Arkk, but John snapped his fingers, cutting them off before they could cause a commotion.

Arkk pressed his lips together. He didn’t think he was cut out for this job, but he didn’t have a choice. Reaching his hand into his pocket, Arkk pulled four gold coins from Fortress Al-Mir’s [HEART] chamber in the same way he had moved Ilya’s bow earlier. Vezta had warned him that both that method of moving items, as well as her teleportation circles, would not function at great distances—which she estimated to be limited to about twice the distance from the fortress to the village, about a hundred kilometers, though she hadn’t known the measurement used in the duchy. Still, it worked for now.

“I will hire you,” Arkk said, holding the coins out, three in his palm and one pinched between his thumb and index finger. Paying gold, according to Vezta, was how her former master had most often hired his employees. “You work for me. No more raiding, pillaging, or looting. You do as I say.”

“Work for a human?” The lead orc curled his lips back into a snarl. “You dare—”

Idea popping into Arkk’s head, he held out his left hand. A crystal ball popped into being. The same one he had used to locate his village for Vezta when he first met the servant. He could transport anything that was his to anywhere that was his territory, which his body counted as.

The orcs flinched back at the ball’s appearance, but he simply held it over to his side, offering it to Vezta.

“Find the orc encampment,” he said, looking across the bridge. He spotted no horses. They could have left them behind to appear non-threatening, but more likely, they just didn’t have any. “Search that side of the river. Roughly six hours of walking distance. If you don’t find it, spread your search further. Riding distance in the same timeframe.”

“As you wish,” Vezta said, coiling a tendril around the crystal ball. Holding her hands above it, images started flashing inside the glass.

Leaving that to her, Arkk looked back to the orcs. “You have until she finds your chief,” he said.

“Or what?” the lead orc said, teeth clenched hard enough that Arkk was surprised they hadn’t started cracking.

“Or you will become far less useful,” he said, offering one of the golden coins.

The older orc caught his meaning immediately, followed quickly by the lead orc. He could see it in the way their eyes changed. The shorter orc didn’t take long either, her own eyes widening as she looked to the leader and then back to Arkk. He could see her fingers rubbing together, eyes darting down to the coin in Arkk’s hand.

Arkk wasn’t entirely sure that the rotund orc ever got exactly what Arkk was saying. He had been dripping sweat the entire time, especially after the fifth orc tried his attack. Arkk wondered just what he was doing with the other orcs, looking far more like those that passed through town than a raider. Perhaps he was forced to participate in their group?

When Vezta let out a soft, “Ah!” noise, it was the fat orc that lunged forward, grabbing hold of the coin.

The link formed immediately. Like with Ilya and unlike Vezta, it relayed off the [HEART]. He was now Arkk’s first intentional minion. Employee.

The other three looked at him with a mixture of expressions on their faces. The girl looked surprised while the leader looked like he was about to murder his comrade. The older orc simply sighed, resigned. He was the next to step forward. Then, after a brief hesitation, the girl.

The leader glared at both of them in turn, but the fires of his ire in his eyes died down with each. He was left looking at Arkk, a hefty scowl on his face. “We are not slaves,” he growled, unmoving.

“Do slaves get paid?” Arkk asked, the final coin still held out between his fingers.

Curling his lip, the lead orc swiped the coin from Arkk’s fingers. As the bond settled into place, a look of surprise came over the orc. He looked off into the distance, toward Fortress Al-Mir. For a moment, Arkk thought he noticed the bond forming, but if the orc did, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked down at the coin in his hand. He popped it into his mouth.

Arkk gaped for a moment, thinking he was eating it. He didn’t seem to be chewing or swallowing, however. In short order, the orc spat it back out. “Still cold? And no taste?” Genuine surprise laced his voice. “It’s real?”

His shock prompted all three of the other orcs to give the gold a taste test, though when the larger orc did, he actually bit down. With predictable results. With a slight ‘eep’ of pain, he spat it back out first and began rubbing at his teeth through his cheeks.

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Arkk turned to Vezta. “You found the encampment?”

Vezta’s faint smile turned into a wide grin. “Not yet. I merely decided to encourage their response. We are pressed for time, Master.”

“Right,” Arkk said, a bit of laughter escaping his lips. After a moment, he started laughing with gusto, nervous tension draining with each chuckle. Taking a breath, he nodded a head toward the orcs. “Find out everything you can from them.”

“As you desire.”

Turning fully, Arkk faced the villagers.

He expected to find anger at their vengeance being denied. Instead, he found himself faced with surprise. More eyes were over his shoulders than actually on him. It was only the Abbess and the Baron who weren’t staring. The former was kneeling next to the latter, gently patting his cheeks in an attempt to rouse him.

“Where’d a punk like you get gold from?” Jorgen blurted out.

Hurtt shot him a look. “Same place he got that monster from, idiot.”

“Not important!” Ilya snapped. “We’ve got an orc that just won’t accept no for an answer! Who is with us!” she shouted, raising her bow into the air.

The rallying cry was significantly less enthusiastic than when the cries to murder the orcs had gone out, but everyone looked determined to some degree.

Arkk didn’t know anything about demons and doubted any of them did either, but everyone knew a demon coming after their village would not end well. It might not even be the kind of thing they could run away from.

“The orcs here are not to be harmed,” Arkk said. “They won’t betray us without me knowing about it.” He looked over his shoulder, gaze sweeping over each of them. “And I won’t take kindly to that.”

“How do you know?”

Arkk looked back to the villagers but wasn’t sure who asked. He simply shrugged. “Magic.”

“Oh,” Jorgen said with a grimace. “You’re going to make them explode.”

“I’m not, I…” Arkk pressed his lips together, sighing. “Nothing I’ve done recently has exploded. Nothing since…”

Since binding with the [HEART].

Shaking his head, he looked to the Abbess. “Keena, anything you can provide that would harm a demon or protect us from it would be appreciated. And healing.”

The Abbess, white robes dusty from kneeling next to the Baron, met his eyes for the first time since he returned to the village with Vezta in tow. She only held his gaze for a moment before her eyes dropped down to the ground as she nodded. “Yes,” she said softly. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” He wasn’t sure what problem the Abbess had, but with how much Vezta seemed to dislike the symbols on her habit and on the church itself, he wasn’t all that surprised that the Abbess didn’t like Vezta in turn. If she knew what Vezta was, however, she wasn’t saying.

Still, she would have to help fight a demon. It would be insanity not to. Trusting that, Arkk turned back to the villagers.

“Anyone who wants to go, gather your weapons and horses. We need to move quickly. As soon as we know which direction to head. We’ll plan as we go!”

 

 

 

Arkk stood inside an empty chamber within Fortress Al-Mir. At one point in time, it had been a barracks, foundry, or training room. He wasn’t sure. Regardless, the lesser servants had eaten everything inside, leaving just smooth stone tiles, each bearing the compass rose and blue-violet gemstone.

A small pile of gold sat on the floor next to him. Gold was heavy, surprisingly so. Even the small fistful that Ilya had been carrying around weighed as much as a full-size lumber axe. It would have taken a few trips from the [HEART] chamber were it not for Vezta helpfully informing him that he could transport not just people, but things as well. Anything that belonged to him could be moved near instantly simply by thinking about it.

Now, he had to do a bit more thinking.

He knew what looms were, even if he had never seen a proper one. Just the one that the local village tailor used to make the clothes he wore now. Vezta had helped, sketching out detailed plans for the room. Holding the sketch tight in his mind, Arkk stretched out a hand toward the pile of gold and pushed out a touch of his magic.

The room changed before his eyes. Bolts of colorful cloth formed in the walls, set on great reels. Large spools of thread looped over wheels and dangled from the ceiling. Four large machines covered in wheels, thread, and cloth popped into existence around the center of the room. Tall wooden mannequins covered in pins and partially-finished clothing sprung up near the sides of the room. Scissors and needles hung from walls while machines for sewing appeared on tables.

The torches vanished so as to not cause fires. Thankfully. In their place, glowing stones provided bright and almost natural light to the room.

Arkk had no frame of reference beyond the village tailor, and yet, he had a feeling that this place would rival even that of the tailors of Cliff. If nothing else, he had just created bolts of cloth from nothing.

Well, not quite nothing.

Looking down at his feet, Arkk found a mere two and a half coins remaining from the small fortune he had started with. Still, he couldn’t exactly call himself disappointed with the outcome. Just running his hand over a spool of blue cloth felt like it should be against the realm’s laws. Someone like him touching something so smooth and soft?

Ilya and Vezta approached from the door to the room. The former stared with wide eyes, lightly touching her fingers to one of the bolts of cloth much as Arkk was doing. The latter simply looked around, nodding to herself. Vezta didn’t look impressed at all, but that was probably to be expected if her former master was capable of feats such as this.

“It would behoove you to hire skilled tailors to operate this room,” she said, completing her inspection. “The lesser servants may craft some minor goods here, but this room is wasted on them in the end.”

“I… guess I’ll keep it in mind?”

“Wait,” Ilya said, regaining her stony look. “Wait. Those things are going to be touching our clothes?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Arkk, tell her it is.”

Arkk shrugged. “I mean, they cleaned up the corridors without leaving slime everywhere.”

“Arkk.”

“It isn’t like there are many options. I guess we can grab Higgens, but…” Arkk tugged on his shirt, which Higgens had made. “Do you think he’ll be able to make anything better?”

“No…” Ilya trailed off, looking to the door.

As if called by their conversation, one of the lesser servants squirmed into the room. Ilya glared, moving between the bolts of cloth and the servant. Vezta, however, calmly approached. A tendril snapped out, wrapping around the lesser servant and holding it in place. With her bare hands, she tore into the servant, ripping pieces off and shoving other pieces into its body. A tentacle flew across the room but didn’t make it to the floor before vanishing into motes of blue-violet light.

The servant squirmed and screamed, a hideous noise like a rabbit frightened by a fox. Even still, Vezta did not stop, clawing it to pieces.

Arkk turned away, a grimace on his face. He wasn’t quite sure what Vezta was doing, but he could feel the link to the lesser servant. It was in pain, but it wasn’t dying. She wasn’t trying to kill it.

The screeching stopped after a few moments. Arkk finally looked back, only to pop his brows up in surprise.

Vezta set a small creature on the ground. A creature that looked remarkably like she did. A small Vezta that barely came up to the knees of the larger version. With a nudge of her tentacle, Vezta sent the smaller version of herself scuttling toward the wooden mannequins.

“They require aristocratic attire,” she said before turning to Ilya. “Pleased?”

Ilya, who had been standing as still as Arkk had during that… process, shuddered. “I… think I’m going to be sick,” she said, rushing out of the room.

“Master, your minion is difficult to please.”

Arkk wasn’t exactly feeling the best either, but he still forced a smile. “Employee, Vezta. Are you going to do that to the others?”

“Perhaps in time, if you wish. For now, they are more useful as they are. May I recommend sending them to the lowest level of the fortress to clear the path to the mine? Unless my former master was exceedingly vigorous in his final moments, there should be a plentiful supply of gold beneath us. Perhaps not enough to sate a lord’s lust for wealth, but enough to fulfill your immediate goals of bribing nobles or hiring mercenaries.”

“How large is the gold mine under us?”

“Plentiful,” Vezta repeated. “If not, I know there is a way to use the [HEART] to conjure gold, though I am unsure of the specifics. You will have to research that.”

“Add it to my list,” Arkk mumbled.

Somehow, Vezta heard him. “Current goals: Return Fortress Al-Mir to full power. Become a master I idolize. Open the portal to the [UNDERWORLD]. Revert the Calamity. Recover Ilya’s mother. Research magic. Research gold conjuration.” Vezta paused, frowning. “Master, nearly all these goals were imposed upon you by myself. I exist to serve your goals, not Ilya’s or even my own.”

“Your goals are my goals,” Arkk said. “I wouldn’t have agreed with them if I didn’t want to. You aren’t pushing me around if that is what you’re thinking.”

“But—”

Arkk held up a hand. “There are a lot of things I want and a lot of things I’m sure I’ll want in the future. But I do have one immediate interest…” For a moment, Arkk focused on Ilya. As his employee, he could see her just about anywhere. He didn’t like looking in on her, but right now? He wanted to make sure Ilya wasn’t nearby.

