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“Horrik! Unleash the cannons!”

“Aye, Lady Katja.”

The hammering thumps resounding in Katja’s chest as alchemical explosives detonated in series was music to her ears. According to one of the former Duke’s advisors, who now served Katja, Cliff had only once come under attack via sea. That had been nearly a hundred years ago in yet another conflict with Evestani—or rather, the empire that was their predecessor.

But that didn’t mean that the local guard had neglected the defenses. Powerful turrets occupied strategic spots along the harbor, utilizing magically augmented alchemical explosives to launch volleys of destruction out into the sea. Accuracy wasn’t the guard’s strong suit, unfortunately. All of the streaks of fire came down nowhere near the ships out on the water, instead setting the water itself aflame.

It would have been an impressive sight, the water literally burning, were it not for the utterly unharmed ships. “Horrik!”

“Working on it,” Horrik said, readjusting some part of the nearest cannon even as he shouted commands down the rest of the line.

These cannons hadn’t been used, even for a test, in at least a decade. Perhaps longer than that. It didn’t help that a number of those who knew how to operate them had… well, they hadn’t exactly agreed with Katja’s newfound position as head of the city. Even if they had been around, they would have been rusty beyond belief. That would change after today. There would be regular drills to ensure those manning the harbor cannons could wield them effectively.

Assuming the Prince didn’t behead her upon arrival.

The Prince’s arrival was imminent. She knew exactly where the Prince was.

He was just outside the city. Katja had ordered the protective barrier active knowing he was right there. This attack could very well be intended to kill him. If it was, she was perfectly willing to let them do what they had come here for. If Prince Cedric died at the hands of an enemy attack, she could hardly be held responsible. And then she wouldn’t have to deal with him.

The problem was that they were attacking her city. Either they hadn’t noticed the Prince on the long path down to the main city of Cliff or they were here for her. Or some other objective.

So, she had to defend the city. If there was a silver lining, it was that she could hopefully demonstrate some level of competence that Prince Cedric might appreciate.

Well, she supposed that depended on whether or not they managed to do significant damage to the city. Appearing competent did require some level of competence.

“Stop trying to hit them and hit them!” Katja barked out as she started pacing back and forth along the harbor. She had to pause to keep her balance as a fresh volley rumbled into the docks.

“Wind coming in strong from the east!” Horrik shouted, his voice almost lost in the cacophony of explosions. “Pull the shots to the right!”

The dome cracked as a return volley from the ships struck. Katja flinched, heart pounding, wondering if coming out here in person was such a good idea. She wanted to give a good show of it and demonstrate her leadership in person, be seen by those who might still have doubts about her station in the city. But she was at the front lines. If an attack from the ships made it through, she would take it to the face.

A resounding boom, different from all the rest, shuddered the docks. For a moment, she thought something had made it through the protective dome. But no.

This time, the impact was undeniable. The lead ship took the hit directly to its stern. It didn’t make it onto the deck, but flames coursed all along the side, eating into the wood and forcing the enemy crew away from their cannons. A ripple of water magic erupted along the side, rushing down from the bow to the back, dousing the flames as it moved.

The damage was done. A gaping hole in the rear of the ship started taking on water.

Cheers broke out along the harbor as Katja’s forces saw the first real sign of their efforts bearing fruit.

“Don’t stop!” Katja shouted, emboldened by the victory as much as anyone else. “Again! Focus on the lead ship!”

A fierce grin spread across Horrik’s face. He shouted his own commands, relaying directions down the line. They adjusted the cannons, clumsily refocusing. Katja wasn’t sure that Horrik’s commands were the best. He didn’t know how to use these cannons any better than a fresh rookie. But, emboldened by the successful strike, everyone was eagerly hoping for more.

The ships fired their salvo. The protective spell shuddered, cracked, and shattered.

In an instant, the elation among the troops turned to terror as the protective spell fell and the bombardment from the enemy seared towards the docks. Katja, heart pounding and adrenaline surging, slammed her hand onto a younger boy’s shoulder.

“Roland,” she hissed. “Now.”

The boy, eyes wide and fearful, slotted his hand into a small groove atop a pylon she had placed on the docks. The signet ring he wore easily slid into a matching depression and, with a turn of his wrist, it clicked. Katja, a hand on the boy’s shoulder, flooded her magic through him, filling the ritual circle he had made whole.

A surge of magic pulsed out, ripping through the air. It collided with the incoming projectiles, creating a barrier of shimmering light that deflected them back toward the sea. The force wasn’t enough to capsize the ships, but it kept the docks safe. For the moment.

Katja was a spellcaster of little renown, but this relied on the Duke’s signet ring, not on her power or that of Roland.

It was also not something that could be used with any frequency. It was a last-ditch attempt at staving off an attack. Originally, the pylon was meant to protect the manor. But she had moved this pylon from the manor out to the docks, just in case. There were other such pylons in the manor, but none that were both mobile and would assist with this situation.

Now that it was done with, she stared out, feeling sick. The protective dome hadn’t come up yet. Her men were still ducking and covering as if that would aid with anything instead of returning fire. And the second of the three ships was readying its volley.

Katja took a step back, grimacing. Her eyes flicked to the side. “Horrik—”

The ships erupting in cannon fire cut Katja off. Eyes wide and heart pounding, she threw herself to the ground, dragging Roland with her in an attempt to use his body as a shield.

Silence crushed the docks. But no explosions. No pain of splintering wood, no fragments of stone, and no heat of flames. Not even a splashing of the water as the attacks fell short. Katja, on the ground, slowly lifted her head, wondering where the pain was.

A black streak cut across the sky. No, not black. A void of space sliced through the air in front of the docks, broken only by tiny twinkling lights. Flames burned the sky along the edges, steaming the surface of the water and reaching up into the sky, but the attacks didn’t make it to the docks.

Katja had never seen magic like that before. Granted, having lived her life as a slave and then as a bandit, she didn’t have the widest breadth of knowledge. But this, the way it hung in the air filled her stomach with nausea. It was unnatural.

And she knew what it was. The Duke had left reports behind on the terrible fissure in the sky. The Abbey of the Light had met with her, impressing upon her the necessity of action primarily because of that fissure. She hadn’t seen it happen because she had been underground, within Fortress Al-Mir, at the time. But she knew just who the Abbey suspected was the cause of that incident.

The haze of the protective dome shimmered back into place, cutting just ahead of that fissure in space. As soon as it was in place, the fissure vanished. Whoever was manning the ritual circle at the garrison took far too long to get new ritualists in place. That would undergo some drills in the future as well.

For now, teeth clenched, Katja shoved herself off the ground. “Back in action!” she barked out. “Get these Light-less dirtbags out of my harbor!”

“You heard the lady!”

The men, startled and shaken but not yet out of it, jumped back on the weaponry. Alchemical might flung out to sea after the ships. Katja wasn’t sure it was necessary anymore.

“Y… You tried to save me?”

Katja looked down at where Roland remained curled into a small ball. He looked up at her with fresh respect.

She just shook her head and turned her gaze back on the battle.

In the few moments when that fissure had been active, the ship captains must have decided that they weren’t prepared to deal with that unnatural magic. Their sails billowed as they turned to catch the wind, a clear sign of retreat. Aside from the lead ship taking on a small bit of water, a negligible amount in all likelihood, they hadn’t suffered any real damage.

Did they not want to try to break through another of the protective domes while weathering attacks? Or did they fear something a little more volatile from the unnatural magics than a mere defensive barrier?

“Katja. What are you doing out here?”

Katja didn’t turn to face the speaker. “Demonstrating competence,” she said, absolutely certain her quiet voice would be drowned out by the slapping of the water against the docks, not to mention the cannon fire. She hoped the frustration was drowned out by it. Saved by him? What part of that was competence? “And what of you, Arkk? I thought we were to keep our association a secret?”

“To a point. I’m not going to let you die. Or anyone, if I can help it.”

“How altruistic,” she said, trying not to sneer.

“They’re leaving.”

“So it would seem.”

Katja watched as the ships picked up speed from a sudden gust of wind coming directly from their rears, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of seeing her end approach, only to be saved at the last moment. The harbor was a mess of emotions; cheers and cries of relief mixed in with the crackling of fires that had made it to shore.

“Evestani is on the march again,” Arkk said as he stepped closer. “This time, they are backed up by well-equipped soldiers bearing the same emblem as what is on those flags.”

“Any idea who they are?” Katja asked, glaring at the retreating ships. “Or the reason for the attack—I assume they’re trying to kill the Prince? Or any way to blast those ships out of the water before they get away?”

“I could try slinging lightning bolts or a specific flame spell, but I don’t think they would do enough damage before they got too far away. As for the who and why, I was hoping you might know.”

Katja shook her head back and forth, half turning away from the retreating ships. She was about to say something along the lines of how the hell would she know who they were? Her upbringing hadn’t exactly included vexillology tutoring. She had been a slave and a bandit.

But some part of her mind stuttered to a stop as she caught sight of Arkk.

“You look ridiculous,” she said to the man wearing a heavy black cloak with the hood fully up and over his head. He had some kind of wooden mask, plain and blank except for two dark circles where the eyes should be.

“I’m trying to be inconspicuous about our relationship.”

Katja couldn’t help her laugh. “And you thought this was the best way to remain inconspicuous? The magic you used wouldn’t make it obvious enough? I’m sure many, many eyes are on the docks right now. Everyone will have seen that.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use it,” Arkk said, grabbing the mask and pulling it off his face. He had a glower for the ages on underneath.

“Well, you did. And everyone saw. Damnit,” Katja hissed. “The Abbey is going to come knocking again.”

She wanted to kick them out of the city. It would be better for everyone if she didn’t have them hovering over her shoulder. But they were experiencing the same benefit that Katja had used to instigate her little revolution. They were popular among the populace. Both because of the general religiousness of the average citizen as well as their goodwill whenever they came out to heal, put out fires, or otherwise assist with everyday living.

The general public didn’t know that they were the primary driving force behind the Duke’s alliance with the Evestani. It was honestly inspiring how well they had come out looking like the good guys. Their public relations were something Katja strived to emulate.

“Good work!” Katja shouted, turning away from Arkk. She needed to focus on the here and now. “We’ve got them running. Horrik! Ensure they truly leave the port and aren’t just moving out of range.”

Horrik looked at her, raising a bushy eyebrow. He didn’t want to undermine her authority by questioning her orders. At the same time, she could read the question on his face. ‘How am I supposed to manage that?’

Cliff didn’t have its warships. It did have plentiful fishing vessels, from small skiffs to larger, ocean-worthy ships. Katja would have to commission something worthy of defending the harbor if this was how this new enemy wanted to fight. Until then, retrofitting one of the fishing vessels with all the magic the garrison and the academy could shove on it would have to do.

Even that would take time.

“Get whatever bombardment magic you can and chase them as far as the range allows. Then find the largest ship in the harbor, requisition it from its owners, and start getting it outfitted in case they come back.”

“Aye.”

“Now,” Katja said, lowering her voice. “What are we going…” She trailed off, hearing something. It was a faint sound, something just barely carried on the wind. She turned back to the harbor, worried it was coming from the departing ships. Some parting surprise.

They were deploying something from the backs of their ships. Large barrels. But they weren’t the sound she was hearing. The barrels made plopping noises.

What she heard was something more… musical in nature. Except not quite. It lacked a melody.

“Trumpets?” Arkk said, cocking his head to the side, hearing it as well.

He was right. Now that he said it, the sound clicked in the back of her mind. Trumpets weren’t an instrument she was too familiar with. There were a few among her crew who had enjoyed playing music at Porcupine Hill, usually anytime there was something to celebrate. Flutes, lutes, and drums, mostly. Things that were easy to make out away from civilization. Trumpets required a bit of knowledge to manufacture.

Katja started to grin, only to freeze her expression in place. She quickly covered the momentary smile with a look of confusion.

Arkk looked just as confused as she was. Staring at his face, she could see the moment the realization hit.

“The Prince,” she hissed, cursing under her breath for the show of it. “He must still be outside the barrier?”

It was good that he hadn’t gotten inside. Now, with the trumpets blaring, perhaps he thought himself in a bit of trouble. She looked out to see, noting the ships. They were readying the cannons even as they angled away from the bulk of the city.

Reaching under his cloak, Arkk produced a crystal ball. Katja hurried over as an image shimmered inside, showing the narrow pass that led down to Cliff proper. The haze of the protective dome separated the city from an army.

There were two parts to the army. Hawkwood’s men were easily distinguishable by their white banners and surcoats, bisected by a black chevron. They were, for the most part, on the outsides of the main convoy, protecting their sides and rear. Not that there was much room. They were practically in single-file lines on either side of a small group of red and yellow armored soldiers, both mounted and foot soldiers. The Prince’s colors.