She wasn’t. She was back in the library—the only other furnished room at the moment—sitting in one of the chairs. She looked a little green in the face, but she was otherwise fine.

And out of earshot.

“What you said this morning, about starting a war with the Duke? I didn’t want to say it in front of Ilya, but that is a whole lot closer to what I want than I might have let on.”

“As I said, Fortress Al-Mir is not yet—”

Arkk stopped her with a raised hand. “I don’t want an actual war. But deposing him? Replacing him with someone, anyone else?” Arkk’s hand clenched into a fist. “That man sends his tax collectors around every harvest season. We owe them a full half of what we harvest. I talk to everyone who passes through the village. All the mercenaries and beastmen, all the demihumans and adventurers. Mostly, I talk to the spellcasters, but I still talk to the others.

“I’ve heard that the food goes to waste. Just rots. Sometimes, they toss it on the roads outside Cliff City because their storehouses are too full. Every village in the province harvests all this food that just goes bad? It’s supposed to be feeding armies and soldiers. People who protect us? And yet orcs and goblins a few hundred strong roam the land unimpeded. They would have destroyed our village if not for you and me… if not for you.”

Arkk clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. “And if we fail? If the harvest doesn’t meet the quotas? If a drought or pestilence claims our crops? The Duke doesn’t hand out that abundance of food he takes from the other villages to help us through tough times. No, he starts taking other things. Horses, tools… Ilya’s mother.”

Breathing, calming down, Arkk slowly opened his eyes. Vezta simply stood in front of him, staring without judging. She had her slight smile in place as her eyes burned.

“I came back to you… I made that contract with you… It wasn’t just to save the village. Ilya wanted to go to the Duke. I couldn’t let her. If… I fear that if the Duke catches sight of her and sees how beautiful Ilya is… he’ll snatch her up as well. Then she’ll be gone.” Arkk let his hands fall to his sides, limp. “Then I…”

Arkk didn’t finish his sentence. He just stared down at the ground, down where Vezta’s tendrils were unusually still, though they still dripped their dark oil. It somehow managed to avoid reaching the stone, absorbed back into her body.

“Sorry for springing that on you. Just forget it. It isn’t something I ever thought would be possible, but as Ilya said with that handful of gold, this changes things. But probably still too much to ask.”

“On the contrary, my master. I am in awe of your ambition. You have a single functional room and a single minion apart from myself. And we’re plotting a coup.” Vezta leaned closer. “I am excited.”

“You think we can do it?”

“Of course, though not soon. We might want to open the portal sooner rather than later, however. The Cloak of Shadows could provide useful minions or blessings for such a task.”

“Cloak of Shadows?”

“A member of the [PANTHEON]. Rules the night, secrets, stealth, and other such related matters.”

Arkk rubbed his chin. This opening the portal business, and undoing the Calamity, was something he wanted to talk to Ilya about before actually starting. He had made a promise to her and that felt like something he should mention, just in case.

Nodding slowly, he took a breath. “We’ll focus on trying to get back Ilya’s mother first. Whether we try to depose the Duke now or later, at least she’ll be out of the way. He won’t have her as a hostage.”

“Understood,” Vezta said with a bow. “In that case, I believe my inferior copy would like to take your measurements.”

Arkk turned to find the knee-high Vezta holding up a flexible strip of leather with several markings on it, denoting distance. It stood atop one of the stools in the room, though even with that added height, it wouldn’t be able to reach halfway up his chest. He glanced back to the real Vezta, raising an eyebrow.

“As I said,” she sighed, “best hire some proper tailors. I suppose I better help it out.”

Arkk sat over a desk in a newly recreated library. Gone were the musty shelves and broken furniture. The only books that remained were the few he had saved and the few he had copied. In place of the rest were empty, depressing shelves. It was a small consolation that the furnishings of the room had been replaced with comfortable seats. The reading lights made from glowstones weren’t too bright, yet weren’t dim enough to cause a strain on the eye.

He wasn’t copying books at the moment. While Ilya had her measurements taken, Arkk had decided to do a bit more planning.

At the moment, he hated their plan. If it could even be called that. Walking up to the Duke and throwing money at him had to be the worst decision, well-fitting clothes or not. They would seem desperate and the gold would come across as suspicious. They might not get a chance to hire mercenaries if the Duke found cause to throw them in prison. Arkk might be able to use the [HEART] or Vezta to get them out, but winding up in that position in the first place would be bad.

He had come up with a list of a few priorities.

First and foremost was not actually to rescue Alya. It was to prevent Ilya from falling into the Duke’s hands.

The easiest way to prevent that would be to have her simply not go anywhere near Cliff. But Arkk doubted Ilya would be willing to go along with that. She would want to be front and center in this.

So, the next best option would be to make her untouchable. Ilya couldn’t be a peasant from some village in the duchy. She had to be someone important, whose absence would be noted and investigated. To that end, wealthy-looking attire would be a great benefit. He wasn’t quite sure how to play it out, but it was something to discuss with Vezta and Ilya.

The second priority was, also, not to rescue Alya, but to keep the [HEART] secret and secure. Even with just the little he had seen thus far, the room construction and the gold creation, the servants, and Vezta herself, it seemed like the kind of thing a man like the Duke would covet above anything else. To say nothing of all the capabilities Vezta implied it could demonstrate. That might sound like the kind of thing that could be traded for Alya’s freedom, but Arkk would rather die than let a man like the Duke have the [HEART].

For the third priority, Arkk started to write down Alya’s rescue but crossed it off. He started to replace it with protecting himself and Vezta, needing to be safe and free to carry out the rest of the tasks on his list, but he didn’t quite make it before a flash of light sparked from one of the two magic circles in the room.

A young girl with black hair tied into two tight ponytails stumbled into the room.

Arkk lurched to his feet. “Hale? What are you… How did you get here—”

Hale’s dark eyes locked onto Arkk’s. Wide-eyed and obviously terrified, a small bit of relief crept into her expression as recognition took hold. She launched herself at him, trembling. “Orcs in the village!” she blurted out. “I saw them, orcs!”

Some of Hale’s panic rubbed off on Arkk. He felt the palms of his hands start to sweat. Almost on instinct, he ripped Ilya and Vezta into the room. The latter didn’t look surprised or alarmed in the slightest. Ilya, shirt half off over her head, stumbled. The only thing that saved her from a fall to the ground was the grace of her elfish reflexes. She rammed her shirt back down over herself and shot a ferocious glare at Arkk.

“What do you think you’re—” She spotted Hale and blinked. The scorn in her voice vanished, replaced with surprise and concern. “What do you think you’re doing here? Arkk, did you—”

“The orcs you saw, Hale, did others see them?”

She nodded her head into Arkk’s chest. “John saw them. He started shouting for others.”

Ilya’s face went paler than normal, though Vezta simply stood with her usual smile in place.

“Were they attacking?”

“I don’t know, I…” Hale pushed herself back, steadying herself. She took a breath. “I said I would get help,” she said, shooting Arkk a nervous smile. “I saw you use the circle thing many times, so I knew how to use it too.”

It took a touch of magic to get working. Arkk hadn’t known that Hale could use magic. He filed that away for later. Looking to the side, he met Ilya’s gaze and nodded. “You go first,” he said. “You can’t use the circles on your own. Vezta, with her. I’ll follow.”

Vezta bowed and a series of tendrils emerged from the ground around her, ripping and pulling at her in much the same way as she had done to the lesser servant earlier. Rather than transform herself into a small version, the tendrils pulled her down into the ground. A bright golden eye opened in the oily pool that had been Ilya’s shadow. Ilya glanced down at it with a wrinkle on her nose but didn’t argue. She hurried to the ritual circle but stopped just before entering it. Looking back to Arkk, she narrowed her eyes. “My bow?”

Since recovering her bow, Ilya had been carrying it everywhere. Except now. She must have taken it off while with the miniature Vezta. Mentally searching through the Fortress, he found it resting against the wall not far from the lesser servant in the tailor’s room. Much like pulling Ilya and Vezta to him, Arkk tugged on the bow.

It appeared in the air just above Ilya’s extended hand along with a quiver full of arrows. Taking a split second to examine it, she nodded to herself and stepped into the ritual circle.

In a flash, they disappeared to the village.

“You stay here, Hale. We’ll be back when it is safe.”

“I can help too!” she said, taking another breath. “I can use a bow. I helped last time after we saw your lightning bolt!”

“Last time I went through that circle when the goblins were attacking, they had it surrounded. If you go through, they might be on the other side. They’ll get you before you have a chance to draw your bow. I’m sorry,” he said, then had a thought.

The miniature Vezta popped into the library, standing atop the chair Arkk had been sitting on. He turned to it and pointed at Hale. “She is important. Your other duties are on hold until we get back. Keep her safe here, understand?”

The little thing nodded its head without hesitation. It couldn’t fight. Just because it looked like Vezta didn’t make it any stronger of a lesser servant. But it could keep Hale from stumbling around the place. Although the servants had cleaned up, there were still a few areas that could be dangerous. That pit in the [HEART] chamber, for one. Not that those heavy iron doors would open for anyone. It probably wouldn’t be able to stop Hale if she were determined to use the magic circle to get back to the village, but Hale didn’t know that.

Patting Hale on the head, Arkk hurried to the circle. It took a mere instant to check that Ilya and Vezta were clear.

He disappeared in a flash.

 

 

“This library is useless,” Ilya said, tossing a book into the trash pile. A pile that was growing much faster than the keep pile.

Fortress Al-Mir’s library might have been an impressive collection of tomes and knowledge at one point in time, but that time had long since passed. If only time had been eating away at this room, there might have been some worth salvaging. Unfortunately, much like many other rooms in the fortress, there was a fissure in the ceiling. This one wasn’t as large as the one Arkk had fallen into, but water could get in easily.

Very few books were in any kind of state to be touched, let alone read. Assuming mold hadn’t eaten the book, it still probably couldn’t be opened. Those that could be opened without destroying the entire thing were, more often than not, lacking any text on their pages. The words had been washed away or the ink had simply decayed over the ages.

Arkk had a small pile next to him. A dozen full books and a handful of scattered pages. Vezta, sitting at a desk next to him, was doing her best to clean them of their filth without further damaging them.

But even those were more or less useless.

“I just don’t understand how you can’t read them,” Arkk said, frowning as he copied legible symbols from one book that was too damaged to believe it would be around for much longer. The Baron had graciously provided a few rolls of vellum.

Even with the small stack of books here, nobody present could read the words. The particular page he was working on had a crude depiction of eight women bathing in a green pool. At least, that was what he thought it was. In truth, it could be anything. The book was filled with plants and animals that he had never seen before—or that he couldn’t recognize from the faded and, frankly, amateurish drawings.

“Aren’t these from the time of your former master?”

Vezta’s hands did not slow as she looked up to Arkk, continuing to copy the text as she spoke. “In truth, I only know the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE]. The [HEART] is what allows me to communicate with you and all who speak your language. It was the same with my former master. With his passing, I no longer have access to his knowledge of languages. The text present in these tomes is as unfamiliar to me as it is to you.”

“This is a waste of time,” Ilya grumbled, tossing aside yet another book. “We should be back out hunting. Especially now, with the damage the farms sustained.”

Arkk sighed. This wasn’t the first time they had gone through this argument in the last five days.

At first, Ilya was all for uncovering more about the history of Fortress Al-Mir. Unfortunately, aside from Vezta, who Ilya didn’t exactly trust, there were no real sources of information. Langleey Village didn’t have a library or any historians. The closest thing was the Baron’s sitting room, which had a handful of historical books. However, none were historical enough. None mentioned anything pre-Calamity. One of his books listed old rulers and kings, but there had been no mention of Razerk, Vezta’s former master.

They hadn’t only been reading old tomes. There was work to be done. Ilya and Arkk had gone out to recover her bow and the horses left from their hunting trip, using a teleportation ritual handily provided by Vezta to cut the time spent into a small fraction of what it otherwise would have taken.

Vezta had been quite pleased to put her skills to use in rebuilding the burned-out homes. She could lift an entire wall on her own, hammering fasteners into place at the same time with her plethora of tendrils. Of course, that had spooked the villagers a bit at first, but Arkk thought they got over it. Having proper homes back in mere days instead of weeks was worth it.

“Arkk,” Ilya said, voice stiff. “One of your things is back.”

Looking up from the manuscripts, Arkk scowled. One of the four lesser servants crawled through the door and started eating the pile of trash books, the emptied shelves, and even parts of the floor and walls. Its mouths had some kind of magic to them, allowing them to bite right through solid stone and earth. He had seen them eating the debris in caved-in corridors as if the stone was little more than bread.

“It isn’t going to touch anything we’re still using,” Arkk said with confidence. “Just ignore it.”

“Vezta is bad enough. If anyone else saw these things…”

“They’re the same species as you, right? Can’t they… look like you do?”

“They are nowhere near me,” Vezta said, slight offense in her tone. “They are, however, protoplasmic beings, able to assume any form their duties require of them.”

“So if their duties require them to look normal—”

“Normal is subjective, Master.” Vezta sighed. “But I understand your desires. I suppose I can teach them some tricks of aesthetics. Would you prefer that task to take priority over the books?”

“No,” Arkk said. “Better finish copying and cleaning the books before they deteriorate any further.”

“Where does everything they eat even go?” Ilya asked, staring at the monster with grotesque fascination as its gaping maw inhaled a rotted and worn desk three times its size. “I’ve seen these things eat entire rooms filled with broken beds, bodies, equipment, and tools. They aren’t that big.”

“Beings of the [HEART] return material for transmutation.”

“Transmutation?” Arkk asked.

“Are you unfamiliar with transmutation tablets, Master?”

“Arkk.”

“Have you not checked the [HEART] chamber in recent days, Arkk?”

“I’ve been busy,” Arkk said, dipping his pen back into the vial of ink. “Still busy,” he said.

Ilya stood, dusting off her leather pants. “I’ll check it. Anything to get away from this room for a bit. I think I’ve got mold growing in my hair…”

Arkk waved her off. They were pretty much done with the library anyway. There was only one shelf left to sort through and it was the most damaged shelf in the entire room, positioned directly under the fissure. He wasn’t expecting anything from it. Letting the servant eat it now would probably save a lot of time.

“Master,” Vezta said after a few minutes.

“Arkk, please.”

“I… It is the height of impropriety to bring up my former master unbidden,” Vezta said, setting down her pen for the first time since they started.

Recognizing that she had something important to ask, he finished copying the line he was on and lowered his pen as well. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Razerk left me with one final mission. One I have been unable to accomplish. My failure has been weighing on me for centuries now… and I…”

“You want to finish it?” Arkk closed his eyes, thinking back to their conversation nearly a week ago now. “Undoing whatever the… gods did to weaken your former master?”

“It would be beneficial to you as well, Master,” Vezta said, speaking faster as if afraid he would reject her. “Breaking the seal on the world would allow the [HEART] to access the [PANTHEON]’s power. You would be able to gain their blessings. We would be able to reopen the portal to begin hiring employees beyond those humans with whom you are acquainted. And… I would be free to dedicate myself wholeheartedly toward your goals without the shadow of failure weighing on my shoulders.”

“What exactly would we be doing if we undo this? I don’t know much of anything about… gods. The Abbess prays to the Light and receives blessings of healing to distribute in return. Beyond that, the Light is supposed to be the source of all life, growing the plants, blessing births, protecting—”

“Lies,” Vezta hissed. “Protection? Life? The gods, the Heart of Gold, Holy Light, and Almighty Glory are beings of death and destruction. They…” Vezta paused, pressing her lips together. “I do not know the full history of the world,” she said eventually. “I am not exactly certain about what my former master wished of me. Initially, he sent me out to discover what had happened to the portal—perhaps you saw the room with the crystal archway?”

“I did, yes,” Arkk said, thinking back to his initial tour of the fortress. Thinking about it, he could see it just as he could see any other location within the fortress. A large room with a high ceiling, dominated by a pale crystal structure as large as a small home. Shaking his head, Arkk refocused on Vezta, barely noting the red light fading around them. “What of it?”

“That is a portal that leads to the [UNDERWORLD]. A realm once connected to this world, now severed. My former master recruited heavily from the magical inhabitants there to form his armies.”

“Magical inhabitants?”

“Most magical beings are not native to this world,” Vezta said, sounding an awful lot like Abbess Keena when lecturing. “The [UNDERWORLD] is one of many elsewheres such creatures originate from.”

“I… see…”

“Think of it as another continent except on a far grander scale with travelers hailing from afar.”

“Huh.

“In any case, I set out to uncover why the portal stopped functioning. I believe I have a solution, although I don’t know exactly what needs to be done as I planned on relying on my former master’s vast knowledge of ritual magic to finalize the plans. However, I have determined in the years since that the portal is merely a small symptom of a much greater illness in this world.

“From the context of what you and Ilya have spoken of, I believe my former master wished for me to undo what you refer to as the Calamity.”

Arkk blinked several times, eyes widening. “You want to undo the Calamity?”

The Calamity, to Arkk, was little more than a myth. It was something that had happened so long ago that it was entirely irrelevant to him. But he knew the stories. The sky darkened for years. Life withered. Magic weakened. Entire races perished. Monsters of old, creatures beyond mere beastmen or demihumans, had vanished. Only the dragons had survived, and everyone knew they were a dying race, unable to procreate. Every dragon that died was one dragon permanently removed from the world, never to be replaced.

“Is that even possible?”

“The effects of the Calamity have already rippled through the world. Those who died would not magically return to life. But we can restore the proper order of the world, how it was meant to be before your so-called Light interfered.”

“But is it possible? I don’t… I don’t want to disappoint you, Vezta, but I’m not some great magi of old or even a proper spellcaster. I’m a farmer. A hunter. I’m not even very good at the latter job.”

Vezta shook her head. “It would be a task far beyond any mortal.”

“Then—”

“But you are no mere mortal, Master. You have claimed the [HEART] of Fortress Al-Mir. It is not fully functional yet but it is still a magical artifact unrivaled by anything else in existence. If it can be restored, such a task may just be within our grasp. In addition, there are other [HEART]s out there. They were relatively common in my former master’s time. Lay claim to those and reversing the calamity would be a matter most trivial.

“The first step, I believe, should still be to restore functionality to the portal. I know roughly how to fix that. If you were to recruit a capable spellcaster or delve into such studies yourself, I believe we could accomplish that task in short order.”

Arkk stared at the woman before him, wondering if there wasn’t something to Ilya’s fear of this place. The way Vezta spoke, the fervor in her voice, that utter belief that the [HEART], and Arkk by extension, was capable of undoing the Calamity. The legends he knew spoke of the Calamity like it was a force of nature. Not something that anyone had been able to fight, whether they be human, dragon, or…

Apparently not gods, if Vezta’s claims that the Light had caused the Calamity were true.

“This Underworld place is your home?” Arkk said, mostly trying to fill the silent gap with some sound so that he wasn’t left dwelling on his thoughts. “Or where you came from?”

Vezta shook her head, then looked upward toward the recently repaired arching ceiling. “I am a being of the [STARS].”

“Ah.” Arkk’s eyes flicked to one of the golden sun-like eyes set into the cuff on her wrist. “Makes sense, I guess. Still, repairing the Calamity? That sounds so grandiose for someone like…” Trailing off, Arkk shook his head. He straightened his back and locked eyes with Vezta. “No. I made a promise to be someone you can look up to. If you say I can do it, then I’ll do my best.”

Vezta stood, kneeled, then bowed until her forehead touched the ground. “Thank you, Master. I feel as if this weight I have been carrying is lessened already. I will not fail you.”

“You… don’t need to do that. Please don’t do that. If Ilya saw you like that, she would think I am forcing you—”

A voice from behind Arkk made him shudder. “You mean you aren’t a depraved, love-deprived fool abusing your servant?”

Turning slowly in his seat, Arkk winced under Ilya’s silver eyes. “I’m not… She’s not… It’s not what you think!”

“Oh?” Ilya raised an eyebrow. “I think it is exactly what I think.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Your servant is a monster who can’t comprehend normal human mannerisms.”

“No, it’s…” Arkk trailed off, glancing back at Vezta. The servant was still kneeling but was no longer bowing. Her back was upright as she watched the goings on with a smile. “Yes. Probably that. Or else she does comprehend humans and is just trying to embarrass me.”

“I would never,” Vezta said, returning to her feet. Arkk could not decide if the tone in her voice was sincere or sarcastic.

“Never mind that,” Ilya said, tossing something toward Arkk. “Did you know about this?”

Arkk caught a coin. A heavy coin that gleamed a brilliant gold in the light from the library’s glowstones. One side had the same compass rose that was stamped on every corridor tile. Like the tiles, it had a little blue-violet gemstone set directly in the center of the coin. The other side was a labyrinthine maze, much like the [HEART].

Hearing clanking, Arkk glanced up to find Ilya holding out a whole fistful of identical coins.

“Where did you find these? Some treasure room?”

“They were sitting around the heart chamber. Arkk, just the amount in my hands makes you wealthier than the Baron, probably, and there were three piles up to my knees.”

“Transmutation,” Vezta said, leaning forward. She plucked the coin from Arkk’s hands, looking over it before handing it back. “The servants recycled the material from the old rooms. You should be able to use this to construct proper replacements, defenses, furnishings, and so forth.”

“Wait, wait,” Ilya said, holding up her free hand. “You’re saying those things eat whatever they want and vomit it up as gold?”

“Nothing so crude,” Vezta said, annoyed.

“You’re upset I’m calling that crude?” Ilya pointed a finger at the bubbling pustule of flesh, eyes, and maws.

It gurgled like the world’s emptiest stomach as it ripped off a rotted plank from the wall, shredding it with its teeth. One of its eyes popped as a fresh replacement bubbled up from under its oily flesh, though it somehow managed to not get gunk all over the place. Magic, probably.

“Right,” Ilya said. “I rest my case.”

Vezta pressed her lips together. “I’ll see about teaching them better,” she said, retaking her seat in front of one of the thick tomes. Several shadowy, dripping tendrils sprouted from her back. Each picked up a pen and she began scrawling out the copy of the book onto fresh vellum at an absurd speed. “As soon as I finish my priority task.”

Ilya stepped forward, grabbing hold of Arkk’s shoulder. “Do you know what this means?” she asked, waving the hand still full of gold. A few coins fell, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m rich?” When Ilya narrowed her eyes, Arkk tried again, “We’re rich?”

“It means you better be real careful about who hears about this place. If word spreads about a handful of gold coins sitting in the middle of the Cursed Forest, people are going to come searching. This much coin and I’m sure everyone and their mother will be after it. Hell, half the people would probably be willing to stab their own mothers just for what I’ve got in my hand.”

“Assaults on Fortress Al-Mir are not an uncommon occurrence,” Vezta said, not looking up from her work. “In its current state, defending against an army would be perilous. I should be more than adequate to deal with any common thief.”

Ilya threw a glare in Vezta’s direction before shifting that glare to Arkk.

Arkk barely paid attention to her, however, rolling a gold coin between his fingers as he thought.

The fortress was a strange oddity. But it was just that. An oddity. Something he wanted to use, along with Vezta, to learn more magic from. More than that? Vezta kept calling it the ultimate defensive and offensive tool. He hadn’t thought much about what that meant. He didn’t see how a stationary building could be an offensive tool.

This, however, got his mind working. While he was sure it wasn’t what Vezta had meant, a way to create gold could certainly count as an offensive weapon. Gold could get him mercenaries, food and supplies, craftsmanship, materials, and just about anything else he could think of.

“How much gold can we get out of this place, Vezta?”

“I am unsure. My former master chose this location due to the presence of a large deposit of gold underneath the fortress. I do not believe he managed to mine even a small fraction of it.”

“We’re sitting on a gold mine?” Ilya said, looking faint. “This is going to draw the Duke’s attention.”

“Only if people find out. I’m not going to tell. You aren’t going to either. Vezta won’t.” Arkk tapped the gold coin on the desk, listening to the clink. “Maybe we can use this.”