At the center of it all was a carriage made entirely from metal. Rugged and thick metal. She could tell just from a glance that it wasn’t thinly plated. Drawn forward by two massive manticores, beasts made up from a mixture of animals, and covered in protective magic circles, it was the dominating feature of the caravan.

“He’s here early,” Katja spat, forcing the irritation to maintain her innocent look. “Is he an idiot? Sounding his trumpets in a situation like this?”

“They must have seen the attack and hurried along.”

“Now they’re not moving at all… on the outside of the barrier.” It was stopping them from entering. Just as she planned. “I need to get them inside before those ships decide they’ll be a good target. If something happens to the Prince, it will be my head that will roll… Horrik!” she shouted. “Handle things here!”

“Aye!”

“Keep on them, don’t let them even think of taking a shot at the Prince!” Katja shouted as she vaulted over a railing. She had retainers a distance away, keeping hold of a horse-drawn carriage for her. Unhitching the horse from the carriage and riding it alone to the gate was the fastest way to get there.

“What’s your plan?” Arkk called, chasing after her.

For a brief moment, Katja thought he was talking about her hopes that the Prince would take a cannonball to the face. But no, he was asking what she planned to do about the Prince being on the outside of the barrier. She didn’t bother glancing back. “You think I have one?” she snapped over her shoulder.

She had everything planned. A grand welcoming, both theatric and befitting of someone of Prince Cedric’s standing. Uncertain of the Prince’s personality, she had plotted out two avenues to proceed from there, all based on her first impressions. In one plan, there was to be a feast, lavish gifts, and entertainment enough to last for days. In the other, a serious and detailed meeting where she would be able to go over the exact state of the Duchy, providing statistics, deployment patterns, updates from Arkk and her own guard, and anything else he might ask for. She had spent days and nights compiling all the information, going over it backward and forwards to ensure she knew everything the Prince might possibly ask.

And now this?

Katja didn’t know who these interlopers were, but if they killed the Prince, they would be a blessing in disguise. If they didn’t, she could simply go back to her previous plotting.

The horses were skittish and uneasy. Not surprising given all the noise of the battle. Katja’s retainers started getting the carriage ready upon spotting her approach. Katja brushed them off, unlatching the horse’s harness herself before slinging herself up and onto its bare back. Slamming her heels into its sides sent the horse bolting, leaving both her retainers and Arkk behind.

Riding bareback wasn’t comfortable or fun at the best of times. Trying to direct an upset horse through the streets of Cliff still wasn’t the worst she had had. It was faster than walking. Still, she was relieved when she made it to the garrison without getting bucked off its back.

She tore inside, glad that a good number of the guards had been replaced with her men who recognized her without any trouble. “Shut it down,” she shouted, barging into the central ritual room. She couldn’t act any longer, not while maintaining plausible deniability. If the Prince wasn’t dead already, it was too late for that.

Three inquisitors of the Abbey and a spellcaster, all with strained faces, looked up.

“Shut it down!” she repeated. “The Prince is outside the barrier with the barbarians!”

That got a reaction. One of the inquisitors, a woman with tinted round glasses, reacted first, pulling back from the ritual circle. Without her to support the magical reaction, the other three were swiftly forced to stop. The inquisitor, unsteady on her feet and looking drained, started toward Katja with questions on her lips, but Katja didn’t have time to sit around answering them.

As swiftly as she came, Katja hurried back out.

The garrison was built into the mountainside right next to the main gate leading into Cliff. It took mere minutes to get to the gatehouse. “Open the gates!” she shouted, utterly baffled at the incompetence of the guards stationed there.

Yes, the gates should be kept shut in an emergency but the Light-damned Prince was on the other side.

She climbed the stairs to the wall, half expecting to have to pull the locking lever herself. The moment she reached the top and looked out, she saw it.

Bright pinpoints of light all along the broadsides of the ships in the harbor.

She couldn’t do anything but watch, her heart filling with a slurry of dread and hope, as those pinpoints turned to arching streaks that sailed into the air, trailing fire in their wake. A dozen of the streaks slammed into the Grand Old Church with a vengeance. The large temple to the Light shielded much of Cliff, helping out even in its demise, but it did not stop the streaks of light aimed toward the main route into Cliff.

One struck the mountain overhead, shredding the cliff wall and showering rock and stone down on the Prince’s caravan. People below dove for cover. Katja watched one unfortunate crushed entirely by a rock as large as a horse. One of the manticores reared back and swung its snake-like tail around. The viper maw opened and caught one of the fireballs before spewing it back in the direction it had come from. Its defense was, unfortunately, imperfect. Another flaming ball sailed true, rocking the armored carriage far enough to tip it onto its side even though it didn’t penetrate the metal.

More rocks, sheared off the cliffside from flying fireballs, fell, collapsing on the now upward-facing side of the carriage. It might not be able to get through the armor, but the Prince wouldn’t last long if the mountain fell on top of him. At the very least, he would run out of air.

Before Katja could come up with anything to rectify the situation, the door to the carriage slammed open, flinging the heavy stones that had fallen on it off into the distance.

A black and white blur erupted from the open carriage straight into the air. It was little more than a flicker in the corner of Katja’s eye. She barely managed to track it as it reached a pinnacle high in the sky. Only her intense concentration on the situation let her follow it.

Instead of arching back down the way a projectile might, it hung in that apex, a dark flicker against the blue sky. As quickly as it reached that apex, it aimed straight at the lead ship, crossing the distance in yet another flicker of movement.

For a brief instant, nothing happened. Katja stared at the ship, expecting an explosion or some sign of damage from whatever magic the Prince had launched.

The ship crumpled. From the distance she was at, it looked like it collapsed in on itself. Like two giant hands had clapped together, crushing it the way a farmer might crush an annoying mosquito. Even the water around the boat sloshed together, meeting in the middle where it spewed upwards in a geyser of water, splinters, and metal shards that reached higher than the crow’s nest of the following ship.

The other two ships vanished immediately after. They didn’t collapse like the first. One moment they were there, then, with a light snapping sound in the air, they simply weren’t. Sea water rushed into the vacancies left in their absence.

Katja fell into a stupor. She was a spellcaster of some ability. She had spent time in Arkk’s magical fortress. But she had never seen anything like that. What manner of magic was it?

Slowly, she turned her head back. Most everyone who wasn’t in immediate danger was stuck looking out to sea, likely feeling exactly as she was at the moment.

What was Arkk thinking? Was this another day for him? Or was he staring in shock as well? He had that spell that had protected the harbor, but could he do something like that?

Katja cocked her head to one side and slowly started to smile. Her eyes settled on the metal carriage that the large manticores were carefully righting.

“Men!” she shouted, startling the guards on the wall with her. “Get out there. Assist anyone in need and escort everyone else inside the walls! Then get the protective magics back up and running.

“We have a Prince to welcome to the city.”

If he survived.

 

 

After weeks of wandering the desolation of the Underworld, the initial thrill of adventure and comradery had given way to an unexpected sense of restlessness and confinement. Olatt’an was no stranger to travel, long and short, but the Underworld was a different beast entirely. Despite the boundless expanse of the world that surrounded him, a paradoxical feeling of being trapped within an invisible cage had taken hold. The endless orange-hued landscape with no clear distinction between day and night, the distant columns of shadow, the utter lack of any civilization throughout the land, and the monotonous routine of waking, eating, walking, and sleeping, made the vast wilderness feel as restrictive as the walls of a small, enclosed space.

Who knew that the confined space of Fortress Al-Mir would somehow feel more open and inviting than the entire world?

It wasn’t just Olatt’an feeling the internal struggle of physical restlessness. Everyone on their little caravan was facing that urge to move, to escape, yet there was no clear destination unless they wanted to turn around and head back to the portal. Even the horses were growing antsy and irritable.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Olatt’an asked. It wasn’t much of a guess.

The elf, usually the epitome of grace and serenity, now bore the unmistakable signs of a night devoid of sleep. Her usually radiant skin appeared dull and shadows haunted the space beneath her eyes. The silver locks of hair, normally arranged as if she were prepared to present herself to a court of nobles even in this desolate land, hung limp around her face. Even though her movements still carried some of the fluidity and deliberate motions, they were weighed down by a level of exhaustion that wasn’t unfamiliar to Olatt’an.

At his question, Alya simply glared.

Chuckling, Olatt’an said, “Bad dreams?”

“You’ve been having them too?”

“Mhm…” Olatt’an grunted, noncommittally. He hadn’t had dreams in many years, not since he was much younger. But he had heard the others commenting on strange visions in the night. Dark shadows circling them, looking at them, only to awaken and find everything normal.

“Despite my apprehension, I was initially quite… interested in seeing a whole new world,” Alya said, sweeping a hand over her head in an attempt to straighten her hair. It didn’t work. “I am beginning to think that this land is cursed. If this is what the elders of my people believed would happen to our world, their vigil over the cursed forest is all the more understandable. If my failure to protect it causes this,” she waved a hand about, “to spread…”

“Arkk is aware of that potential problem,” Olatt’an said as he chewed at a chunk of hardtack. They had long since run out of the fresher foods. Now they were firmly in the travel ration territory. It was just another thing that was harming the morale of the group. “I trust that he won’t proceed unless he is sure that nothing unfortunate will occur.”

Alya pursed her dry lips in a momentary frown. “He wouldn’t knowingly do such a thing,” she admitted. “But unknowingly? There is too much at stake. Too many unknowns. He should leave well enough alone.”

“I doubt he will. Not with Vezta pushing him forward. But that’s why we’re out here, to gather information.”

“Vezta,” Alya said with an annoyed click of her tongue.

She didn’t continue her thoughts, however.

A Protector approached. It, notably, wasn’t the same Protector that had been with them thus far. It was just a little bit shorter. Still three times as tall as Alya, but not quite as tall as the others. The short thorny spines that adorned its carapace were smaller and less curved as well. Was it a youth?

That made an odd question cross Olatt’an’s mind. Did the Protector reproduce? If so, how? Was it… Did it just… They were all the same being, but… On its own? Or…

Perhaps some questions were better left unanswered.

“We will arrive today, not long after we set off.”

“Really?” Olatt’an perked up. That was good news. He could see the rest of their troupe, all those in the vicinity who had heard, look up as well. “Could have mentioned that last night.”

The Protector’s head twisted on an axis that normal beings couldn’t normally manage. “My memories from Savren indicate that anticipation and excitement harm the efficacy of… sleep,” it said, as if the word was unusual.

“Yes, but I’m sure everyone here would have been willing to march an extra few hours if it meant arriving a little sooner.”

The Protector didn’t respond. It simply stared with those horizontal pupils.

“Never mind. Ready up!” he called out to the group. “We continue in five minutes!”

“If the world were ending today, the oracles would have given more concrete information,” Sylvara shouted as she rushed through the corridors of the Cliff Academy.

“Up until a week ago, the oracles were allegedly paralyzed,” Lui shot back, “unable to see anything. Who can say what oddities might happen in these… strange times.”

Arkk wasn’t sure he liked the look Lui shot him. Whatever this was, it wasn’t his fault. Probably. But she had been sending him looks of ill intent since she first walked through that door, so it wasn’t that strange. If anything, it would have been more worrying if she hadn’t been suspicious of him.

Whatever shook the academy—the mountain that the academy had been built within—hadn’t gone unnoticed among the regular students and instructors. Although there hadn’t been any further disturbances, the corridors were flooded with people trying to get out. Earthquakes in Mystakeen weren’t entirely unheard of. Natural tremors in the earth, often said to be caused by a lack of light since they usually occurred at night, struck every so often. Six years ago, a particularly violent quake took down the storehouse in Langleey. Luckily, nobody had been inside at the time.

Arkk could only imagine the troubles if the entire mountain decided to collapse in on itself. He knew from sending a few of the lesser servants around the academy to see if they could find a Heart that a huge chunk of the mountain was hollow winding pathways and large empty rooms. Without the reinforcement magic that lined the walls of Fortress Al-Mir, he could easily imagine a strong quake causing cave-ins and collapses.

Luckily, four inquisitors still drew attention. Especially when they were rushing through the hallways. Even during an emergency, nobody wanted to get in their way. Arkk, with them, had a clear path out of the academy.

Warning bells tolled all across the city. The heavy, resounding ringing was the first evidence beyond the tremor that something had gone wrong. Some small part of him expected fires torching the city with columns of smoke flooding into the sky, golden rays slicing through the very mountain, and bombardment magic crashing down and leveling the city.

From the elevated exit of the academy, high enough to look over most but not all of Cliff, he could see to the harbor and beyond. There were fires, but hardly the raging inferno of war. A large hazy dome covered most of the city, the same anti-bombardment magic that he and Sylvara had maintained at Elmshadow when Evestani had first assaulted it, except expanded to encompass the entirety of the city of Cliff. It was stretched and oblong, sealing off the city, the harbor, the Grand Old Church, and a good half of the mountainside that gave Cliff its name.

The magic stemmed from the garrison, blooming out from the mountainside building.