“Arkk…”

“Hear me out. Your mother—”

“My mother,” she hissed. “The Duke took her as a tribute after a season of poor harvest. What has that got to do with this?”

“We couldn’t pay then, but now—”

Ilya’s face hardened. “Arkk… We’ve talked about this. You were barely old enough to remember and I was young too. The other villagers say he was after Mother for years, just looking for an excuse to take her. A fistful of gold isn’t going to make him—”

“You don’t know that. This changes things.” He held up the coin, looking at his shiny glint in the light of the library’s glowstones. “We have to try. She raised me. Taught me to read. Told me about my magic ability. It is the least I can do for her.”

“If it isn’t enough? If he isn’t interested?” Silver eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, defiant. Like she didn’t want to dare hope for the possibility of seeing Alya again.

“With this much gold, someone will be interested. I always thought we were trapped in Langleey. Trapped with our lot in life,” Arkk said with a sigh. Ilya stared at Arkk, then looked over his shoulder, staring at Vezta for a long moment. “This is an opportunity. I know you want your mother back.”

Arkk looked around the room, first at the books. Although he held out hope that they would be able to find a way to translate them, they were worthless at the moment. With as much gold as Ilya had in her hands, he could probably just go to the city and buy all the spell books he wanted and then some. Vezta… had something she wanted done as well. The first step of which was to find a capable spellcaster or for Arkk to learn magic himself. The latter would likely take too long but with gold, he could hire someone.

His parents had died when he was young. Before he could remember them. After that, Alya, Ilya’s mother, raised him. He remembered more of Alya than of his parents, but even that wasn’t much. Just a beautiful woman with a caring look in her eyes who was always there when Jorgen and Hurtt were being cruel. If not for Alya, he might not have learned to read and write.

“I want her back,” Ilya admitted, voice a slight whisper.

Vezta stood, turning to face Ilya and Arkk. Her tendrils continued scribing behind her back. “Master Arkk, forgive my impudence but I overheard your plans.”

Arkk raised an eyebrow. “We weren’t trying to hide. We weren’t even speaking quietly.”

“Most benevolent,” Vezta said with a slight bow. “However, in lieu of proper advisors, allow this servant to fulfill that role. Fortress Al-Mir is the ultimate offensive tool, but it is not yet in an operational state. We require additional funds to construct rooms and facilities. There are no employees to operate the rooms or serve as martial forces. In addition, you are inexperienced with the operation of the [HEART] and have a limited repertoire of spells, one of the [HEART]’s greatest offerings is vast magical power, growing ever larger as it acquires territory and employees. Opening the portal will solve several of these issues, but not all of them. Engaging in conflict with a Duke, who presumably has a standing army, is… not ideal at the present time.”

“Woah, woah, hold on.” Arkk glanced to Ilya. “We’re not starting a war with the Duke.”

Some, but not all, of Vezta’s eyes blinked. “Were you not proposing we hire additional forces using the gold?”

“I…” Arkk started, looking at Ilya. “Mercenaries, yes. Someone has to be willing to take a job to rescue an elf from the Duke, right? Probably demihumans and beastmen over humans… But not… war.”

“We just need to meet with him first,” Ilya said before either of them could get out of hand. “If he does accept a fistful of gold, then we should take it long before we start plotting anything more violent.”

“Rescue,” Arkk said.

“Whatever.” Ilya’s eyes shifted toward the ritual circles on the floor in the back of the library. There were two, side by side. One went to Langleey Village, the other went to the opposite side of the Cursed Forest which they had used to recover their hunting supplies. “Can you make another one of those to the city? Cliff?”

“That depends on the distance, but…” Vezta turned her head away from Ilya. “Master Arkk, forgive my impu—”

“You don’t need to say that every time. I’m not going to take offense at anything you say.”

“You are dressed like a [simpleton]/[peasant]/[village idiot].”

Arkk pressed his lips together, glancing down at his leather tunic and hemp undershirt. Ilya snorted, donning a smile at Vezta’s comment until she realized that she was dressed in nearly identical clothing.

“Okay. I might take some offense at the things you say.”

“If you are wishing to meet with a duke as equals—or at least lessen the gap in your status—a change of attire is [required],” Vezta said. “My master is greater than any duke, earl, or king. I cannot have you carrying on as you are if you are to meet with such individuals of objectively lower standing.”

“Then what do you suggest,” Arkk said, crossing his arms.

A tendril snapped out from under Vezta’s dress. She used it to pick up one of the fallen gold coins. Handing it off to her actual hand, she rolled it between her knuckles before pinching it between her thumb and fingers. “Allow me to show you how the [HEART] is meant to operate.”

 

 

 

“No amount of glaring is going to bring my mood down today!” Arkk said with a laugh, raising his flagon with the crowd.

Once it became clear that Vezta was not a danger to the people of the village, suspicion turned to relief and relief turned to joy. Langleey Village would not fall to the wolves—or goblins—and the people would not have to beg the Duke for mercy. After clearing out the goblins who missed the memo that it was time to leave, everyone returned to the plaza. It was a bit of a grisly job, clearing the place out, but Vezta was more than happy to handle that task.

Keeping things tidy was one of her primary duties. Not combat.

Who would have thought?

The Baron raised his flagon, a wide grin on his face. “And right you are for that. Smile, Ilya! I didn’t break out the kegs of good mead so you could sit about unhappy!”

Before today, Arkk hadn’t known there was good mead. Just the watered-down beer that Ken brewed. The next celebration the village had, he would be reminding the Baron about the honeyed mead.

Of course, this afternoon wasn’t all about celebrating. It was as much to calm down the villagers as it was a toast to the routing of the horde. Two homes had gone up in flames, leaving little more than charcoal behind. A few other buildings suffered at the hands of goblins and were now trashed beyond reasonable habitation. Not that anyone would want to go back to their homes tonight.

For the next week at the very least, the village would split between the Baron’s manor, the church, and the main storehouse. All right up here around the plaza. Watchmen would set posts around the clock and nobody was to go anywhere on their own. While nobody really believed that the goblins and orcs would return after running from a thrashing delivered by just two people—plus the villagers toward the end—they couldn’t say for sure. Especially if some goblins got loose and decided to come back on their own.

“—jumped right on my back! The biggest orc you ever saw. Instinct took over and I threw myself into the wall. That stunned it enough to get it off me. I turned and started pounding its face in,” Hurtt said, miming punch after punch. “Thought I had it down to rights until its buddy showed up. An even bigger orc!” The small crowd he was telling his tall tale to gasped.

Arkk was fairly certain that his lightning had frightened off all the orcs well before Hurtt showed up. Once they realized that he was picking them out with his bolts of lightning, they vanished. He had probably only killed ten. Maybe not even that many.

John, sitting nearby, met Arkk’s gaze. He simply rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Not everyone was in quite as high of spirits. Those whose homes were damaged or destroyed went about with bitter-sweet expressions on their faces. While the village would help them recover, it still stung to lose what they had. Aside from them, Abbess Keena, though at a table nearby, hadn’t spoken to Arkk since returning. She wouldn’t even look at him. He did catch her sneaking glances—often with a heavy scowl in place—at Vezta.

Most people seemed a bit nervous about Vezta’s presence. More so those who had arrived in time to see the fight. Only Ilya, Baron Gert and his wife, John, and Hale seemed willing to approach. And Jorgen and Hurtt, neither of whom would ever admit to being afraid of anything.

It probably didn’t help that Vezta wasn’t exactly joining in on the festivities. She stood still and silent just behind Arkk, hands clasped together with a faint smile never leaving her face.

“What do goblins taste like?”

Arkk raised his eyebrows, ears catching a strange question right behind him. Turning around, he found Hale more than willing to approach Vezta. The young carpenter’s apprentice stood right at Vezta’s side, staring up at her. Vezta didn’t look like she noticed or cared, at least not until Arkk turned around. Only then did she look down at Hale, tilting her head to the side in the process.

“I saw teeth in the ground around you and Arkk,” Hale said. “One of the goblins fell into the open mouth and it snapped shut.”

The surrounding conversations slowly died off, Hale having spoken loud and clear. Even Jorgen and Hurtt paused their exaggerated tales to subtly glance in the direction of the mysterious monster.

“Humans consume boars, correct?” Vezta asked slowly. “Fat, juicy pigs?”

Hale nodded her head, sending her dark twin tails bobbing.

“Goblins are like the opposite of that. Stringy, scrawny, and more crunch than flesh.”

A few disquieted murmurs rippled through the villagers. Not that Vezta’s answer perturbed Hale in the slightest. She nodded her head as if that was what she expected and looked back up. “What about orcs?”

“I cannot say I have ever eaten an orc. None strayed close enough today and I do not recall such a creature existing the last time I walked the surface.”

Hale frowned but asked another question, undaunted. “Have you ever eaten a huma—”

“Alright!” John said, standing and grabbing Hale’s shoulders in one swift move. He started dragging her off toward the garden around the Baron’s manor. “Let’s go have a talk.”

An uncomfortable silence followed in their wake. A whole lot more people were probably wondering about Hale’s question, Arkk included. Unlike Hale, few others would have her apparently innocent curiosity over the matter.

“Orcs didn’t exist?” Arkk asked, trying to get the morbid question out of people’s minds. “How long ago was that?”

“I cannot say I counted the nights. I apologize.”

“No, no. Don’t worry. I just hadn’t ever heard of orcs not existing.”

The Baron, emboldened by the question and answer session, or just by Vezta breaking her silence, leaned forward somewhat. “We’ve had the occasional beastman and demihuman pass through the village, but I’ve never seen something quite like you. What manner of creature are you, if you don’t mind my asking?” he added hurriedly.

“I am the [SERVANT] of the [HEART].”

Everyone within earshot flinched except for Arkk. He shot a glance backward. “None of that,” he said.

Vezta dipped her head in an apologetic bow. “There is no better concept for describing myself, but I shall refrain from using… that language unexpectedly in the future.”

“Servant, the regular word, will have to work.”

“Understood. If that is what you wish,” Vezta said.

Ilya slammed her hands into the table as she stood up. “Arkk. You avoided me all day. We need to talk. Now.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, glancing around. Between Hale’s questions, the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE], and now Ilya slamming her hands down, the good mood of the celebration had completely vanished. His mood included. With a small sigh, he set down his flagon of mead. Ilya turned and stalked off a short distance down the path leading to the rest of the village.

“I’ll be back,” he said, both to Vezta as well as the Baron. He stepped aside, only to pause and shoot a pained smile at Gert. “Unless she realizes I left her bow back at the western edge of the Cursed Forest.”

That got a foggy chuckle from the rotund man.

Vezta, Arkk noted, did not follow after him. He was a bit surprised. Although he was going to tell her to wait—Ilya clearly wanted to speak privately—he still expected her to trail along until he told her not to. Unless she had known that he was going to tell her to wait… Which was possible.

There was something there. Something between them. Arkk couldn’t quite put his finger on it. During the fight, there had been a few times where he had known what she was doing without him actually seeing her do it. The moment when she had swiped one of the crossbow bolts out of the air stuck out vividly. Then there was when she had hidden in his shadow before using the magic circle to arrive. He had simply known where she would be.

They were connected together. Somehow.

It was a bit eerie but after that fight? Arkk found it hard to care that much. She had protected him and saved the village. He knew beforehand that there was some kind of binding in that contract, he just hadn’t known exactly what form it would take.

Shoving the thoughts aside, Arkk had to pick up the pace to catch up with Ilya’s long strides. Elf that she was, Ilya was a full head taller than he was. Her irritation put an extra bout of haste in each step, making her even faster.

They were well beyond the hearing range of anyone up at the plaza. Ilya showed no sign of slowing. She continued marching with purpose all the way down the small hill and to the carpentry shop. “Is your monster going to attack anyone?” she said, spinning on her heel as soon as they were around the side of the building.

Taken aback, Arkk shook his head. “No? She said she wouldn’t.”

“And you believe it?”

“I mean… yes? Why save the village only to turn around and attack it moments later? If she wanted to hurt people, she could have simply refused to help.” Arkk frowned. “And you believe that too, or you wouldn’t have left her alone back there.”

Ilya crossed her arms. Outside the direct presence of Vezta, she didn’t look quite so upset. Still, she pressed her lips into a thin line as she stared at Arkk. Turning away, she pointed to the magic circle that was still burned into the ground. “Take me there,” she said.

“Take you?”

“Hale told me. You disappeared into this circle saying you were going to get help and not to worry because it wasn’t a demon.”

“It’s not—She’s not. I asked the Abbess. Also, I asked Vezta. She seemed offended that I would even think that.”

“I’m worried it is worse than a demon.” Crossing her arms again, Ilya tapped her finger on her elbow.

“Worse? What could possibly—”

“Can you take me there or not?”

Clamping his mouth shut, Arkk looked down at the circle burned into the dirt. It looked intact despite the battle. There were a few stains on the ground around it. Dark blotches marring the dirt and grass from where Vezta had killed a few goblins upon their arrival. Nothing looked to have touched the circle itself.

“Yeah,” Arkk said. “I think so.”

Ilya stepped forward until she reached the center of the circle. Turning around, she shot Arkk a look.

Arkk wasn’t exactly sure how to send other people. Although he had used the circle three times and nothing bad happened any of those times, he hoped it was safe for other people to use. Reaching down, standing on the outside of the circle, he pushed just a little magic into it. The pattern in the ground flashed and Ilya disappeared.

Immediately, he felt warning bells go off in his head. Not in the sense that he might feel something was amiss, but literal warning bells. As clear as the church bells he had rung to warn the villagers. Focusing on the sensation made Arkk gasp.

He could see Ilya. She stood in the fortress library, looking around with narrowed eyes. He was still in the village, not moving, not sure what might happen if he appeared in the same spot she currently occupied. Yet, he could see her. A strange case of double-vision settled over his mind. She didn’t move save to draw her daggers, clearly checking around herself for danger. She even checked upward, though if she noted Arkk watching from above, she didn’t show it.

Slowly, she moved forward, reaching out for a book on a nearby shelf. The spine crumbled under her lithe fingers. Not promising for Arkk’s hope of finding magic in that library. As soon as she stepped out of the circle, approaching the crystal ball, Arkk moved in. With a push of magic, Arkk was inside the library alongside Ilya.

She jumped, grip tightening around her dagger, but she didn’t strike at him.

“This place is old,” she said softly. “The Cursed Forest was the Cursed Forest when my mother was a young girl. If people ever lived here, it probably wasn’t the Cursed Forest back then.”

“I thought it was some pre-Calamity fortress. Mostly because of Vezta.”

“She told you so?”

“No, but just look at her. Never heard of a beastman, demihuman, or anything that resembles her, right? More like the monsters of old.”

Ilya drew in a resigned breath through her teeth. “So you knew that much and still decided to go along with what she wanted?”

“I don’t think that makes her worse than a demon. Does it? She’s just old. Like a dragon or… Where are you going?”

Ilya moved with purpose, exiting the library. Arkk did note that the door did not simply swing open for her until he approached from behind. If she was curious about it opening on its own, she didn’t say. Instead, she looked up and down the corridor before selecting the right path.

The direction that led toward the [HEART].

Ilya stopped partway, kneeling near one of the skeletal corpses. Prying a shield from where it had seemingly fused with the floor, she stared down at the remains of the heraldry on the corroded surface. It was a bit hard to make out, but it was some kind of great tree. Something surrounded the tree—people, perhaps?—but it was mostly a scarring of rust. It certainly wasn’t the emblems used in the Duchy of Mystakeen.

An unsettling noise echoed down the corridor. A slopping, squishing noise. Ilya was on her feet, daggers at the ready. Arkk started as well, though quickly calmed down. Much like simply knowing where Vezta was or seeing Ilya in the library, he knew and saw what was ahead of them.

“It’s a lesser servant,” Arkk said, grimacing as he watched its pulsating mass of boiling flesh squirm down the corridor.

It turned the corner of a room up ahead. The doors, Arkk noted, opened for it all on their own. It paid them little mind, choosing to stop at a corpse instead. A thick tentacle stretched out, mouth forming as it moved. Its mouth, a ring of razor-sharp needles, scooped up the skeleton, armor, and all, ripping it to shreds as it ate.

“Vile,” Ilya hissed.

Arkk… didn’t disagree. Perhaps because he had seen one before, he didn’t find it that shocking, but it wasn’t a pleasant creature to look at. Of greater interest was the fact that it was his. Not the same one he had summoned back during the fight—that one had been killed in seconds—but it was still connected to him. Just like Vezta was.

After consuming the corpse, it started doing something. A hideous dance of gyrating tendrils. There was magic in the air, twisting and following its movements. Slowly, the cracked and worn stone wall it stood near changed. Bricks that must have been down here for ages, wearing down under wind, water, and time, reformed. Cracks sealed together, bricks grew into the places left behind by missing bits, and the entire section of the wall smoothed over, looking as if the masons who built it had just finished.

“My mother warned me of this,” Ilya said.

“Of tentacle monsters with aspirations to be stone masons?” Arkk asked, watching as the lesser servant moved to the opposite wall to repeat its dance.

Ilya looked back, shooting him a look. “Of a great evil ready to rise once again. Monsters that once brought the world to its knees, nearly destroying everything.”

“I know it looks gross, but great evil? Those monsters just saved our village,” Arkk said, feeling defensive. Though he paused and thought. “Besides that thing is building, not destroying anything.”

The lesser servant finished with the wall and started on the floor. It cleared away bits of debris and a discarded sword, consuming them as it had the corpse earlier. Maybe that counted as destroying? But it was more just cleaning up, which became even more evident when the dark grey stone repaired itself just as the wall had, gaining a pattern like a compass rose with a deep blue-violet gemstone placed in the very center.

“I only know what my mother told me, which wasn’t much,” Ilya said, edging past the lesser servant. It didn’t seem to notice or care about their presence, carrying on cleaning the corridor. “I don’t know that she knows the full story. My mother is only a little older than six hundred. Much younger than this place if it truly is pre-Calamity.”

“And what story is that?” Arkk asked, only partially paying attention. He was more focused on the creature. His first thought was that Vezta had come back and created it because he was fairly certain that this place had been otherwise deserted, but she had been at his side ever since he activated that artifact.

Not to mention, it was connected to him. Not to Vezta.

“My mother, and her mother before her, lived here in this village specifically to keep watch on the Cursed Forest. The elvish village they came from believed a great evil resided here. An evil that would one day return.”

“Vezta helped save the village,” Arkk said again.

“I know. I do not know if that creature is the evil that my mother spoke of.” She paused, frowning. “It certainly didn’t feel like it back in the village. Though I can’t say it acted kind… the way it looked at Hale…”

“As far as I can tell, Vezta listens to me. I am not evil.”

Ilya looked back, flashing a grin. “No. Just stupid. Running through the Cursed Forest?”

“It worked, didn’t it? I got back before you and brought help. I wasn’t even poisoning the ground with every step. I checked.” Arkk stamped his feet on the ground as if demonstrating. “Walked right over some patches of grass and none of it withered and died.”

“Nevertheless,” Ilya started, smile fading. “The Cursed Forest is dead and has remained dead since my grandmother’s time. That doesn’t happen naturally. Something in this forest is causing problems.”

They stopped at the heavy iron doors that led into the room with the sphere and pit. Much like the hallway that the servant had been working on, something had refurbished this door. All evidence of wear, corrosion, and battle damage had gone. The surface practically gleamed. At Arkk’s approach, it swung open without a single creaking noise.

There were no bodies inside the chamber. Not even that odd cube with its strange limbs. The lesser servant must have cleaned the place out. The walls and floor had been repaired. Even that giant divot where the stone sphere had sat was now level with the rest of the floor.

Ilya didn’t follow him inside. She stood just outside, looking in. A wince crossed her features with every beat of the stone [HEART].

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t… It feels wrong. You are at least capable of sensing magic, right? Surely you feel that in the air?”

Arkk looked at the beating heart. It thumped in time with his own heart. There was, he noted, a taste of magic in the air. It didn’t feel unpleasant or wrong. The more he focused, the more it felt like his own magic, if on a much grander scale. “Vezta said something about my magic being tied up in the heart.” Each beat spread out a faint wave of magic over the room. If he were being honest, it felt comfortable. Like he belonged here. “That is probably what you’re feeling.”

Ilya closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “I’m no spellcaster. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I just don’t like it. Can’t we just walk away? Pretend you never found this place or that monster?”

“I made a promise,” Arkk said with a shake of his head. “Vezta helped save the village. I’ll help her out in turn. She seems…” He trailed off, thinking for a moment. “Lonely. Maybe. I would be the evil one if I just abandoned her.”

“Then promise me,” Ilya said, stepping into the room. She grabbed hold of his hands and held them up to her chest. “Promise me you won’t lose yourself.”

“Lose myself? Ilya, what do you think—”

“Promise me,” she said, far more insistent. “I’ll help. I’ll keep you centered. But I need you to promise that you will try too.”

Arkk swallowed, staring into her silver eyes. Ilya normally had the air of a tease about her, offering snide remarks and casually exclaiming false despair over his actions; the look on her face when magic he tried to do went wrong… But now, she was serious. Deadly serious.

Finding himself nodding, Arkk said. “Alright. I won’t lose myself. You can help me all you want, but it’s completely unnecessary.”

Ilya closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh of relief. Like he would have rejected her.

Just as Arkk was about to comment on the absurdity of that, he felt something. A slight change. A tether formed, stretching between Ilya and himself, relayed off the [HEART]. It was a lot like the bond he had noticed with that lesser servant or with Vezta, but not quite the same. They were directly connected to him. Ilya, with the [HEART] between them, was a step removed.

“Ilya?”

Silver eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Did you… feel that?”

Her brow furrowed. “Feel what?”

“I… don’t know. Something just happened between us.”

Ilya looked down between them, noticed her hands holding Arkk’s close to her chest, and promptly gave him a light shove. She shot him a heavy scowl and turned away. “I felt thanks for you. Nothing more happened between us, Arkk.”

“No, not—”

“I’ve told you, I’m much too young for you.”

“It’s not… You’re ten years older than me!”

“I’m only interested in other elves.”

“You’ve never seen any other elves besides your mother.”

Ilya started stalking away, shaking her head. “Come on, you love-struck fool. Now is hardly the time for this.”

Arkk caught her hand before she could walk more than three steps. “I’m serious, Ilya. Something magical happened between us and I do not mean that in a romantic sense. We’re… bound together, somehow.”

“Bound together?” Ilya raised an eyebrow. She locked eyes with him for a long moment, but slowly widened her eyes and looked over his shoulder. “Oh. I’m not sure what you are talking about…” Trailing off, she took a deep breath. “But the air here doesn’t feel quite so bad.”

“Is that good?”

“I assume so? But we should leave regardless. I don’t like leaving your monster alone with the villagers.”

“Yeah… I think I need to talk to Vezta and figure out exactly what is going on here.”

Thinking about Vezta, he found he could still see her. She stood in the middle of the village, hardly paying attention to anyone, though no one looked interested in interacting with her either. The little party seemed to be at a close anyway. Taking a moment, Arkk inspected the link between them, trying to figure it out a little more. He had assumed that it formed because he made that contract with Vezta, but now, with Ilya having a similar link, he wasn’t so sure. While inspecting it, he found he could tug on the link, for lack of a better word.

Ripped through time and space, Vezta appeared in front of Arkk. She was clearly off balance, but a part of her dress peeled away into a thick tendril, catching her. As soon as she got her balance back, the tendril merged seamlessly into her dress once again.

While Ilya drew her daggers in a flash, wary, Vezta simply turned with her faint smile firmly in place. She didn’t look the least bit irritated at suddenly finding herself somewhere new. Her golden eyes locked onto Arkk, dipped down to where his hand held Ilya’s hand, then moved up to Ilya’s face.

“Ah, your first minion. A wise choice. Her sharp elven eyes and keen accuracy with a bow offer great value in many situations.”

“My what?”

“Minion?” Ilya hissed, shifting a glare from Vezta to Arkk.

“I’m sorry,” Vezta said, canting her head. “Was there a mistranslation? [Initial]/[ready-set-go]|[minion]/[underling]/[employee].”