Ripples and cracks formed as bright points on the dome flashed in the direction of the harbor. It was only then that he realized where the commotion was coming from.

There were no golden rays, no statues of gold, no Evestani armies marching through the streets.

Out beyond the protective dome, far out at sea, he spotted the source of the commotion. At first, he had thought they were nothing more than large fishing vessels. Fishing was one of Cliff’s main sources of food. The harbor always had numerous vessels coming and going. He had been awed by them upon first arriving at Cliff, but after having been around as often as he had, they were a simple and regular part of the scenery.

Today, those ships were gone. Sunk, perhaps, by the trio of large vessels out in the distance.

These were no ordinary vessels. Even from this distance, Arkk could see that they dwarfed the fishing boats he was accustomed to. They were sleek, dark, and menacing, with bright white sails underneath black flags. All three were angled so that the broadsides of the vessels were aimed at the city. As he watched, bright flashes of light cascaded along the side of the lead ship. Moments after, more ripples cascaded across the dome’s surface.

“What are those?” Arkk asked. “Pirates?”

He had heard tales of the raiders of the high seas from people who passed through Langleey Village. Such stories were few and far between, however. Most mercenaries and travelers who visited the village weren’t the sort to go out on the oceans and, in turn, sailors didn’t often visit Langleey. Still, everyone had heard of pirates.

Had they heard of the troubles Cliff was going through and thought it might be an easy raiding target?

But Lui was shaking her head. “Not pirates,” she said, her voice grim. “The ships are too well armed.”

“It isn’t Evestani,” Arkk said, squinting to try to see the emblem on the flag. Without a spyglass or crystal ball, it was just too far to see clearly. Still, he felt confident in that statement. Not including their base foot soldiers, who Hawkwood suspected were hastily pressed conscripts, Evestani had a habit of slathering gold color on everything.

None of the inquisitors with him offered an answer. They didn’t have anything that would let them see easier either.

“We’ll head to the garrison,” Lui said, “and ensure that they can operate the defenses for a length of time.”

Lui didn’t stick around for any responses. She, the chronicler, and the purifier hurried off, breaking into a hasty jog as they made their way down the street.

For a moment, it looked like Sylvara was going to head out with them. Arkk knew from experience that Sylvara had the magical capacity to keep up with even him while operating a ritual circle. But she hesitated, looking back to the harbor. Or, more specifically, the Grand Old Church. The tall spire was missing entirely and a chunk of the rounded front had collapsed. A column of smoke drifted off into the dome.

Arkk knew he had a bit of a different perspective on the Abbey compared to most but he knew that even if she disagreed with their practices, Sylvara still had friends among the Abbey. “Go,” he said. “Do what you need to do.”

“And you?”

“I assume the city has some way of fighting back on its own,” he said, somewhat uncertain. There were the great ballistae at the city gates, but those were intended to repel an army coming down the relatively narrow pass, not defend from the sea. There weren’t any obvious defenses near the harbor. “I’ll gather who I can from my people.”

Agnete, the spellcaster team—with the bombardment rituals being affixed within the Walking Fortress, they would have to help out with what defensive and offensive magics the garrison had—and all the soldiers he could rally from Al-Mir. If these ships tried to land and drop off soldiers, they would be in for a surprise. Priscilla was nearing the portal in the Underworld as well, carrying Leda and…

Well, Arkk wasn’t too sure how to feel about what those two had been up to. It would be something to figure out once they arrived. But if they could help here…

“Weren’t you trying to keep your relation to Katja a secret?” Sylvara asked.

Arkk pressed his lips together. “I’m not going to stand aside while people’s lives are at stake for pragmatism. Besides, Company Al-Mir has fought to defend the people of Mystakeen. Katja, Duke Woldair. It doesn’t matter who is in charge.”

“Being able to deploy a force within minutes of the attack is going to raise questions. With the Prince’s imminent arrival, your forces occupying part of the city will raise even more. I’m not saying to stand around and watch, but simply to act intelligently about it.”

Arkk hummed, accepting her advice for what it was. It got him thinking, however. “Does this have anything to do with the Prince, do you think? These aren’t his ships, are they? Come to soften up the city before his forces arrive?”

Sylvara looked back to the harbor and slowly shook her head. “I don’t believe so. The flags, the black and white, don’t match with either the Principality of Vaales—who favor red and gold—or the predominantly blue Kingdom of Chernlock.”

“I suppose it is good that he isn’t sieging his kinsmen… But I doubt he’ll be happy to arrive in the city like this.”

“If we were hoping to have him in a good mood—”

Sylvara cut off as a series of large cracking fissures split through the protective dome. The entire spell wavered, flickered, and fell as the cracks merged together. Several more flashes on the sides of the ships, followed by loud, thundering bangs echoing over the city. Fresh fires erupted throughout the streets, shaking the ground. Most seemed focused on Katja’s manor, but a separate magical spell around the manor kept it safe.

As soon as the volley of attacks subsided, the dome over the city blossomed anew. Perhaps Lui had made it and was now standing in place.

Sylvara said nothing more. With a curt nod to Arkk, she took off in a sprint through the city, leaving Arkk behind.

She didn’t want Arkk overtly showing his hand. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be prepared for the worst. Turning, he headed back into the academy. It took a bit of pushing to get through the crowd of people who stepped outside and immediately started gaping at the sight of the city being attacked. Without the inquisitors clearing the way, he had to do a bit of pushing and shoving. At least for a moment.

His anger must have gotten the best of him. A red light tinged his surroundings. Once that happened, everyone did their best to clear his path. He considered trying to calm himself down, glowing eyes were a bit notable even in the chaos, but it was too useful.

The crowd thinned out and, before long, Arkk found himself back in the winding corridors that had been left vacant for centuries. He walked past the room that they had been using for their meeting and to a long corridor without any apparent doors. Apparent doors being the keyword.

Utilizing a small bit of mind magic, courtesy of Savren, nobody would see anything amiss with the large blank wall. They would walk right past it. Even Agnete on the hunt wouldn’t notice.

Arkk pushed into the wall, opening a door to a room containing a teleportation ritual circle.

In a few quick hops, he was back at Fortress Al-Mir. He quickly checked through all the local employees, their current readiness state, and any other assets he had available. Both Luthor at Elmshadow and Harvey at Al-Mir were trying to get his attention. He didn’t have to guess what his scrying team wanted to tell him, but he still teleported straight to Harvey.

The flopkin jolted at his sudden arrival but quickly collected himself.

“Sir! Movement at Moonshine Burg. Evestani is advancing across Mystakeen again.”

That removed most doubt Arkk had about the allegiance of the ships at Cliff, though he still wasn’t sure why they lacked the golden eagle of Evestani on their flag. “Toward Elmshadow?”

“Too early to tell. They only set out a short while ago.”

“Keep me updated,” Arkk said. As he spoke, he dropped a small stone beside Luthor’s station at the Walking Fortress. A pre-arranged indicator that he heard the call for attention and was deliberately disregarding it for the time being. Through the employee link, he could see Luthor’s crystal ball showing off the same army movements that Harvey’s was. “I need—”

“There is one other thing, Sir.”

“Cliff? I know.”

“Cliff?” Harvey said, sounding confused. He shook his head, sending his long, rabbit-like ears flopping about his head. “No, this.”

Leaning over the crystal ball, Harvey changed the view to focus on a part of the army that had Arkk scowling in confusion. There were… hundreds of soldiers. But they didn’t look like Evestani troops. They wore solid black armor with long white capes. The armor was high quality. He could tell just from a glance that it was far, far beyond the roughshod armor that most Evestani conscripts received.

Their elite force? Held in reserve until now? It seemed strange that they wouldn’t have brought them out while reinforcing Elmshadow before Arkk’s attack, but…

He frowned, narrowing his eyes. The large pauldrons each wore had a symbol on their shoulders. Nine white swords arrayed around a ring, pointed outwards. None had a single fleck of gold anywhere.

Arkk reached out, taking control of the crystal ball. He redirected its viewpoint to Cliff, focusing on the ships assaulting the city. Harvey made a slight squeaking sound upon seeing the attack, but Arkk ignored him. He focused on the flags over the battleships.

Black with nine white swords arrayed around a ring.

“Well,” Arkk said. “That answers that.”

“That’s it?”

“What were you expecting, elf? Everything in this world lies in ruins. You thought this would be different?”

Alya narrowed her eyes at Olatt’an, but he brushed it off.

They were here. They were finally here.

The lost city of Iuzz’ovra. Said to be the homeland of the orcs. Legend held that it was once a grand and beautiful land. Now it sat in silent desolation. Iuzz’ovra was designed to be in harmony with the peculiar environment of the Underworld. Similar to the cathedrals of the Cloak of Shadows or the towering mobile fortress that Arkk had moved to the portal entrance, its buildings were crafted from stones that seemed to absorb the faint everlasting twilight of the realm.

He could only imagine what it had looked like in its prime.

Time and fate had not been kind to the once-thriving city. Like much of the Underworld, pillars and buildings had crumbled and fallen. The roads had been buried beneath a layer of the wasteland’s sand and dirt. Hulking metal monstrosities, vaguely shaped like humanoids, sat rusted and broken throughout the city. A fortification stood tall as the dominant feature of the city’s skyline. Once upon a time, it might have rivaled the grandeur of the Bastion City in Chernlock or Cliff’s own Grand Old Church. Now, a full quarter of it had crumbled completely and the remainder stood at a precarious lean, feeling as if a slight breeze might send the rest of it tumbling to the ground.

That crumbled portion of the fortification allowed him to see something that stood behind. A great crystalline archway that peeked just around the side of the fortification. A silvery, rippling surface like a pool turned on its side occupied the interior of the arch.

Years, decades… eons of lost lore and history. All that cultural enrichment unfortunately paled in comparison to the archway.

“Well, elf. You told me of your people’s legends. Perhaps it is time to find out if my people’s legends hold some truth. Perhaps I can still succeed where you failed.”

 

 

“There are three methods through which the Abbey of the Light creates countermeasures for abominations. Each depends on the level of access we have to the subject.”

Sylvara Astra sat atop an unused desk in the back of Cliff’s magical academy. While she maintained her air of professionalism, she also seemed far more relaxed than any other time Arkk had seen her. Given that those other times involved a siege, limb loss, and long recovery, he wasn’t all that surprised by the ease in her demeanor.

On the other hand, Inquisitrix Lui sat perfectly still, watching with narrowed eyes and arms crossed over her chest. Whenever Arkk glanced in her direction, he found himself on the receiving end of a glare that could level mountains. He wasn’t entirely certain that Sylvara’s decision to include her was the right one. It felt like the first wrong question or comment would get that tattooed purifier set on him.

“Ideally, we have direct and cooperative access to subjects. Purifier Irina here,” Sylvara continued, waving a lazy hand at the purifier, who sat just to Lui’s side, still looking content with the situation. “She approached the Abbey, asking for help sealing an uncontrollable power. That allowed a progressive, mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…”

“She’s a luck vampire, among other things,” Lui answered with a stilling glare toward Sylvara, clearly not intending to offer anything more detailed than that.

She didn’t need to. Among the pantheon, Arkk knew of only one figure that would be associated with Luck. The Fickle Wheel. The god of luck, misfortune, and random chance. Patron god of gamblers everywhere, at least back in Vezta’s day.

Vampire carried some implications. Namely, that of a creature that feasted on other beings, mostly humans and demihumans. There were said to be vampires inhabiting the forest near Darkwood Burg, as well as other places, but Arkk had never actually encountered one. Supposedly, they could blend in with demihumans to the point where it was difficult to discover one.

A luck vampire would, logically, feast on the luck of others, diminishing their luck to raise her own? Uncontrollably, if Irina had needed the Abbey’s help in getting the ability under control. Arkk couldn’t picture luck as some kind of commodity that could be moved between people, nor what tangible effects losing or gaining luck could have.

Luck and misfortune were just terms to describe whether or not the outcome of a situation was beneficial or detrimental. At least, in general use. How such terms might behave under the power of a supposed god of luck was another question entirely.

Either that one ability was so destructive or otherwise inconvenient that Irina had to find help dealing with it… or there was more to her abilities. Given the way Lui shut down the question before he managed to ask it fully, Arkk was betting on the latter.

Still, it was a basepoint for potentially dealing with that ability.

“Through various methods of research,” Sylvara continued, “the Abbey’s Binding Specialists developed a ritual array that would vent conceptual luck back into the environment, effectively nullifying the danger posed.”

Arkk’s eyes flicked up to the glowing tattoos that adorned Irina’s forehead. They didn’t look like any ritual array that he was familiar with. Perhaps that was the point. If luck was a commodity, couldn’t an array like that be used on anyone to diminish their luck and, perhaps, raise that of someone else? The Abbey wouldn’t want that kind of magic out in public, able to be studied by anyone like Zullie who happened to spot it.