Arkk understood those concepts forced into his mind. He had hired Ilya. Their promise constituted an agreement for her to effectively work for him. It wasn’t binding. He could fire her or she could choose to leave. But for the moment, she was his minion. “Employee,” Arkk said, “is a better word. Use that.”

“As you wish.”

“Now, what is this link between us? And you and me. And me and…” Arkk trailed off, finding the lesser servant that was roaming the corridors of the fortress. With a yank on the link, he picked it up and dropped it down next to them. “Where did this even come from?”

Ilya jumped back with a sharp gasp, but Vezta just smiled down at the creature.

“A bond between a lord and his subjects runs much deeper via the [HEART]. We can call to you in times of crisis, drawing your attention. You are aware of where any of us are at any given time. The bond prevents direct harm caused by employees, though they can break the bond and then attack, you will at least be alerted. And, as you so expertly demonstrated, you can move us anywhere within your territory at will.”

Vezta knelt, smiling to herself as she patted the lesser servant on its… Arkk didn’t think they had heads or backs or anything resembling humanoid bodily structure. “As for this, now that the [HEART] is functioning once more, it will tend to the most basic of chores using these servants. A few will spawn on their own, but you can create more using the spell I taught you. You should be able to direct them if you wish. They are miserable fighters, but quite capable diggers and builders.”

“What is it?” Ilya said. “Not the… thing, but the HEART.” She tried to use the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE], but it just didn’t quite have the same effect as when Vezta did.

“[HEART]|[ultimate]|[defensive tool]/[offensive tool].”

Ilya didn’t look like the language bothered her all that much. She had flinched earlier, back when Vezta had identified herself to the villagers, but now, she barely blinked. “What is its purpose? Who built it and why?”

“Ah. It was a gift from the [PANTHEON] to my former master for the express purpose of using it as he desired. Through it, he acquired vast wealth, power, and followers. He would have been the ruler of this land were it not for the interference of the Heart of Gold, the Almighty Glory, and the Holy Light. They severed this world’s connection to the [UNDERWORLD], cutting off a majority of his employees and power. He sent me to uncover what they had done and how to reverse it. Alas, when I returned, my master was gone and the fortress was in ruins.”

Ilya and Arkk glanced at each other. He could see in her eyes that she understood about as much as he did. Which was to say not much at all. The three names Vezta mentioned were gods, she had said so before, but [PANTHEON] sounded like one or multiple gods as well. [UNDERWORLD] was a place. Maybe Vezta’s home? Somewhere not connected to the world.

“What was your former master’s name?” Ilya asked. “If he ruled the land, maybe we’ve heard of him.”

Arkk raised an eyebrow. He had no idea how Ilya would know that. Duke Levi Woldair was the only name he could think of off the top of his head, and only because he was their duke. He supposed he could name King Abe Lafoar for the same reason. Their predecessors? He didn’t have a clue. Kings and dukes just didn’t matter much in their little village.

“Keeper of the [HEART], Razerk.”

Just as Arkk expected, the name meant nothing to him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ilya slowly shaking her head as well.

“I wish my mother were here,” she said softly.

“She didn’t leave books behind? A journal, maybe?”

“No. Just the vague stories about keeping a watch on the Cursed Forest. She didn’t even say what to do about it. Just to watch.”

That got Arkk wondering. “Vezta, is the [HEART] responsible for the… deadness in the land around it?”

“Yes.” Ignoring the way Ilya tensed, Vezta continued, “The [HEART] is partially alive, but it requires magic as sustenance. Broken and without a master, the [HEART] sought alternative sources of nourishment, draining the life from the forest above.”

“So… it’s fixed then? The forest will recover?”

“I wouldn’t count on immediate change,” Vezta said slowly. “But so long as your magic continues to flow, the [HEART] should have no need of such methods.”

“Well, that’s great then,” Arkk said with a widening smile.

Ilya didn’t mirror his grin, staring at Vezta with cold eyes. “Is this thing going to kill Arkk?”

Arkk sucked in a breath, snapping his gaze to Vezta.

“No. Even if something were to block his magic from recovering, it would return to the forest over killing its master.”

Letting out a small sigh, Arkk put his grin on once again. “Wonderful. See? We’ve fixed things, not broken them.”

Ilya allowed herself a small shadow of his smile but started rubbing her forehead. “I think I need to sleep on this. Organize my thoughts.”

“We can have the little one prepare quarters for the employees—”

“I need to sleep in my own bed,” Ilya said, interrupting Vezta. She turned to Arkk, then started walking down the corridor. “Take me back.”

“Right. Right,” Arkk said, following after her. “But I might stay here for a while. Quiz Vezta on what else this thing can do. How it functions as a defensive tool and stuff like that. It would be handy if the goblins come back.”

“Fine. Just… remember our promise.”

“I will.”

 

 

 

Arkk drew back his bowstring, not bothering to aim. The second he had enough power behind the arrow, he released it. He didn’t watch where it went, assuming it would hit something in the mass of monsters, and instead pulled out another arrow, drew it back, and let it go as fast as he could.

It seemed as if Ilya had gotten the rest of the village to flee. There were no other humans around. The goblins and orcs were not fighting anyone, free to pillage and plunder as much as they wanted. None of the homes were smoking ruins yet, thankfully. It was more like they were searching for people than properly looting the place. Arkk wondered if the orcs had deliberately warned the goblins against wanton destruction, wanting to go through undamaged homes for plunder before setting fire to everything.

“Electro Deus,” Arkk shouted after releasing another arrow. Blue-white lightning struck a goblin in the face.

Goblins were a diminutive species. Most barely came up to Arkk’s knees. Their skin tone ranged from light brown to a near-luminous green. With natural weapons in the form of razor claws and nasty, sharp teeth, having one anywhere nearby was liable to result in a loss of fingers, limbs, or worse. Of particular morbid interest at the moment, however, were their eyes. Disproportionately large for their heads, they were a sickly yellow color with dark black pupils.

The eyes of the goblin Arkk hit exploded into dark viscera as dark black smoke bellowed from its nostrils and ears. The goblin collapsed instantly, body wracked by seizures, never having had a chance to scream.

Feeling the tingle of magic still in his fingertips, Arkk pushed through more power, not needing the incantation again for repeated casts. A second bolt tore another goblin off the ground, flinging it into a crowd and knocking several over. A pair of goblins, touching each other, started smoking as a third bolt struck one of them. The next bolt Arkk fired off hit a sword. The goblin holding it panicked, thrashing around and striking its fellows as smoke wafted from the sword’s grip and the goblin’s hand. Arkk’s fifth bolt of lightning hit a goblin square in the chest but only made it yelp and stagger.

Arkk gasped for breath, feeling like he had just run through half the Cursed Forest again. Chest heaving, he forced himself to draw another arrow. The goblins were sprinting toward him now.

Tendrils erupted from his oversized shadow, grasping the front two goblins by the legs. Picking them up into the air, the dripping tendrils slammed the goblins back down onto more goblins, crushing bone and killing several. Arkk used the extra space to loose five arrows in rapid succession, each striking a goblin in the chest.

One goblin jumped into the air, forcing Arkk to leap to the side as it came down on him.

His shadow remained where it was. At the spot where Arkk had been standing, a gaping maw appeared in the ground. The goblin in the air saw and started to cry out, only for its cry to abruptly cut off as it vanished into a field of stars behind the teeth.

The maw snapped shut, leaving just an oily surface, interrupted only by those burning gold eyes.

Arkk turned and launched an arrow toward a screeching goblin, not having any time to ask what happened to that other one. Even if he did have the time to question Vezta, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Spotting an orc coming up the dirt path toward the plaza, Arkk threw out his hand. “Electro Deus,” he shouted.

Much like the first goblin, the orc didn’t stand a chance. The orc flew backward, leaving an arcing trail of viscera from his eyes and mouth. Aside from some seizures on the ground when he landed, the orc didn’t move again.

Two more lightning bolts felled goblins before Arkk stopped again, exhaustion creeping up. “Vezta,” he called, nocking an arrow. “I thought you said I had a lot of magical power. Shouldn’t I be able to cast more than a handful of spells at once?”

Although Arkk hadn’t seen him fight, the spellcaster that visited the village certainly sounded as if he could cast a great many more spells during his stories.

A mouth opened in the ground not far from Arkk. “The [HEART] is constantly consuming a portion of your power. It will return that power as you claim territory and gather minions, but you should still be able to cast more than you are now. Your problem might be that you have too much power. Or, at least, you seem more able to unleash a wide breadth of power at once. Imagine it as a lake emptied by a roaring river rather than a narrow brook.” Vezta ate another goblin without even pausing her sentence. “Try moderating yourself. Be the brook, not the river.”

“I have no idea how to do that,” Arkk said as his arrow sliced through the shoulder of a goblin before hitting another straight in its open mouth. “I have never cast a spell like this before twenty minutes ago.”

“Something to practice, I suppose,” Vezta said as a tendril erupted from the ground behind Arkk just in time to swipe aside the bolt of a crossbow.

Following the trajectory of the bolt back, he spotted yet another orc. There had been a small lull in the wave of monsters attacking him for a short time there, but it looked like more and more were taking notice.

Not enough, however. He could see a black cloud of smoke rising from one of the most distant dwellings. He and Vezta might be able to handle any that came near, but there were just too many. They would have the entire village burn down before he managed to rout them.

“Electro Deus,” he shouted, launching a bolt at the orc before it could crank its crossbow back for a second attempt.

Rather than fire another lightning bolt at a goblin, which Vezta had started consuming with disturbing efficiency, Arkk raised his hand over his head. He had to force magic through his fingertips. The spell did not like not having a target. Yet, at a certain point, the spell couldn’t stop itself. The magic overflowed, launching a bolt skyward. This one was powerful enough to create a deafening crack of thunder echoing over the village as a cloud overhead violently dispersed into thin wisps that spread out over the sky.

Again, Arkk felt like he had just run a minor marathon. Although he was gasping for breath, he was quite thankful that the ringing in his ears faded quickly enough. It let him catch the tail end of something Vezta had said.

“What was that?” Arkk asked between breaths.

“I said, ‘you missed,’ in an incredulous tone of voice. Quite an impressive miss, admittedly, but not in a good way, Master.”

Arkk straightened his back, reaching for more arrows. He was starting to run out. Even if every single arrow killed a monster, he would run out long before taking out even a quarter of this army. This was every arrow John had too.

“I was trying to draw attention,” Arkk said, taking a slight moment more to aim, wanting to make the most of every arrow he had left. “Get all the monsters here so they aren’t wrecking the rest of the village.”

Vezta’s golden eyes turned down the long path leading from the plaza toward the rest of the village. “Well, I dare say that you succeeded,” she said. “Are you sure that was wise? I am not omnipotent, Master.”

Following her eyes, Arkk faltered. He had thought there were a lot of monsters between him and the church. Now, however, there was a veritable tide of goblins rushing up the path. Orcs, lording over them at over three times their height, shouted orders or battle cries. Several brandished large axes, swords, and pikes. A few more wielded crossbows. He only counted a dozen orcs, meaning there were still almost two dozen left if Ilya’s count had been accurate. Still, he stumbled back at the sight.

This was what he wanted. Clenching his fists, Arkk steadied himself and nocked another arrow. “Arkk,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“My name.” Arkk loosed an arrow, aimed at an orc approaching from the path up the hill. It hit the orc in the chest, but that only seemed to make him mad. The orc let out a vicious roar, raising a spike-covered cudgel. “Arkk. I don’t think I introduced myself before.”

The humanoid form of Vezta stepped out of Arkk’s peripheral vision. Her appearance made him jump slightly, but she merely offered a deep bow. “Vezta,” she said. “I look forward to serving you properly.”

“If we survive this,” Arkk mumbled. “Electro Deus,” he shouted, trying to focus on not pushing quite as much magic as he fired off a series of bolts at the approaching horde. He managed to fell eight goblins and a pair of orcs before feeling that exhaustion creeping up on him again.

Vezta’s tendrils were sweeping through the approaching crowd without pause now, taking out twice as many as he was. She wasn’t killing them anymore, at least not outright. There were just too many. But sweeping the front line into the horde of goblins behind probably wound up with several skewered on their comrade’s weapons. Her physical body remained near him, almost uncomfortably close, though she did not get in the way of him drawing back the bowstring.

Still, this was going to be an unsuitable position in short order.

“The church,” Arkk said. “It has strong, stone walls. The doorways and windows will limit how many monsters can approach at once.”

“No!” Vezta’s shout made him jolt, filled with a fear that she had lacked even while calling him out for drawing the attention of all the monsters with that lightning bolt.

“No?”

“Entering consecrated ground bearing the regalia of the Almighty Glory, Heart of Gold, and Holy Light is a recipe for disaster.”

“What? Why?”

“They would not take kindly to our presence.”

“Who?”

“I just said.” Vezta grabbed hold of Arkk’s shoulders, leaning up against him as he targeted an orc with a bolt of lightning. “I promise. I won’t fail you. If I have upset you in any way, tell me and I will correct whatever I did. Please, we can fight these monsters off without going to them.”

Arkk tried to shove her aside to grab at another arrow from his sack. Vezta pulled him down, just in time for him to watch a crossbow bolt sail through the air where he had been. She set him back upright, using several tendrils to support his body until he was back on his feet, then stepped aside, allowing him access to his arrows once again.

He had no idea what she was talking about. Almighty Glory? Heart of Gold? Holy Light? Only the last made any sense, with this being a Church of the Light, but Arkk had never heard it phrased that way before. None of the sermons conducted by the Abbess mentioned any of the names Vezta was worried about. The Abbess prayed to the Light for healing and protection. It was a type of magic that not everyone could make use of. Arkk had tried, once upon a time. It hadn’t blown up, but it hadn’t done anything else either.

“We’ll talk about this, later.” Arkk narrowed his eyes, focusing on an orc. “I’ll focus on the orcs. Kill as many goblins as you can… as horrifically as you can. We don’t need to kill them all. We just need to rout them.”

How many had they killed so far? Thirty? Fifty? More? Was it even that much? He honestly wasn’t sure, but he was surprised that they hadn’t routed already.

It was because there were only two of them. Even with as many deaths as there had been, the monsters saw a single human—Vezta had only emerged physically recently. With as many of them as there were, a single human didn’t stand a chance in their eyes.

If there were more of Arkk and Vezta… If the villagers had stayed…

No, they might have been killed before he returned. Fleeing was the correct choice.

But if there were more of them…

“Electro Deus,” Arkk said, frying two orcs.

The orcs would be the ones to call for retreat. It was unlikely that the goblins would flee on their own. He couldn’t kill all of the orcs unless they were also going to kill all the goblins.

Vezta, despite her efforts, was already starting to slip. Goblins were getting closer to Arkk than they had been before now. Not quite to the point of reaching him, but with the horde pressing in on all sides…

“Slave Natum,” Arkk said, waving his hand. Vezta had only taught him three spells. Lightning Strike, Possession, and Create Lesser Servant.

The final of the three spells nearly made Arkk vomit. Not because of magic expenditure, although that spell had taken a lot out of him, but because of what formed on the ground in front of him.

Vezta had a certain grace to her, even with her absurd number of eyes, tentacles thrashing wildly, and maws swallowing up goblins left and right. She was elegant and poised, calm and collected. That carried through even in the movements of her unnatural extremities.

The terrible sight gave Arkk pause. A shapeless congeries of bubbling flesh, putrid slime, forming and popping eyeballs, and ugly, maw-tipped tendrils snapped into existence between him and the tide of goblins. It was small. Barely larger than a goblin.

While it used its maw-tipped tendrils to snap at a nearby goblin, it didn’t last long. The horde descended on it with vicious fervor, tearing it apart as quickly as it came. Arkk felt it die. The magic used in its construction came flowing back to him.

Bolstered by the brief abundance of excess magic, Arkk shouted, “Electro Deus,” and fired a full ten bolts of lightning.

“Sorry,” Vezta said. “Should have mentioned. Those things are useless for combat.”

“Can you make more of yourself?”

“There is only one [Self]/[Vezta].”

“Can you make it appear like there are more of you? Several bodies?”

Vezta slowly shook her head, looking casual despite tearing a goblin apart with her bare hands. “I can reform this body if it suffers damage, but it is my only body.”

“Damn,” Arkk hissed as he drew a dagger and slammed it through the forehead of a goblin that got too close. Reaching over his shoulder, he grasped three arrows. The last three. He sent them out one at a time as fast as he could, then tossed the bow aside. “Electro Deus!”

Not quite recovered from his recent casting, he managed four bolts before they fizzled out.

Slashing at the throat of another goblin, he bent and picked up its dropped sword. Not all the goblins had swords, most used nothing but their claws and teeth. It wasn’t a particularly good sword either, barely long enough to count as a dagger. Still, it was something.

Arkk swept the blades through any goblin that managed to get past Vezta. He fired off bolts of lightning whenever he felt able, but the orcs must have realized that he was targeting them. None were showing themselves. Perhaps they had decided to flee on their own, leaving the horde of goblins to cover their retreat. He wasn’t sure. He barely had time to think between strikes.

One goblin knocked into him, sending him to the ground. He stabbed it through its ear, killing it instantly, but a second goblin latched onto his arm and bit down. He cried out in pain. Vezta was already moving toward him, only to stop and crush the skull of a goblin closer to her. She turned away, attacking another goblin.

Before Arkk could even think of her actions as abandoning him, an arrow punched straight through the skull of the goblin clamped onto his arm. It continued out the other side, hitting another goblin in the chest before it could pounce on him.

Arrow after arrow rained down, striking the goblins closest to Arkk.

He craned his head to see where they were coming from.

Despite the pain in his arm, he couldn’t help but let out a joyous laugh. “Ilya!”

The elf stood atop the Baron’s manor’s roof, silver eyes gleaming in the distance. Her arm moved in a blur, launching arrows so fast it was like one steady stream of death for the goblins. She wasn’t the only one there. Five others were on the roof, including the carpenter’s young apprentice. They weren’t aiming anywhere near Arkk, however, likely not wanting to hit him on accident.

More of the villagers were down in the manor gardens, beating down any goblins that dared to approach the archers. They didn’t advance out into the tide, but Arkk couldn’t blame them for that.

Forcing himself to sit up, Arkk shouted, “Electro Deus!” He launched as many lightning bolts as he could, frying goblin after goblin and buying room for Vezta to continue her slaughter.

A horn sounded somewhere in the distance.

Not every goblin turned toward it. Some were too enraptured in their bloodlust. But the majority took that as the signal to fall back. They turned, scampering away from the village. Vezta made short work of the ones who failed to heed the call for retreat, leaving Arkk to flop back down onto the unusually soft ground. He laughed, panting heavily as he cradled his arm.

“We did it?”

Vezta approached, looming over him with a faint smile on her face. “It seems your goal has been accomplished.”

Arkk didn’t bother fighting the grin on his face, but it did slowly fade as he started thinking more. “For now. How many escaped? They may try again in the future.”

“Might I suggest returning to the [HEART] and—”

Vezta staggered back with the bolt of a crossbow sticking out from her chest. Black tar dripped from the end of the bolt, falling to the ground.

Arkk bolted upright. “Vezta?” he shouted, forgetting his wound as he grabbed her shoulders.

She didn’t seem all that concerned. “Rude,” she said, yanking the bolt from her chest. Her fingers, also dripping the slime that seemed to comprise her entire body, rubbed at the wound. When she pulled away, there was no sign that she had been hit at all.

Looking back to the manor, Arkk noted the villagers standing about, looking wary rather than celebratory. Only Ilya was approaching.

She did not look happy.

“I don’t suppose you can look a little more human-like?” Arkk whispered. “Just to put them a little more at ease.”

“The things I do for my Master,” Vezta said with a faux-exasperated sigh.

The shadows on the ground started drawing back toward her, leaving the ground untouched. Arkk would have expected more goblin bodies in the immediate area, but… had Vezta eaten them all? She didn’t look any larger. As the shadows vanished entirely, so too did the tendrils emerging from her dress. A pair of elegant yet heavy boots appeared in their place.

Her dark violet skin and hair didn’t change. Neither did the eyes on her person, though if they didn’t blink, perhaps they would look more like part of her dress than actual eyes. Vezta clasped her hands in front of her and took a step back, moving just behind and to the side of Arkk. Not hiding behind him, but taking up a subservient position.

Just in time for Ilya to stop in front of them.

“What—” the elf started, eyes flicking between them, then around the carnage littering the plaza. Angry as she was, she didn’t seem to know quite what to say. “Saw the lightning bolt. A few of us turned back. And now we find… what? Just what?”

Arkk imagined he would have said the same thing in her position. “It’s a long story,” he said, keeping his hand clamped on his arm.

Ilya’s sharp eyes didn’t miss that. Her face softened as she said, “You’re injured.”

“Goblin bite.”

Ilya grimaced. “That’s going to rot your arm off..”

Vezta took a half-step forward, still remaining behind Arkk. “If you would like, Master, I would be pleased to cleanse your wound.”

“Master,” Ilya repeated, face wrinkling in distaste. Her eyes shifted to Vezta, where they stayed for a long moment. “What have you done, Arkk? What have you done?”

Arkk raised his eyebrows. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a good answer for her.

Vezta took his silence as consent to tend to his injury. She reached out, black slime dripping from her fingers. It didn’t fix the gnarled flesh as it had with her arrow wound, but it was soothing in much the same way as the ointment the Abbess had applied earlier. The bleeding seemed to stop as well.

Offering her a small smile, he looked back to Ilya. Answering her question, he said, “I saved the village?”

Ilya stared for a long moment before letting out a clipped laugh. It didn’t sound like a particularly happy laugh, but Arkk would take it over her angry face any day. “If only that were all,” she mumbled, glancing back to the Baron’s manor. “We need to make sure there aren’t any stragglers,” she said, louder. “Keep your monster on a leash and don’t go anywhere. We need to talk.”

“It’s never good when a girl says that.”

“Like you have any experience.” She turned away, but paused and looked back, momentary smile gone. “I’m serious. You’ve…” Her eyes flicked to Vezta. “Don’t go anywhere.”

With that, she stalked off.

Arkk slumped. There wasn’t any pain in his arm, thanks to Vezta, but it didn’t look good. And he was so tired. Exhausted from fighting and casting spells. His sleep, lucky though he was to have had it at all, hadn’t been the best. And he had been running all last evening. He wanted nothing more than to just lean back and close his eyes.

“Are you alright? That bolt…” Arkk mumbled, closing his eyes while standing. “If you hadn’t been able to heal like that.”

“I was skewered by numerous goblin swords as well. I do not claim to be invulnerable but it will take more than that to down me.”

“Still…”

“Rest now. Know that I shall protect you to the best of my ability.”

“Don’t hurt the villagers.”

“I am a [SERVANT]. I exist to assist you in your desires. If you do not desire harm to the villagers, they have nothing to fear from me.”

“Thank you, Vezta,” Arkk said, leaning against her. “You saved my village.”

“Your desire saved it.”

“No, I’m serious. Thank you.” Arkk opened his eyes, meeting her black and gold eyes. “If there is anything I can do…”

Vezta pressed her lips together, then nodded slowly. “Become a master truly worthy of my services. That is all I ask.”

“I’ll do my best.”

 

 

Of course it was dark. This was an underground library with no natural lighting. He hadn’t brought his torch with him.

“Vezta?” he called out. Not receiving an answer, he carefully started moving, feeling his way to the door. If he remembered correctly, the maze-like room with the bottomless pit would be to his right. “Vezta?” he called again as he made his way as fast as he could in the total darkness. A few times, he stumbled over the bodies of the fallen soldiers or monsters, but he pushed on until he felt the heavy metal door.

Turning the corner into the pit room, he found Vezta seated on the steps of the dais. It looked like it had one knee crossed over the other, but the only things peeking out the bottom of its ‘dress’ were thick, black tendrils that dripped with slime. He wasn’t quite sure how he could see the monster—there were no visible torches in the room—but there it was.

Maybe it had something to do with the way he couldn’t see anything but darkness in the rest of the room. No starfields with bright yellow suns peeking out at him this time.