Presumably, it could be turned off somehow, allowing the purifier to carry out her job.

“Tybalt represents the second method of creating a Binding Agent. Uncooperative capture. While Tybalt’s ability was devastating, it required specific motions of his hands. Thus, the Abbey was able to capture him and study him simply by keeping his hands locked in iron gloves. The manacles developed to counteract his abilities did not have any benefit as Irina’s tattoos do. They utilized a planar array to redirect the magic his body produced into an alternate plane.”

For some reason, Arkk wasn’t surprised to hear that the Abbey engaged in anathema like planar magic. He simply nodded his head. “And the third method, I presume, is for when you lack any access to the avatar?”

“Correct,” Sylvara said, drumming her gloved hand against the top of the desk as she leaned back against the wall. “It essentially involves creating active items that work to counteract abilities, often using the principle of polar opposites. For example, a marble made of magical ice to shut down intense flames.”

It was Arkk’s turn to narrow his eyes. Agnete had never shared much about her past. In fact, she rarely talked of her time with the inquisitors—never spoke of a time before that—only offering information about the inquisitors when asked. He knew that, before contracting with him, she had not handled the presence of flames well.

It was easy to imagine a young woman, swept up in the intoxicating power, dragging a burning wall of flames behind her as she walked from one end of the Kingdom to the other. But that wasn’t who she was today. Hearing about her past, especially outside her presence, felt like a violation.

For a moment, Arkk thought Sylvara had seen something in his expression. She stopped talking, shifting in discomfort. It wasn’t until he noted the readying postures of Lui and her chronicler that Arkk realized a red hue had overtaken most of the room. Even the calm purifier shifted, moving her hand toward the waist of her long coat.

Closing his eyes, taking a breath, and reopening them, Arkk noted the lack of red. “Let’s not discuss Agnete for the moment and focus more on the how. Specifically the how this relates to the Heart of Gold’s avatar.”

“Very well,” Sylvara said. “This last method is often hit-or-miss. Sometimes doing nothing at all. Other times killing the subject outright. There isn’t usually much time or many opportunities to test the objects before use.”

“I don’t particularly care if we kill the avatar. Or, rather, killing the avatar would probably be a positive.”

“Normally, if the object is ineffective, the Abbey simply tries a second time. Or third. Or tenth… However, this case is slightly less advantageous to us. If we reveal our hand without success, the avatar will know we’re working to counteract his powers. He has an entire nation at his back, researchers, personnel, and material. He isn’t some loner out causing havoc that has no support.”

Arkk nodded his head. “Best not act prematurely.”

“The first step is identifying the true nature of the ability. Something like fire is fairly obvious. Other things aren’t. The abilities that the avatar of Evestani displays are wild and varied, far more so than typical purifiers, with little theme aside from the color.”

“That might be a problem for an ignorant observer, but we know that this is the avatar of the Heart of Gold. The god of wealth, greed, gold, purity, and possessions.”

“Which allows us to better identify the true counter for the ability,” Sylvara finished. “After that, we develop an object, usually utilizing more planar magic, that embodies, produces, or otherwise leaks the ability’s counter.”

Arkk looked upward, thinking. There were sixteen members of the Pantheon, according to Vezta. But thinking over the names, he wasn’t sure that they all had direct counters. Some were obvious. The Holy Light and the Cloak of Shadows seemed like they would counteract each other. As Sylvara had mentioned Agnete, the Burning Forge and the Eternal Permafrost were fairly obvious. He knew for a fact that the ice marble was, in some way, related to the Permafrost simply because of how Priscilla reacted to it.

But…

Blinking, Arkk looked back down. “The ice marble is linked to the Permafrost? Directly, I mean.” He knew it was linked, but for it to be a bit of planar magic—magic bridging the planes…

“I was able to peruse the development records for Purifier Agnete’s Binding Agent. It is a solidified piece of planar magic linked to a realm of… well, ice, essentially. There is no mention of any other deities in any of the Abbey’s records.”

Arkk pondered over the latter half of what Sylvara said. The marble was planar magic from a realm of ice, presumably some kind of minor, mobile portal structure that could be opened, unleashing that ice.

He had access to the Underworld. Could he make a Cloak of Shadows marble? Something that blasted darkness around instead of ice?

That was something to think about. Zullie had become somewhat obsessed with Xel’atriss, but perhaps this would be a good way to get her on an alternative project.

“I’ll get Vezta’s opinion on which of the Pantheon is most opposed to the Heart of Gold. She’ll know better than anyone,” Arkk said, opening his eyes once again. “Once we have a target, how do we create the object?”

Sylvara didn’t respond right away. She had a look on her face like she didn’t want to deliver bad news. “For that, I have to hope that your esoteric researchers will have some ideas,” she said after a moment. “I know some of the how, but I would need access to the plane. The way the Abbey does it is to use our oracles to hone in on the requisite plane.”

“And getting access to an oracle will be difficult, I presume?”

“Practically speaking? Impossible.”

Arkk almost said that he had done a lot of impossible things in the last year. Convincing someone to work with him—or kidnapping someone and forcing them to help—sounded like a small bump in the road compared to traversing to the Underworld or conversing with a god. Still, he would probably have asked Zullie first before trying to get more help from the Abbey, so no point mentioning that in front of Lui.

He could tell just from the aura around her that Sylvara was spilling more of the Abbey’s secrets and methods than she would prefer.

“I’ll have to see what they can come up with,” Arkk said.

“There is something that might help with that,” Sylvara said, reaching back behind the table to lug up a narrow metal container. “Before I left, the High Librarian came to me, saying that she had an object in one of the archives that could possibly assist with my task.”

“You discussed this with other people?”

“No,” Sylvara said as she unlatched the metal case’s lid. “But Vrox and I often went to the High Librarian when we needed to find certain tomes for our research. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out what we were planning based on that.”

Cracking open the lid, Sylvara carefully reached both hands into the container. She withdrew a large chunk of vaguely yellow iridescent crystal. It was larger at one end and narrower at the other, like a wedge that didn’t merge into a single point. A large rune was carved into one side, though Arkk didn’t recognize the symbol.

“I’m not sure what this is,” Sylvara said. “The High Librarian said that someone I choose to share it with might know. So, Arkk. Know what it is?”

He had an idea, though he wasn’t sure how he would utilize it. Zullie might know, however.

It was a part of a portal. The large crystalline archway in Fortress Al-Mir was made of the same material. It also had runes scrawled across it. Judging by its shape, it was something like a keystone.

Arkk didn’t open his mouth. Lui and her chronicler were staring at him just as much as Sylvara, if not more. Even if they did want the avatar dead and Evestani stopped, just outright admitting that he had some high anathema magics so easily accessible seemed foolish.

“Possibly,” Arkk settled on, looking back to Sylvara. “I’ll have to consult with my researchers to be certain.”

Looking disappointed, Sylvara replaced the crystal in its container. “In that case, I suppose we should get to the crux of why we’re here. Not that these other things aren’t important to discuss…”

He pressed his lips together, wondering if there was another topic he could shift to. On the walk over to the academy from the slums, he had already gone over the small talk, politely asking how the journey from Chernlock was and what the weather was like down there at this time of year.

Dry and chilly, apparently. Arkk had never been, but he did know most of Chernlock was a desert. Most of the population down there built along the central river that cut through the land, one of the three great oases, or along the coast.

“Regarding the coming disaster,” Sylvara said slowly.

Arkk sighed. He didn’t think anyone would blame him for wanting to put that talk off just a little longer.

“I presume it isn’t an immediate threat, or we would have focused on it first.”

Sylvara shifted, then glanced over to Lui.

The other inquisitrix pursed her lips, then said, “Oracles do not provide a precise analysis of any situation. But the closer to the present an event is, the clearer their description will be. As portents of events to come may appear suddenly and without warning, they are surrounded at all times by chroniclers whose duties include nothing more than writing down everything that goes on in the oracle’s life. Any event is then sent to the interpreters for…”

“Interpretation?” Arkk guessed.

Lui narrowed her eyes, then looked to the unassuming man who had thus far not said a word. Chronicler Klink reached into the vest of his coat and pulled out a rather thick notebook, bound in black leather. Reaching into the other side of his coat, he pulled out a single monocle and, squinting with both eyes, peered down into his book.

He cleared his throat.

“Under a veil of sorrow, the ground does quake, Its heartbeat stutters, fearing the ache. Hope’s flame wanes thin beneath night’s heavy shawl, While a mournful wind’s cry foretells the fall.

“The wave advances, not of water, but of will, seeking to take, to conquer, to kill. Yet, beneath the surface, where currents collide, the solution lies in darkness, to confide.

“In a time when day bleeds into night, and the stars hide, fearing the coming light. A guardian rises, not from myth or lore, holding the key to a long-locked door.

“A beacon for the lost, in the darkest of fights, a secret bond forms of twilight heights. Joining in to dance where umbra exists, the keeper of lanes, In silent accord, illuminating borders, they forge chains. The storm’s fury grows and greed claims the day, hope seems but a whisper, swiftly swept away. Claiming every tomorrow, every dream, every stash, leaving echoes of a world in the gloom of the ash.”

Arkk, hands clenched together in unusual tension, waited for more. Another paragraph. Another line.

But Klink had other plans. With another slight clearing of his throat, he pulled the lens from the crook of his eye and placed it back in his pocket along with the leather-bound book. He looked up and around the room with his lips pursed into a thin smile.

“That’s it?” Arkk said.

“That’s it,” Klink said.

“Isn’t there a stanza missing? Some bit about how the world is saved in the end?”

“Most oracular insights aren’t quite so lengthy,” Klink continued. “Often, they’re far more relevant to upcoming events in the next week or month. This seems to encompass a great many events, an already difficult endeavor. To then see the outcome in the end would be unheard of.”

Arkk hissed out a pained sigh. “I don’t like the last line ending in gloom and ash.”

“I very much doubt the oracles care for your likes and dislikes.”

“Enough,” Lui cut in. “Arkk. Does anything stand out to you in particular?”

Practically every line had at least one word that could have meaning. Multiple meanings, if he spent any time trying to parse them out. But the biggest bit that struck him as something relevant had to be… “The third verse. A guardian rises, holding the key to a long-locked door?” He didn’t want to sound arrogant, but he felt that referred to him.

That single line could be interpreted in a dozen different ways. A long-locked door could easily refer to the portal to the Underworld. Xel’atriss, Lock and Key, who seemed to be mentioned indirectly, was the one to open that portal but now it was him who had access to it. And what was he if not someone who had risen from nothing to, now, guard the land from Evestani and the Golden Order?

The end of the previous verse mentioned a solution beneath the surface. If the guardian rising was related to that…

He looked around the room, feeling an odd knot in his stomach. Lui stared at him with that same ire that she had shown since first walking into the tavern. But now, he could detect a hint of resignation behind that gaze. Sylvara as well, though her gaze was more pitying than angry.

They caught that verse too. Whatever else the rest meant, they believed that one verse related to him. He didn’t know how they had come to that conclusion. Although Sylvara knew more than most because of his invitation to a meeting or two before she departed for Cliff and Chernlock, she shouldn’t know about the portal or the Lock and Key.

Sylvara would work with him until the Heart of Gold’s avatar suffered a final death. Lui, on the other hand, he had been uncertain about her presence here. Now it made more sense. She—both of them—believed he was the answer to this coming disaster.

“I don’t suppose your interpreters have better ideas than what I’m thinking,” Arkk said slowly, not holding out his hopes for anything.

“A revelation of this potency is unprecedented,” Klink said with a wistful smile. “The Ecclesiarch has quashed discussion of the matter until the interpreters have concluded their debates, but those are looking rather endless at this point. They don’t even rhyme, normally,” he added as a delightful afterthought.

“The only reason we are aware,” Sylvara said, gesturing from herself to Lui with her gloved hand, “is that Vrox heard these words in person and sent the letter to Cliff ahead of my arrival. As a close confidant of mine, Lui received it and… read it without realizing it wasn’t meant for her eyes. Though it wasn’t until I arrived and was able to explain a few things that we came to this joint effort.”

“I merely seek the truth of the matter,” Lui said, back stiffening. “The oracles are attempting to gather as much information as possible to make their operations as reliable as possible.”

“You’re going to inform them of your findings, I take it?” Arkk asked.

“Naturally. The sooner this can be parsed correctly…”

The sooner Lui could assault him without fear of ruining the one hope mentioned in all that drivel. Assuming they found some other guardian.

Frankly, he would be happy if they did. There were enough weights on his back as it was. He didn’t need to add the weight of the entire world onto it as well.

“In any case, the interpreters are still arguing,” Sylvara said. “We don’t know what form this disaster will take or even how soon it will occur. It might not be until well after our lifetimes. There are only three prophecies of similar magnitude in all of the Abbey’s history and none of them were retroactively assigned events for centuries after their original inception.”

“Given my luck,” he said with a small glance at the purifier, “the world is going to end tomorrow morn—”

A sharp jolt of a quake kicked the floor, shaking the books from the shelves and knocking dust from the ceiling.

Arkk was on his feet immediately, as were the inquisitors, though he almost tumbled to the floor as a second jolt shook the academy.

He waited, stance wide and steady. But no third quake hit the room. That did nothing to ease the tension.

Sylvara’s red eyes swiveled in his direction. “You were saying?”

Arkk just grit his teeth. “Maybe luck is real after all,” he mumbled to himself.

 

 

 

The chamber, dimly lit by specially tuned glowstones to keep the light levels low, was thick with the scent of magic. It was practically tangible, more akin to the air in the Underworld. It was a different sort of magic, however, yet one familiar to Arkk. Now that he was experiencing it for a third time, he could easily pick up on Xel’atriss, Lock and Key’s touch of magic in the air.

Claire, once a formidable dark elf warrior, now lay vulnerable on the bed. Her body, wracked by the unseen forces of the god of boundaries, barriers, and separation, had an almost imperceptible layer of ghostly shimmering covering every visible part of her. Project Liminal was designed to explore the limits of physical and magical realms.

Claire hadn’t lost her eyes over it, but the way she stared around the room, eyes tracking things that Arkk couldn’t perceive, made him wonder if she hadn’t lost something more.

“How are you feeling?” Arkk asked, his voice soft and concerned. He watched, already able to hear Kia’s irritated voice telling them both that she had told them so.

Claire turned her head to face him. Ghostly trails of afterimages followed the motion, each moving ever so slightly out of sync with her head. A lock of hair fell in a different place in one. In another, her face twisted in a grimace. A hundred different afterimages blurred together until they merged back with her actual head.

The afterimages didn’t stop there. They lurched upward, bending and twisting in silvery, translucent shapes that blurred and shifted into an indistinct blob. Arkk watched, feeling ill at ease yet forcing himself to stand firm. He was the one who had brought her here. He had a responsibility to Claire.

The movement of the ghostly shapes coalesced into one, slowly gaining definition as more and more settled into place. At the end of it, Claire was left sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows propped up on her knees with her head held in her hands.

“Dizzy,” she said, the one word multiplying in the air around the small chamber as if spoken by a dozen different versions of Claire at once. “Better than I was yesterday.”

“Quite a remarkable recovery,” Zullie said, stepping forward from her perch at the back wall. “In a week, I imagine you’ll be back to your old self. Mentally, if not physically.”

“I’ve meticulously mended her mind, merging multiple meandering memories into a single, seamless self,” Savren said. “From this frontier, her fate hinges wholly on herself.”

“Multiple memories?” Arkk asked, raising an eyebrow. He hadn’t heard anything like that during Zullie’s briefing on Project Liminal.

“Claire is currently experiencing reality on several different layers and can act independently on each of those layers,” Zullie said, sparing Arkk from having to parse Savren’s curse. “I should have expected it, but each version of herself had its own separate thoughtstream that stemmed from the… Claire Prime. Savren performed a little magic to help merge them into one contiguous thoughtstream, which has helped with her… recovery.”

“I see,” Arkk said, not quite sure what he saw. “Was it…” He looked from Zullie to Claire. “Was it worth it? Or…”

“You tell me,” Zullie said, reaching into her pocket. She withdrew a dozen smooth river stones, all gripped in her fist. “Claire, don’t get hit.”

Without any further warning for the impaired dark elf, Zullie flung the entire fistful of rocks.

Arkk, surprised at the sudden attack, teleported backward out of the way of more than a few that had gone wide, only to realize that he had left Claire completely exposed to the rain of stones. He tried to teleport her away, only for his grip on her to slip as her form blurred with thousands of ghostly afterimages.

The ghostly versions of Claire raised their hands, each moving in a different place. For just a bare instant, those hands solidified one after another the moment the rocks hit before fading back into ghostly afterimages. The rocks fell harmlessly to the ground. The blurred versions of Claire merged back into one, leaving her right where she had been before Zullie threw the rocks, sitting on the side of her bed with her head in her hands.

“Good,” Zullie said, glasses gleaming in front of her eyeless sockets. “Now catch.” Pinching a blade between her fingers, Zullie drew back and flung it across the room. The clumsy throw couldn’t compare to the accuracy Lexa could wield. Even before it left her grip, Arkk could tell that it would go wide.

But the ghostly shimmerings twisted and moved to push the blur that was Claire into the way. A few looked like they got hit, but the blade passed through them without apparent harm. One afterimage grabbed hold of the hilt, solidifying for just an instant before snapping back to Claire.

Claire transitioned from sitting on the bed to standing in a ready pose without actually crossing the intervening space. She just reappeared where one of the afterimages had been, now holding onto the knife.

“And slice,” Zullie said, tossing a much larger stone across the room.

Once again, Claire’s afterimages moved while leaving Claire Prime in her stance. A few stumbled and staggered, looking more intoxicated than anything else, but several still managed to swing the knife Claire now held down on the stone.

Arkk wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. The blade had looked entirely mundane in Zullie’s hands. No matter how sharp it was, it would have just clanged off the stone. Or, since the stone was moving, just knocked it down while likely chipping and dulling the metal.

The stone split clean in two.

Claire wasn’t done there. Another afterimage was already in position, swinging the blade horizontally to cut the two halves into four. Those afterimages multiplied, each swinging at the stone until nothing was left but dust drifting to the floor.

Claire stood, all the ghosts of herself collapsing into one. She straightened her shoulders, looking down at the remnants of the rock with something akin to utter disdain. Arkk could only imagine that she was picturing the golden knight in its place. Her moment of victory didn’t last long before she blurred once again, with all the versions of herself looking like they were retching onto the floor.

The real her wiped at her lips with a foul grimace. “I think I just threw up in a thousand different ways.”

“Not surprising,” Zullie said. “At least you held yourself together for the entire demonstration this time. Get some rest.”

Claire nodded her head. One of her dropped the knife on the table while the rest just sort of drifted back to the bed where she reformed properly, already underneath the blanket.

Zullie looked to Arkk. Even without eyes, she managed an expectant look.

Deciding to not disturb Claire further, or allow Zullie to throw more things at her, Arkk teleported himself, Savren, and Zullie to the adjoining laboratory room. Zullie’s primary workshop deep within Fortress Al-Mir. Arcane sigils and half-formed ritual circles covered practically every surface while papers and tomes had been left scattered on tables, chairs, and even the floor.

“Well? Impressed?”

Considering for a short moment, Arkk allowed himself a nod of his head. “If she recovers fully, I’ll be very impressed. To the point where I’ll wonder if you can’t do that to me.”

“She’s sensed a semblance of separation, seemingly sprung from her less-than-singular sensation of reality. Such severance may steadfastly stay, scarcely subsiding.”

“Claire has expressed feeling like she doesn’t quite belong,” Zullie clarified. “Like she’s living outside where everyone else is living. I presume this is a mental issue,” she dismissed with a shrug. “Time will tell whether she gets over it or not.”

Arkk pressed his lips together. Of course, there was a greater issue.

“Continuing your concept,” Savren said, “your connection to the core constitutes a challenge that could render such risky research applied to you remarkably… risky.”

“My connection… The Heart?” Arkk asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Claire doesn’t exactly exist in our layer of reality as much as she used to. It isn’t a problem for her, metaphysically speaking, but for you? Well, I don’t know much about these Hearts, but we do have an example in Priscilla regarding what happens if you break them. And you, Arkk, are far less hardy than a dragonoid.”

“Right,” Arkk said. Claire was still his employee, he could sense that much. But the way his attempt to teleport her out of harm’s way had failed… “No experimenting with anything that might break the Heart or my connection to it.”

“In any case,” Zullie said, “with the obvious success of Project Liminal, I was wondering if you might be reinterested in revisiting Project Sunder. It’s based partially on the same principles, so…”

“For now, focus on Claire. I…” Arkk pursed his lips together. The Prince was practically at Cliff already. If the man decided to summon his demon, their best bet for dealing with it wasn’t out of bed. “I need to get to Cliff.”

There were a few meetings he needed to conduct before the Prince’s arrival.

Arkk glanced up and down the empty street deep within the slums near Cliff’s harbor. Most of the general population wouldn’t recognize him. Being completely unseen wasn’t his goal, otherwise he would have tunneled as far as he could before surfacing. He just needed to make sure he avoided anyone associated with the Abbey of the Light. Or Lady Katja.

He would visit her later, after his current task was finished.

For now, he made his way through the narrow, winding alleys, wrinkling his nose at the smell in the air. The salt-sea air stung at his nose, mixing with the stench of refuse and stagnation. Streams of murky water meandered along the uneven cobblestones. The buildings, a patchwork of salvaged wood, stone, and metal, leaned against one another for support, all slowly rotting away from the salty air.

Not much had changed since Arkk’s last visit to Cliff. It was a bit disappointing to see. He knew Katja wasn’t going to focus on rebuilding the district in which most of the city’s non-humans lived, but he had been hoping that some positive changes would sweep through simply because of the Duke’s absence. Then again, it had only been a month. Two? How long had it been?

Time seemed to have slipped away from him. He had been so focused on Elmshadow, both before and after retaking it from Evestani, that the days had blurred together.

Either way, no change would happen overnight. If, in a year, the slums were still as they were today, he might put a little pressure on Katja to improve conditions. Assuming the city hadn’t fallen under rays of gold or been torn to shreds by the claws of a demon.

The muscular form of a hulking minotaur came up the alley as Arkk walked down it. Minotaurs were rare, something he had only heard of in stories. He didn’t think any lived outside the lands of the Beastmen Tribes further west even Evestani. They were tall beings—not as tall as the Protector’s bodies, but still tall enough to see the roofs of the shorter buildings around the slums. Where Protectors were thin and lithe, more like spiders, minotaurs were the exact opposite, thick and bulky with layers of muscle. Their skin was more like stone and the coarse fur that grew across their bodies was thick enough to stop an arrow.

Seeing it, Arkk almost offered it a job on the spot.

But he wasn’t here for recruitment today. He simply stepped aside, letting the minotaur pass. Each footfall of its hooves shook the ground. As soon as it was on its way, Arkk leaned down to the shadow trailing after him.

“Do you think you can find that one later, maybe feel out for any interest in working with us?”

Lexa pulled back her hood just enough for Arkk to see her red eyebrow half up her forehead. “I think it would be hard not to find a minotaur. Did you see the size of that thing? I’m as big as its thumb.”

She was exaggerating. Though, perhaps from the perspective of a gremlin, it really felt like that.

“I wonder what it is doing here,” Lexa continued with a small hum.

“Might be another thing to find out,” Arkk said. It wasn’t just the distance from the Beastmen Tribes that was odd. Demihumans and the more humanoid beastmen were generally accepted in human-occupied towns and villages—or, in Cliff, perhaps tolerated was the right word. But the further a species strayed from human, the less likely they would find themselves welcome. They either had to be unassuming and obviously not threats, like flopkin, or they had to be useful, like harpies.

Arkk didn’t believe for a moment that minotaurs were rampaging bulls ready to go wild at the slightest provocation. But the fact that it could crush someone under its hoof and probably only notice as an afterthought would frighten a great many humans… and likely others as well. Gremlins, for instance.

“After our meeting, see what you can find out.”

“Sure thing.”

It wasn’t long before they arrived at their destination. A run-down old tavern that looked like the mold and mildew were holding it together more than the nails jutting out from its wooden planks at odd angles. Strangely enough, it wasn’t far from the Primrose Inn, which was in far better shape. The Primrose tried for at least a mild air of welcoming.

This, The Burned Cauldron, looked like it was trying to ward off customers.

Arkk stepped inside and immediately coughed at the smoke-filled air. He wafted his hand back and forth in front of his face. It didn’t help. Narrowing his eyes, he looked around and found his target seated in the far back corner. He was leaning half out of his chair to reach toward another table, trying to slip a coin purse off an orc’s belt.

“Lovely,” Arkk mumbled to himself as he made his way across the room. With the chair tipped back on two legs, all it took was a light knock of his boot to tip the chair all the way over.

With a yelp and a flailing of his arms, Edvin crashed to the ground.

The orc, realizing that Edvin had his hand around the now-freed sack of coins, stood and started for a small dagger on his belt. Before he could even touch it, Lexa was perched on his shoulders with the tip of her blade pressed against his throat. The orc went utterly still, as did the rest of the room as they focused on the commotion.

Sighing, Arkk bent and plucked the coin purse from Edvin’s hand. “We have business with your friend here,” he said to the orc, tossing the pouch at its owner. “Get out.”

“You can’t just—”

Lexa dug the tip of her blade further into his throat. She barely avoided breaking his skin. Speaking the wrong word a little too carelessly would have made him cut himself.

The orc grimaced. “Sure,” he agreed easily, trying to hiss the word without moving his throat.