The creature smiled, flashing surprisingly human-like teeth. “[Defense]|[successful]/[victorious]?”

Arkk grimaced as the strange concepts formed in his mind, but this time, he refrained from clamping his hands over his ears. It hadn’t helped last time.

“No. It hasn’t started yet. I…” His eyes shifted to the side where he spotted one other thing despite the total darkness of the room. The large stone sphere, engraved with the same labyrinthine pattern that covered the rest of the chamber. “There are a lot more than expected, it seems.”

“[Misfortune]|[lament]/[mourn]. [Unknown human]|[presence]/[continued existence]|[query]?”

“Yeah. I’m back.” He looked to the sphere. “This thing. You said it is a defensive tool?”

“[Fortress Al-Mir]/[HEART]. [Ultimate]|[defensive tool]/[offensive tool]. [Confirmation]/[no fibbing].”

“There are two hundred creatures, a few dozen orcs with the rest being goblins, approaching my village.” Arkk paused, considering his words. “Can it stop them? Fight them off?”

Vezta cocked her head to one side, hand scratching behind its ear. It seemed to swap which legs were crossed, but again, nothing but a writhing mass of tentacles came out the bottom of its clothing. “[Fortress Al-Mir]/[HEART]|[require]|[construction]/[embedding]/[fortification]. [Require]|[temporal passage]/[tick-tock]. [Require]|[underlings]/[minions]/[employees].”

“Is that… is that a no?” Arkk clenched his teeth. “What about you? You look strong, can you—”

Vezta held up a finger. “[Self]/[Vezta]/[SERVANT]|[bound]/[tethered]|[Fortress Al-Mir]/[HEART].”

“You’re stuck here?”

“[Bound]/[tethered]|[HEART]. [Unknown human]|[contract]/[binding]|[HEART]; [Self]/[Vezta]/[SERVANT]|[bound]/[tethered]|[unknown human].”

“If I…” Arkk started, trying to parse its meaning. “If I do your contract thing with the heart, you’ll be bound to me? And then we can both leave this place?”

“[Confirmation].”

“Can you take out two hundred monsters?”

Vezta considered again before slowly nodding its head. “[Self]/[Vezta]/[SERVANT]|[serves]/[delivers tea]. [Conflict]/[barroom brawl][specialty]. [Possible]. [Out of practice]/[rust-covered blade].”

“Please just say yes or no.”

“Yes or no.” It paused, then frowned. “Yes.”

“Good enough for me,” Arkk said, marching over to the sphere. “How do I do this?”

Vezta was at his side before he even noticed it move. It took his hand in its own—warm and not slimy despite looking like it should be—and gently moved him closer to the massive stone sphere. “[Magic]|[push]/[saturate].”

Arkk blinked. For some reason—tales of old, he suspected—he thought there would be a literal contract to sign. Something requiring his signature. Instead, the monster guided his hand until his palm met the cool, rough stone of the sphere. “You aren’t a demon, right?” he asked, wanting just a little more confirmation than the Abbess had been able to give.

To his surprise, Vezta gnashed her teeth. Her hand squeezed his just a bit too tight, making him wince. “[Offended]/[insulted]. [Deceiver]/[scam artist]?” It scoffed a clear and uncannily human-like scoff. “[Self]/[Vezta]/[SERVANT]|[SERVANT]. [SERVANT].”

As Vezta slowly relaxed its grip on his hand, Arkk decided to never bring that subject up again for as long as he lived. “I… most times I try to use magic, I blow up whatever I’m trying to do,” Arkk admitted. “Just a warning.”

“[Unknown human]|[powerful]/[terrific]. [HEART]|[desires]|[power]/[magic]. [Positive quality]/[good job].”

“Alright, I guess. Just don’t blame me when it explodes.”

The monster said nothing more. Taking a deep breath, Arkk focused on the sphere. Gently touching it with his magic, he could feel its channels and pathways. The labyrinthine design carved into its surface tugged at his magic. Like one massive ritual circle, impossibly complex compared to anything he had seen, let alone used.

The tugging continued, pulling more. Arkk tried to rear back, only to find the tug grow stronger. It ripped at his magic, siphoning more and more. He tried to rip his hand off the sphere itself, but the monster kept him pinned to it.

His fingertips started to burn. The heat spread across his palm. Throwing his head back, Arkk couldn’t stop the scream welling in his throat.

The sphere ejected a great thump, moving despite its stone nature. The force of it sent Arkk flying backward, breaking his contact with the artifact as he sailed across the room. His back slammed into the wall and his vision swam.

Before the tunnel vision took over completely, he saw the monster turn to him with a too-wide smile stretching across its face. “Contract accepted,” it said as the torches mounted on the walls flared to life.

Arkk’s head slumped and everything went dark.

Arkk wasn’t quite sure when he awoke. All he knew was that it was the most comfortable waking he had ever experienced. Ilya always knew how to stuff her mattress to make it comfortable, but compared to this? Arkk imagined he had fallen asleep on a cloud.

That… couldn’t be right.

Slowly opening his eyes to flickering yet bright torchlight, he jolted.

A pair of bright gold eyes stared down at him, looking like two suns hanging in a pitch-black night sky.

“Welcome back.”

Arkk leaped to his feet and backed away slowly. The monster sat on the ground, shadows and tendrils spread out across the floor where he had been. As far as he could tell, his head had been resting on its… thighs? If it had such things. The way those tendrils disappeared back into its body made him doubt it.

It stood in an inhumanly smooth motion, hands clasped in front of its navel once again. But Arkk found his attention drawn away from the monster.

The room had changed during his unconsciousness. There were still skeletons strewn about, but the torches had come to life. The crater that had held the sphere was empty. Now, the sphere floated over the bottomless pit, slowly revolving. Every few seconds, a thump-thump resounded throughout the chamber, sounding like the beating of a heart.

Which answered the question of why the monster had called this a [HEART].

Magical light traced paths through the sphere’s maze. Magic that he could feel as it coursed over the heart. The feeling made him nervous. His heart beat faster. So too did the stone heart, increasing the rate of the heavy thumps.

That…

He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Fortress Al-Mir lives again.”

Arkk turned his head, though his eyes lingered on the beating stone heart until her words forced him to shift focus to the monster. “I understood you?”

“It would be more accurate to say that the [HEART] informed me of your language, which I am now speaking.” Keeping its hands clasped together, the monster dipped into a low bow. “I apologize for the pain the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE] caused you, but I had no other method of communication.”

“I…” Arkk didn’t quite know how to respond to a monster sincerely apologizing to him. Clenching his teeth, he shook his head. “How long was I out?”

“Approximately one hour.”

Arkk’s heart threatened to leap up his throat at hearing that. The thumps in the chamber picked up the pace, making him all the more aware of his own hammering heart.

“Something wrong?”

“We need to hurry. They might already be there by now. You…” Arkk looked at Vezta, pausing. “You can fight them, right?”

“I can try.” Vezta tilted its head back and forth like it was cracking the bones in its neck. If a creature that dripped with slime and walked on tentacles had anything resembling a humanoid bone structure, Arkk would be surprised. “Not my usual duties and I am rusty. Did you say two hundred? Should be doable as long as they do not all rush me at once.”

“It is scary that you sound so casual about facing down two hundred goblins.” Grabbing Vezta’s hand, this time he led her toward the library. He knew exactly which door it was, which was kind of an odd thing to know given how many times he had been there before, but he supposed it wasn’t too strange. More importantly, Vezta didn’t protest at all. She seemed quite pleased, having a chipper tone in her voice when she next spoke.

“Is it truly frightening? I imagine you would be capable of far more.”

“I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m just a regular human. Taking out a few monsters at a distance should be doable with a good bow. I could probably fight off a goblin or two in close quarters. Maybe an orc if I get lucky.”

“I feel your magic. Use that?”

“Things explode. And I don’t have time to set up ritual circles in the middle of battle.”

“Ritual circles are well and good for complicated magic, but incantations are far faster. Electro Deus causes explosions?”

“I have no idea what that even means.” He knew what incantations were, just not that specific one. When that spellcaster had visited the village, Arkk had questioned him at length. Incantations were advanced, however. According to that spellcaster, all sorcerers needed to start with the basic ritual magic before moving to compress extravagant rituals down into words.

“[Lightning Strike].”

Arkk flinched reflexively, but… it didn’t hurt when she said that. Now that he thought about it, the few other times she had used that language hadn’t caused pain since he woke up. And… he thought he understood. Lightning Strike.

Pausing in the hall, he looked at one of the corpses along the sides of the corridor. Holding out his hand, he said, “Electro Deus,” while funneling a little magic through the words.

A brilliant bolt of blue-white lightning ruptured the space between Arkk and the skeleton. It slammed into it with enough force to send the skull flying through the air, charred and blackened.

Even knowing he was in a rush, Arkk couldn’t help but stop and stare at his fingertips. They burned a little bit, but that was more of a tingle of magic waiting to be cast again than any burn from the power of the lightning.

“Do… you know any more things like that?”

“Unfortunately, no. I am not a sorcerer and cannot cast magic in such a manner. Such things are useless to me. The only other spells that come to mind are [Create Lesser Servant] and [Possession].”

Both spells blossomed in his mind. The first would create something like Vezta if he understood the concept correctly. There was a definite difference between [SERVANT] and servant, however. As far as he could tell, the spell created minor assistants and helpers, more akin to an apprentice in a workshop than… whatever Vezta was. Despite her calling herself a [SERVANT] using that language, the concept still didn’t quite click. Neither did [HEART], for that matter, or [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE]. He wasn’t sure what was different about those words compared to a full spell forming in his mind, but there it was.

The other spell, however, made him a bit queasy. “I can… completely take over someone else’s body?”

“If they are subservient to you. Won’t be much use against an opponent in combat, but… Ah, I see. Do you find it distasteful? It is quite a useful spell. My former master used it to great effect, wielding other bodies as if they were suits of armor, discarding them once they were worn down and broken. I know that spell specifically because he possessed me on occasion.”

“Discarding people?” Arkk swallowed, feeling a bit ill. “Like broken armor?”

“It kept him safe. His minions reveled in becoming possessed. It was a great honor.” Vezta frowned, looking around. “You have no minions, unfortunately. I would suggest possessing me, but you are inexperienced. You would not be able to wield me as effectively as I can wield me.”

“We’ll just… shelve that one for now.”

“I shall protect you as best I am able,” Vezta said, leaning up against Arkk. “I cannot have my new master falling so soon.” She paused, then looked up to Arkk, meeting his eyes with her burning suns. “Were we not in a hurry?”

Arkk pulled himself away, deciding to put that topic aside for… forever, probably. “Yes. Yes, we were,” he said, approaching the door to the library. It was closed, but the door swung open before he could even touch it. Assuming that was Vezta, he stepped inside without pause and headed straight for the magical circle. Much like the rest of the fortress, the torches in the library had roared to life.

“I’ll go first,” Arkk said, stepping right into the circle. When he turned around, however, he found himself alone. He looked left, then right. As if suddenly aware of where she was, he glanced downward.

Arkk stood in the center of a small puddle of dark violet slime. It wasn’t actually touching his boots. Picking up one foot and setting it down elsewhere had the slime moving out of the way, letting him step down on the stone tiles of the fortress floor. If he hadn’t been paying too much attention, he might have thought he was looking down at a strangely shaped shadow. The only problem was the glowing yellow sun staring up from that oily shadow.

“Alright then… together, I guess?”

Looking down at the circle, he was a bit disappointed that he didn’t instantly understand it the way he understood the spells Vezta had mentioned. Vezta had drawn it out, so maybe she could do that language thing for this? Something to ask later. For now, he knelt and touched it with his magic.

The peaceful and silent library vanished, replaced with the inhuman cries of alarmed monsters.

Vezta’s tendrils whipped out from his shadow, snatching a quartet of goblins. The tendrils pulled them down to the ground but didn’t stop there. Sickening snaps, squeals of pain, and rent flesh filled the air as the goblins smashed into the earth.

It did make him a little nauseous, but more at the brutal and likely painful deaths than the deaths themselves. Killing the attackers was what he had come here to do.

And the attack had started.