Lexa hopped off the orc’s shoulders with a nod from Arkk. Her cloak, adjusted so that she was more real than a transparent shadow, fluttered lightly as she stood atop the table. The orc looked like he was considering drawing his dagger again but, as his eyes roamed over that cloak, he decided on the wiser course of action. Grabbing a wooden flagon from the table, he hurried away.

Arkk turned his glare down on Edvin, who was brushing himself off as he righted his chair.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to disturb a man while he is working?” the thief grumbled.

“My mother died when I was five.”

Edvin shifted, looking uncomfortable for all of five seconds, then hastily retook his seat. “Well, it would have been less attention-grabbing if you had just let me finish.”

Arkk couldn’t deny that. Conversations around the small tavern had started back up again. He could tell that almost everyone still had their eyes on this corner.

Ah well. It wasn’t like they were going to be subtle for long. None of the people present were likely to go running to the Abbey or Katja anyway.

“It would have been less attention-grabbing if you had kept your hands to yourself,” Arkk said, sitting across the table from Edvin with his back to the wall, in clear view of the door. “I pay you to watch Katja, not steal from random people.”

Edvin lightly cleared his throat. “In fairness to me, I don’t think that purse belonged to the orc. The wear on the pouch didn’t match the rest of his attire. It was too new or well-cared for. Likely stolen from someone from a wealthier district of the city.”

Arkk sighed, long and slow. “Is there anything going on in the city that I care about?”

“Well, if you don’t care about crime rates in the city. Hmm… The Abbey of the Light has been acting strangely for the last… few weeks?”

“Stranger how?”

“See, they normally like being seen around doing things. Helping people, providing aid, and… assisting with life, I guess. Real altruistic sorts. But a few weeks ago, they shuttered the doors to all the churches in the city. The lowest acolytes are still around, maintaining the buildings and doing what little they can to carry on helping people, but there have been no Suun sermons, no sign of abbesses or priests or anyone above their standing around the city. No one but inquisitors,” Edvin hissed. “Been a number of them out at nights, moving around the city like they’re patrolling it.”

Arkk frowned, leaning back for a moment in thought. “They haven’t acted against Katja?”

“Nope. Had a meeting or two with her. They seem to want to play nice for now. One of my old buddies who’s stationed as a palace guard said that they came to warn her of potential threats to the city.”

“Palace?” Arkk started, only to shake his head. Whatever she wanted to call the Duke’s manor didn’t matter. “Warned of what? Demons?”

Edvin jolted in his seat. He promptly started looking around with obvious trepidation, as if the mere utterance of the word might bring down something unholy on their heads. “Good Light, no. Whatever gave you that idea?”

Arkk had warned Katja of the suspected dealings Prince Cedric had. But he supposed he had forgotten to warn Edvin. “It doesn’t matter. What was the meeting about?”

“It sure sounds like it matters. Why even bring those things up?”

“Edvin…”

The thief took in a breath, steadying himself. “I don’t know what the meeting was about, exactly. But it certainly wasn’t that. All I know is that Katja has been in and out of the local academy nearly every day.”

“She is a caster… One self-taught from books her old slave master had,” Arkk said slowly. “It isn’t a surprise that she would go looking for a bit more of a formal education.”

“The frequency and late hours suggest she is looking for something a little more specific,” Edvin countered. “Looking for something like how to stop… those?”

“Edvin, I’m sorry I brought anything up that made you uncomfortable. Try to forget it. It isn’t a problem yet.”

“Yet?” he squeaked.

Arkk was saved from having to say anything else with the tavern door slamming open. With his back to the wall, he didn’t need to turn to see the woman wearing a black long coat step through. She wore a large pair of round glasses that weren’t completely clear. The glass had a heavy amber tint.

Just over her shoulders, Arkk spotted two others. An unassuming man with a pendant dangling from his neck wearing attire that matched that of the inquisitor. He was bald with small, narrowed eyes as he looked around the room with suspicion. And, behind him…

Another woman. This woman, darker in skin tone than was typical of Mystakeen, likely hailed from either Chernlock or outside the kingdom entirely. Perhaps the same place as Katja. More important were the tattoos on her face and forehead. Arkk almost flung a lightning bolt the moment he saw their pale white glow, fearing the golden avatar had finally caught up to him. But the color was wrong and they were circular rather than rectangular.

They formed the familiar trio of inquisitor, chronicler, and purifier. Part of the Abbey of the Light, not his enemies.

He was still wary. The Abbey of the Light wasn’t exactly not his enemies. The fact that they were here…

“I thought you said the inquisition went out at night?” Arkk hissed as he tried to look eminently unimportant.

Edvin shrugged, his tense shoulders betraying the feelings behind the casual movement. “They were! How was I supposed to expect this?”

The purifier was the one to watch out for. Not that the other two could be dismissed easily, he had experienced that battle firsthand when Vrox and his chronicler invaded his fortress. Together, they had held off twenty combatants, including himself, Vezta, and gorgon. But they were a known factor. The purifier would have powerful magics that, until he saw what form those magics took, he wouldn’t even be able to guess at how to defend himself. Even then, based on Agnete and Tybalt’s magic, he wasn’t sure he would be able to defend himself regardless.

Despite his attempts at being just another unassuming patron of the run-down tavern, the inquisitor took one look around the room and promptly marched her way over.

The lack of magic flying through the air was something of a relief. If they knew who he was, they would know how dangerous he was. He held no doubts that Vrox had reported on his shortened castings for lightning bolts, if nothing else. Which meant this was hopefully nothing more than a social call.

Edvin hissed back, “Should have just let me take the coin purse. Then that orc wouldn’t have gone crying to the Abbey.”

“That was two minutes ago. There is no way he got an inquisitor out here that fast.”

The inquisitor’s heavy boots thumped to a stop at the edge of Arkk’s table. “The oracles foresaw your arrival.”

“Did they now?” Arkk shot a victorious look at Edvin before smiling up at the inquisitor. “Well isn’t that lovely. If you wouldn’t mind passing along a message to your oracles that I don’t exactly like to be watched, I would very much appreciate it.”

“Noted,” the inquisitor said, tone utterly flat.

“So,” Arkk said, “to what do I owe the visit, Inquisitrix..?”

“Inquisitrix Lui is enough for you,” the woman said, planting her palms on the table as she looked between Arkk and Edvin. Despite Lexa slowly creeping around the side of the table, Lui didn’t spare the cloaked gremlin a single glance.

Arkk waited a moment. Once again, the entire tavern had gone silent. Beastmen and demihumans had their eyes on his little corner of the room. So much for not raising a commotion.

“As for the purpose of the visit,” Inquisitrix Lui continued, “there has been some division in the Abbey as of late.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” Arkk lied, not that he bothered to hide his sarcasm. If they were fighting among themselves, they weren’t fighting him. “I suppose you have a lot to deal with because of that,” he said, moving to stand. “I better not take up any more of your time.”

A new voice cut in from near the door. “Leaving already, Arkk? And here I came all this way…”

Arkk blinked twice. He had been focused on the inquisitorial squad in front of him, not on the door. A woman with white hair, red eyes, and a matching inquisitorial uniform stood. She ran one thick hand, gloved in brown leather, over her hair.

She was panting, ever so slightly, as if exhausted from a long run.

“Inquisitrix Astra?”

Sylvara Astra stepped into the room, clearly trying to hide her exhaustion as she strode over with a straight back. Her gait, somewhat lopsided thanks to Hale’s work in healing her missing leg, was just a little too unsteady.

“Astra?” Sylvara asked. “Who did you have writing your letters to me?”

“I wrote them myself,” Arkk said, though he paused as he remembered something. “Or Ilya, if you remember her.”

Sylvara frowned for a moment before flicking her red eyes over to her fellow inquisitors. “I asked you to wait for me.”

“I wished to see his reaction without your presence.”

Offering a small sigh, Sylvara shook her head and looked to Arkk. “This is Inquisitrix Vin Lui, Chronicler Klink, and Purifier Irina. They are… leaning toward a way of thinking that more closely aligns with that of my own rather than the majority of the Abbey.”

“Leaning is a generous way of putting it,” Lui said, narrowing her eyes. “I would prefer to judge and execute the situation as usual.”

Her emphasis didn’t fill Arkk with much confidence that they would be working closely together. That said, if they were going to at least act like friends for a short while, he wasn’t willing to turn that down. Especially not with them bringing him a new purifier to observe.

His eyes turned toward the purifier, taking a look at her tattoos a little closer now that he didn’t feel quite so paranoid about watching her hands. It was a bit strange. They certainly had a glow to them, but her eyes looked… mundane. Assuming all purifiers were avatars of the Pantheon, he had been ready to assume that all of them would have interesting eyes. Tybalt, Agnete, and the Heart of Gold’s avatar all had strange eyes that betrayed their power.

Arkk couldn’t help but wonder if there was something wrong with this Irina. Agnete had been volatile before contracting with him. Tybalt clearly had more than a few issues. The less said about the Heart of Gold’s avatar, the better.

But Irina stood in a fairly casual pose, her arms clasped behind her back. She looked… serene. At ease. As if the tension that had been flying about between him and Lui just wasn’t worth considering.

He tried to match that with the gods he knew of, trying to get just a little more information without directly asking.

The Eternal Silence was the only name that jumped out to him. But the god of death, sleep, and stillness didn’t quite fit with the calm ease that Irina gave off. Unknown, the Enigma? The Laughing Prince? Surely not the latter. If Vezta were here, her more in-depth knowledge of the Pantheon might have given her a clue. As it was, Arkk turned to Sylvara.

“You were researching other gods, right?”

“Vrox focused on that,” Sylvara said with a small shake of her head. “I was uncovering techniques used to seal the powers of abominations. Avatars.”

“Wouldn’t those two topics be related?” Arkk asked. “If the powers of avatars all stem from one of the gods, then—”

“As much as I would enjoy discussing the results of my weeks of research, we have a problem.” Sylvara paused, glanced around, then leaned in and whispered, “The oracles have predicted the arrival of a great devastation within the Duchy.”

Arkk felt his spirits sink. With the absence of the Heart of Gold’s avatar and the calming of the Duchy—at least Mystakeen east of Elmshadow—he had been hoping that things would continue to remain calm. There was just the Prince to worry about. Which was very likely what she was referring to.

Shooting a glance at Edvin, who was very much trying to pretend like they weren’t surrounded by inquisitors, he sighed.

“Yes,” Sylvara said, reading his mind. “This venue isn’t exactly the best for talking of such matters. If you would come with us.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere of my choosing,” Arkk said. “Not that I don’t trust you,” he said with a nod to Sylvara. “Just not sure that going places with inquisitors is in my best interests.”

It looked like Lui was going to argue, but a look from Sylvara stopped her shot. “Such as..?” Lui asked with a frown.

“Somewhere in the academy, perhaps? It has plenty of empty spaces in the back corridors where we won’t be overheard.”

“If being overheard is the greatest of your worries in the company of four inquisitors, you are a braver man than I anticipated,” Lui said. “Or a fool.”

“I’m hardly defenseless.” Even ignoring his abilities, which could take out an avatar if he managed to surprise them, not one of them had glanced toward the shadow creeping about at their backs. “But if your oracles predicted the arrival of this catastrophe,” he whispered, “it can’t be referring to me. I’ve been here the whole time. Thus, it makes more sense to work together, doesn’t it? Especially when I might know what this coming disaster refers to and am perfectly willing to help fight it. Neither of us should have to fear from the other.”

Lui hummed before she whirled away with a flourish of her long coat. Lexa managed to step aside just as the woman passed by, still going unnoticed. The chronicler and purifier followed without a word, both seeming at relative ease with the situation. After Arkk stood to follow, Sylvara gave him a nod.

“Try not to antagonize her too much,” she whispered. “I have never been one for hard doctrine when reality disagrees with sermon and you’ve somehow weaseled Vrox over to your side, but Lui is a staunch hardliner. Associating with a heretic like you is likely grating on her more than she shows.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arkk said, honestly. The less enemies he made, the better.

“Good.” Sylvara gave a slight nod, but paused. Letting some of the formality drop from her posture, she offered a smile. “It’s good to see you again. I heard you ran that golden avatar from the Duchy.”

Ah. That explained her attitude toward him. After Gleeful, Sylvara swore vengeance against the avatar. Anyone who could give him a metaphorical black eye was good in her books.

Unfortunately… “I wish I knew exactly what I did to him. I don’t think we killed him but… he just vanished.”

“A task to figure out together. But first, let’s deal with Lui.” With another nod, Sylvara’s back stiffened with a militaristic formality as she headed toward the door.

Arkk started to follow, only to pause and look back to Edvin.

“Y… You don’t want me to come with you, do you?” Edvin asked, sounding very much like he regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth. “Not that I’m opposed to the company of frightening women but… I am somewhat opposed to the company of frightening women.”

Arkk rolled his eyes. “Just keep on watching Katja,” he whispered. Before Edvin could quip that Katja was a frightening woman as well, he turned and stalked away, letting his shadow trail after him.

 

 

As dawn’s first light crested the horizon, a majestic procession emerged from over the hill of the Principality of Vaales, making its way toward the ancient stone bridge that spanned the vast canyon that was Mystakeen’s border. At the head of the caravan, a group of mounted heralds clad in gleaming armor announced the approach of royalty with the melodious call of trumpets echoing against the canyon walls.

In all his time serving the Duchy, Hawkwood had never had a face-to-face meeting with the King or any of his immediate family. Duke Levi Woldair gained his position through a hereditary title, one earned by his thrice-great grandfather after he successfully led the war that reclaimed the territory of the current Duchy from the Yzanstani Empire—the predecessor to the current Evestani Sultanate. But the Duke wasn’t related to the royals. At no point in his family line had anyone married into King Lafoar’s line.

Despite that, Hawkwood was fairly certain that he knew what to expect. He had met his fair share of counts, viscounts, scions, and earls. He had sat in on meetings with generals and commanders, plenty of whom had earned their positions through nepotism rather than achievement. Prince Cedric Valorian Lafoar was said to have waged a brutal campaign of suppression in Vaales, quelling the revolt so thoroughly that he had to have more tactical and strategic skill than a nepotism position could have warranted…

Yet, if Arkk’s suspicion was correct and Prince Cedric had used a demon—had fed the revolting population to a demon—then all that image was nothing more than bluster. Hawkwood fully expected an arrogant child who had never had to want a day in his life, so detached from the reality the rest of the population lived in that he could barely be considered human.

“So which will it be?” Hawkwood murmured, standing with his best men at the entrance to the canyon bridge that linked Mystakeen and Vaales. “Brutal warlord or arrogant boy?”

White Company stood on the Duchy’s side of the bridge, their black chevron on white background banners held high. They were here today as honor guards, not as warriors. Ordinarily, the Duke’s Grand Guard who were stationed at the fort near the bridge would have been present as well. They weren’t. The fort was deserted.

Lady Katja had done an unexpectedly adequate job of enticing the Grand Guard to her banner, but she had failed here. The soldiers stationed at the border fort had heard of Prince Cedric. Not the demon summoning rumors, but just his more popularly known methods of quelling the Vaales rebellion. Even that was enough for them to fear what he might do upon his arrival.

It didn’t look as if he had come to battle.

The Prince’s caravan was more rugged than a wealthy scion might favor. It still managed opulence with the heralds and the banners embedded with woven threads of gold. But the carriage in the back—the one likely carrying Prince Cedric—was armored. A veritable fortress of metal plates and ritual enchantments. Narrow slits in its sides allowed the occupants a view without exposing themselves. Great beasts pulled the carriage. A pair of manticores. Hawkwood recognized their lion-like bodies and large, scorpion-like tails from books, though he had never seen one in person. Their eyes held an intelligence far greater than any average mule.

This was a carriage designed for a person who knew the realities of war.

Once upon a time, Hawkwood might have found it impressive. The metalwork and the rituals were clearly of fine craftsmanship. It could likely withstand some minor bombardment magic, at least for a single wave of castings.

Unfortunately for its impressiveness, he had seen the Walking Fortress.

Behind the carriage, a contingent of soldiers marched. Some on horseback, some on foot. They were not dressed in the ornate armor typical of ceremonial guards but in practical, battle-ready gear that was still light enough to travel in despite their number being too small to fight a proper battle. Their eyes scanned the surroundings with the vigilance of men who had seen combat but weren’t expecting any fight today. Not here, anyway. Hawkwood knew that look. The experienced members of White Company were the same.

The procession slowed as they approached the bridge. It was too narrow to march everyone across in the same formation that they had moved with prior. This was the weak point. If Hawkwood—or Lady Katja—had been intending subterfuge, this would be the opportune moment. Alchemical explosives placed underneath the bridge could send the entire procession down to the depths of the canyon in one fell move.

So it didn’t surprise Hawkwood when they took the bridge slowly. First with just a few men, all of whom looked to be experienced casters, sweeping prepared wands around as they advanced, likely looking for any sign of explosives. Footmen advanced next, taking the bridge in small squads, each with a mule pulling a cart of supplies.

As the groups reached the Mystakeen side of the bridge, the men quickly arranged themselves in a defensive formation. Hawkwood spent some time observing them, somewhat wary of the Prince himself, despite having been ordered here to meet the man. It was with some relief that the soldiers didn’t appear to be gunning for a fight. The formation was more formality than anything else. They squared up, matching White Company, but were at ease.

Hawkwood did not doubt that they could be ordered to violence at a single word from the Prince—White Company was the same—but if the plan was to fight, they hadn’t been told about it.

The fortified carriage finally moved up to the bridge, drawing Hawkwood’s attention back to the procession. The massive, muscular manticores that pulled it moved with surprising haste. With no footmen in the way, it cleared the vast bridge in a matter of moments, not wanting to stick around and give further opportunity for sabotage.

Now that it was closer, Hawkwood could see shadows moving in the thin slits of its walls. Its occupants shifted in place as they looked about the exterior. Hawkwood, at the fore of the White Company reception, waited, expecting the Prince to come out for a greeting—or for him to send someone in his place, but the carriage merely pulled in line with the rest of the footmen and stopped, now waiting for the rest of the procession to make its way across the bridge.

It was not a quick affair. Although they were less wary now that the carriage had gotten across, there were still at least two hundred soldiers that had to make their way over, plus the myriad horsemen, and then the squires and logisticmen along with their carts of supplies. By the time the caravan made it fully across the bridge, the sun was high in the sky.

One of the horsemen broke away from the rest of the group and dismounted, followed by his own set of honor guards. He was a man of imposing stature, almost as tall as an elf, clad in the hardened leather and metal of a leader with only a single regalia of royalty to associate the man with the Prince. Perhaps Hawkwood was projecting on the man, but he carried himself with the assurance of one who had commanded on the battlefield, his eyes sharp and assessing as they swept over Hawkwood and his men.

Hawkwood, on foot, stepped forward to meet him.

“Hawkwood, Commander of White Company?”

“I am,” Hawkwood said with a nod of his head.

“I have heard of your exploits. Both in this and the previous war with the wretched Evestani,” the man said, extending a hand. “The legends do you credit.”

“Legends are often exaggerated,” Hawkwood said, keeping his expression neutral. “Might I have your name?”

The man breathed out an amused note as he released Hawkwood’s hand. “You don’t know? Perhaps not as perceptive as I had been led to believe.”

A knot of tension tugged at the base of Hawkwood’s skull. His eyes flicked to the metal carriage.

“Ah. You thought I would be arriving in that.” His laugh only served to increase Hawkwood’s tension. “A deception. Give your enemies a target to strike and they’ll strike it. Disguise the target and they’ll reveal their hands. I couldn’t be sure of your intentions until I safely made it into the Duchy. Or, rather, Mystakeen, isn’t it? The Duke is dead and no heirs exist. My father is… most upset with the situation.”

Father clinched it. “Prince Cedric?” Hawkwood dropped into a bow. “I meant no disrespect.”

The man hummed. He offered no casual commentary or assurances that Hawkwood’s informalities were expected or warranted. The note in the hum didn’t exactly carry good connotations. If anything, the way the tone changed made Hawkwood wonder if his bow wasn’t further offending the prince.

“You have been around Mystakeen a great deal, engaging with all these factions that have arisen. That knowledge is valuable.”

Hawkwood dipped his head in acknowledgment.

“Come. Walk with me. We make for Cliff. I would have you tell me of this Lady Katja, this Arkk, and the current status of the Evestani invaders on the way.”

“Certainly, Sir,” Hawkwood said with another bow. He would tell Prince Cedric whatever he wanted to know.

And, in the meanwhile, he would keep his eyes and ears open for any sign of a demonic presence or the requisite materials necessary to summon a demon. If he could confirm that rumor… Well, his personal allegiances would be all the clearer.

“Your presence is unwanted and unnecessary.”

A stiff breeze swept across the water, carrying with it the tang of salt and the pungent odor of seaweed from the shore. It whipped the ships’ hoisted sails, causing them to flutter and snap in the wind. The sound mingled with that of the distant cries of gulls circling above.

The warships, moored in the span of sea that divided the bulk of Evestani’s lands from the jagged cliffs of Mystakeen, gently rocked back and forth with the wind and waves. Large cranes mounted to the sides of the ships lowered smaller boats to ferry soldiers and supplies to land. Each boat brought over a force of strength and support.

Unneeded strength and support.

Not one of the ships bore the emblem of the Golden Sun, nor did they display striped banners of the Duchy of Mystakeen or the greater Kingdom of Chernlock. The breeze kicked up into a harsh wind, unfurling the great black flag bearing nine white swords of the Eternal Empire.

A young boy with glowing gold tattoos around his skull stared out in distaste from the cliffside. The one possessing his body had long thought he had seen the last of that flag. To have it here now flooded his body with ill feelings and simmering anger. His teeth clenched tight enough to hurt his jaw, not that the one possessing his body noticed or cared.

“You squandered your opportunity.”

The boy’s head wrenched to the side as his teeth clenched harder. Worse still was the woman at his side, watching from the cliff.

She stood tall. Graceful. She was like the stories of elves except for the lack of her pointed ears. A golden ring, with nine spikes jutting off it, hovered just behind her head. A matching golden glove covered only her right hand. With a black, flowing dress and a white cape, all adorned with fine gold, the boy thought she was as beautiful yet terrifying. It was her eyes. Her whole face. Framed with blonde hair, her luminous white eyes stared down without a single emotion. She was as impassive as a statue. Her lips maintained a perfect mask of neutrality.

Normal people didn’t act like that, the boy knew, not when he was like this. Those who weren’t a part of the Golden Order were often awed, disturbed, or frightened, and rightfully so, when in the presence of a god. Even the boy could hardly believe that he was in the honored position of serving as a vessel. It was what he had been born to do. He had been raised for this, granted the sacred markings, and now he got to watch as his god acted through his hands.

Except his god wasn’t happy. And this woman wasn’t impressed. It looked more like she wanted to crush him under the spiked heel of her boot.

“Why appear before me in this form?”

The two were talking. The boy didn’t understand the words. He and all those like him were taught a special language, only known by them and their handlers. But their god didn’t speak in that language, nor did anyone else.

“You take me for a fool? You think I don’t know what you plan? The moment this truce ends, I’ll be fighting you off my lands.”

“Your lands?” The woman turned, leaning down. She touched her finger to the boy’s chin. “Immortality, power, prestige. Anything you want, so long as you continue to serve the Heart of Gold. These are not your lands. These are Their lands.”

“Of course. Everything that is mine is Hers.” The boy smiled. A grin spread across his face that wasn’t his own. “And if I say the Heart of Gold wants it all?”

The woman’s face remained inexpressive and utterly still. She leaned back upright, looking down on the boy. “Then I invite you to the Almighty’s shores once again to try to take them.”

Frustration. Anger. Annoyance. Emotions seeped through. The boy didn’t know what they were speaking about, only that his god wasn’t happy with it. The boy didn’t understand. Why not smite the woman here and now? Such insults—for what other meaning could those words hold—were undeserving for the ears of a god.

“Regardless, attacking you now would violate our truce. I will depart these lands peacefully once we have finished our work. Unless you give me cause to act otherwise.”

The boy scoffed as both turned their gazes back to the sea.

The warships continued to unload. There wasn’t a large port here, so everything had to be carried on the smaller boats.

“Where is our contemporary?” the woman asked as they watched a cleric in stylish robes that almost matched the woman’s dress direct laborers to their tasks.

“Huh? You think the… the… Lacking Light would actually show up?”

“The truce—”

“Don’t you get it?” The boy tapped the side of his head. “You are the only one who cares about that truce. It is, at most, a polite fiction between us. One which can be nullified the moment it becomes convenient.”

The woman stared for a long moment before calmly turning away. “I suppose it is no great loss. With the… diminishment of the Holy Light, I question her ability to contribute meaningfully.”

“It is a shame she didn’t show her face. She wouldn’t be able to resist stabbing us in the back. But I’d be a step ahead…”

“Save your energy for our true opponent. This should be the final servant. The final link to that abysmal hell. We sever it and this world will finally be saved.”

The boy looked up to the woman, one eyebrow popping up. “You don’t think the Lock and Key or the presence of the Cloak of Shadows’ regalia implies that we’re too late?”

“It may take work, but so long as we prevent the issue from spreading, we will be victorious in the end. The Solution can be mended once more.”

Frustration welled within the boy once more as he stared at the side of the woman’s head. Another gust of wind picked up, fluttering her cape. One lock of hair ended low on her face, hanging over her white eyes. Only then did a flash of irritation—her first emotion—cross her face. She raised her hand slowly and deliberately.

With a snap of her fingers, the air stilled. The flags atop the boats drooped as if there were no air at all. Not only was the wind silent, but the woman’s blonde hair was back, swept over the top of her head where it draped down her back. The boy hadn’t seen her move to fix the stray lock.

The boy felt his eyes roll.

“I’ll return in a few days’ time,” his mouth said, the words alien and unfamiliar in his mouth. “I fear my subjects have grown a minor streak of independence in my absence. They must be reminded of their duties.”

The woman, dismissive, waved her hand as she lowered it back to her hip. “I will alert you once the remainder of my forces arrive.”

The boy sagged in place, feeling the divine presence leave his body. He fell to his hands and knees, trying to remind his body how to breathe on its own. He panted, clenched his fists, and stared up with a glare as he sucked air down his lungs.

The woman still stood at the cliff’s edge, watching over the sea. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t see him.

A righteous rage filled every bone in his body as he got to his shaking feet. There were no handlers around. No other vessels. Just the woman who dared to disrespect his god.

He raised his hands before he could stop himself. His god hadn’t acted against the woman. Who was he to try anything? A nobody. Which made him the perfect vessel to act. He could suffer any punishment, even death, and none would care.

The boy reached forward, shoving.

A snapping of fingers echoed in his ears.

He found himself over the edge of the cliff, tumbling and falling through the air. He spun over and over again, catching a glimpse of the woman at the edge of the cliff above. She stood, impassive and imposing, staring out at the sea without a single regard for him as he tumbled to the jagged rocks below.

 

 

 

The war was still active and ongoing, but it changed in the last few weeks. Rather than marching a large army across the entirety of the Duchy, Evestani had taken to subtler tactics. Smaller cells had orders to accomplish specific objectives. Since capturing the leader of the Thyne River group, Arkk had come across three other cells in the vicinity of Elmshadow.

The Thyne River group had orders to detonate alchemical explosives inside the Thyne Burg, specifically any building that sat on the river itself. A smaller group of casters had been preparing a ritual array high in the southern mountain range which, according to Savren, was intended to cause some instability in the ground itself—though the large array hadn’t been completed before Kia and Claire went in, leaving the specifics of its purpose unclear. Another set of soldiers had simply been camping out in one of the old forts left behind, alone and abandoned, from the previous war; they hadn’t been doing anything obviously nefarious, which only made their presence more suspicious.

“Unfortunately, we didn’t arrive in time. They destroyed a bridge,” Kia said, giving her report on the latest of these cells. “One of the main transit routes between Elmshadow and the western side of the Duchy. Not the only one, but it does make the route more annoying for anyone wanting to traverse the land.”

Arkk scratched the back of his head in confusion. “Was that their main objective?”

“The commander took his own life before we could stop him. We did capture two others, but they claim to know nothing.”

Arkk scratched at his chin. If patterns held true, they were probably telling the truth. Even the leaders of these groups didn’t have the full picture. They were ordered to take care of a specific task and none knew how that task fit into the larger picture. Savren could use his mind magic to confirm that, but…

How did they fit into the larger picture?

“Rekk’ar? Thoughts?”

“It’s a major bridge,” the orc said, poring over a map of the land. He traced a few routes along with his finger as he spoke. “They obviously wanted to inhibit movement. Possibly to prevent us from securing territory west of Elmshadow.”

“Not our movement,” Arkk said with a scowl. “The avatar could detect teleportation in his vicinity, so he knows we’ve got that method of movement. And the Walking Fortress won’t care about a bridge. It can’t be impeded by a river.”

“Traders? Regular soldiers? Refugees?”

“There isn’t much trade going on out here, is there? Not with the war. And I imagine that most refugees have already made their way to the eastern side of the Elm mountains, if they were able.”

“Soldiers then,” Rekk’ar said with a huff. “Duke’s men. Or Katja’s men. Whoever.”

Arkk drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. That didn’t feel right either. If anything, it felt like this bridge being gone would stifle the Evestani army if they wanted to attempt a proper counterattack on Elmshadow. More than that, Arkk couldn’t see how it was related to the other cells in the area. How did blowing up Thyne Burg help them? What of that random fort in the middle of nowhere?

The only group that made sense was the caster group trying to destabilize the ground. Maybe they thought they could cause the tower to tip over.

There was something at play here. He just couldn’t see what it was.

“Thank you, Kia. Claire. You are dismissed, although on your way out, please inform the scrying team that I want them keeping an eye on both sides of the river around that bridge, looking for anyone that might be trying to cross.”

“Sure thing,” Kia said with a wide albeit emotionless smile.

“The scrying team will contact you if they find another of these groups.”

“We’ll be ready.” With slight bows, the dark elves turned away.

Arkk watched their backs for a long moment, mind churning over a few possibilities. They were skilled. Their team hadn’t had any trouble dispatching these cells. And the supply caravan strikes from before had gone well up until that golden knight appeared.

And that was another thing. The avatar hadn’t been seen since the attack. Neither had any other golden-armored knights. Arkk didn’t know if the avatar could make more or not—examinations into the remnants left behind by the knight Dakka killed were mostly inconclusive as the armor appeared to be just regular gold. He might have been happy about that if their absence didn’t make him so anxious. They were just asking for a repeat of that supply line incident. Except, last time, the knight had been content to capture the strike team. There was no telling whether or not the next surprise would be so kind next time around. If Evestani set up one of these cells as another trap with another golden knight or the avatar, it was highly likely that they wouldn’t be returning at all.

“Kia, Claire,” Arkk called out to them before they could leave the meeting room.

Both paused. Kia turned fully to face him while Claire just looked back over her shoulder.

“Zullie has been working on counter-demon magics,” he said slowly, noting the mild stiffening of Rekk’ar in the seat next to him. “Some of her research has… progressed to the point where she is asking for volunteers for something she is calling Project Liminal.”

Kia cocked her head to one side, a clear request for more information. Claire didn’t react beyond turning fully. Was that an indicator of interest? Or just the realization that he had something a little longer to say?

“It is magic derived from the Lock and Key, goddess of boundaries, borders, and separations. The same being that allowed us to open the portal to the Underworld,” Arkk said slowly. “I… am not sure what form this magic will take—I don’t know that Zullie knows—only that it will be somewhat… transformative. But she believes it will be capable of at least stalling a demon. To be clear, you are not being ordered to engage with this magic in any way. But, I thought that it might be wise to investigate possibilities if you encounter a golden knight again, or other opponents of similar threat level.”

Kia and Claire glanced at one another. Some silent conversation passed between them before Kia turned to Arkk with a smile.

“Worried about us?” Kia asked, sweeping a hand back through her sweat-matted blonde hair.

“I worry about all my employees.”

“Such a neutral response isn’t cute,” she said with a faux pout. “But you don’t need to worry—”

“I’ll do it.”

Claire’s voice stopped Kia cold. She looked over, eyebrows halfway up her forehead. Even Rekk’ar made a small grunt of surprise. It wasn’t like Claire never spoke. But on the few occasions in which she did, it was usually to add some small detail to a report that her sharp eyes caught while Kia was in the fray. They certainly had never disagreed or interrupted one another.

Kia had sounded like she was going to decline. Her words and her tone of voice made that apparent from the start.

“Plans can fail,” Claire said with a simple shrug at Kia, not looking disturbed in the slightest by the look Kia was giving her. “Backup plans, hidden abilities, tricks up sleeves. It is foolish to decline power when offered.

“That knight made fools of us. He should have killed us. What do you think a demon would do?” Claire’s lips twisted into a violent smile as her eyes sharpened. “But if we can stand against a demon, we could slaughter another one of those knights.”

“That witch lost her eyes toying with that magic,” Kia countered. That incident was supposed to have been a secret. But it didn’t take much to put together a few stray hints into most of the story. “If you lose your eyes, how are you going to get revenge?”

“I’ll have my nose. My ears. My tongue.”

Kia clenched her fist. “Fifty-seven years ago, you asked me to help you when you looked like you were going to make poor decisions. Do you remember? You said you can trust my judgment when you can’t trust your own. This, Claire, is a poor decision.”

Claire winced as Kia spoke, looking like the memory itself had physically assaulted her. “Help. Not make decisions for me.”

“If…” Arkk said slowly, “If you two would like time to discuss the matter among yourselves… I could get more information from Zullie on exactly what—”

“No. I’ll do it,” Claire said.

Kia… just looked disappointed. With a small shake of her head, she turned to Arkk and offered the same slight bow she had offered before. She left the room without another word. Claire remained where she stood, shifting slightly in discomfort at her companion’s absence.

Rekk’ar leaned back in his chair with a small sigh. “Sure you want to give these nutjobs more power?” he asked, not bothering to even try to whisper.

Arkk would admit that Kia and Claire frightened him a little. That disagreement hadn’t helped that. But he was positive that they were more frightening to his enemies than to him.

“Why don’t we pay a visit to Zullie and see if her idea will even work before we make any further commitments,” Arkk said, standing. “Rekk’ar, you’re in charge of Elmshadow for the time being.”

“Yeah, sure. Your funeral.” He shifted, cracking his spine. “I’ll see if I can’t get a few heads together to figure out what Evestani is planning.”

Arkk nodded slowly. “It just feels so random,” he mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else in the room. “Maybe it is all a distraction. Maybe Lexa is right and I need to put all my focus on the Prince.” Shaking his head, he looked up to Claire. “I guess we start with that here. I’ll teleport us to the transportation rituals.”

She nodded her head. A curt, stiff nod.

Once in the lower room of ritual circles, a few quick hops got them to Fortress Al-Mir. From there, Arkk teleported them both directly to Zullie’s laboratory… but only after checking to make sure that it was safe to do so. Ever since effectively giving her free reign to do what she wanted, all in the name of defending against a demon, Zullie’s laboratory had suffered a handful of… incidents.

Nothing deadly.

Yet.

Nothing like the incident that had taken Zullie’s eyes.

Yet.

But there had still been more than one occasion where Hale’s skills with the Flesh Weaving spell had been required. Arkk had needed to clamp down on some of her more dangerous ideas. In theory, Arkk would have been fine with them were it not for Zullie putting the rest of his employees at risk. Which was one of the main reasons he had built this laboratory.

It was far deeper than any other area of Fortress Al-Mir. Down near the active digging in the gold mine. Well away from anyone else in the fortress with huge amounts of solid rock in the way.

Given some of Zullie’s ideas that she claimed came from the incident where she lost her eyes, Arkk wasn’t sure if that was enough. But it was the best they had without relocating her out in the middle of the Underworld’s wilderness.

Which was a consideration.

“Zullie,” Arkk called out from across the room. He had known where she would be and could have teleported closer. It was just that he didn’t want to appear directly behind her and startle her while she was working.

Zullie wasn’t alone in the room. Morvin, the former-member-of-Katja’s-bandits-turned-magical-assistant, was present as well, acting as Zullie’s eyes and hands. Most of the time, that task was little more than note-taking. However, Morvin had somehow managed to distinguish himself from all the other assistants. Zullie favored him enough to drag him into… whatever they were doing now.

Zullie set down the ceremonial dagger they had taken from the Underworld. It dragged shadows along with its movements as if the absence of light were fabric that its tip had pierced. All around the stone table upon which it sat were small ritual arrays, drawn in chalk, that were designed for measuring various esoteric values. Arkk recognized most of them from the lessons Zullie had given him.

For one fleeting moment, a wistful thought drifted through Arkk’s mind. A wish that he still had time to study magic more in depth. It had been something he always wanted to do, ever since he was little. And, while Fortress Al-Mir had provided the opportunity to meet Zullie and learn magic from her, circumstances conspired to rip that away from him.

What he wouldn’t give for this war to be over… For this demon summoning to not be a threat at all. He could go back to learning magic, figuring out how to help Vezta with the Calamity, and not having to send everyone he knew into constant danger.

But he couldn’t control that. He could only do what he could to bring this war and its dangers to an end. At the moment, that meant Zullie and her projects.

From his magical knowledge and the context of the situation, he put together what the rest of what the ritual arrays were designed to do. She was measuring—or attempting to measure—the external source of magic on the dagger.

The Cloak of Shadows’ power, in other words.

He had approved that a few days ago. Although Arkk didn’t have any proof of his suppositions, the Cloak of Shadows felt, somehow, safer. Xel’atriss, Lock and Key, had given Arkk a warning about the planar magic. The god of boundaries had taken Zullie’s eyes, whether intentionally or as a side effect of simply existing. Despite both of those happenings, Zullie continued to poke at the god, trying to utilize Xel’atriss’ power.

The Cloak of Shadows, on the other hand, had not warned them away or harmed them. Technically, the Lady Shadows hadn’t done anything at all to them, beneficial or otherwise. According to the Protector, the Cloak of Shadows hadn’t done anything visible since rendering the living beings of the Underworld into shades, which had been centuries ago.

It made Arkk wonder if gods could actually die and, if so, whether or not the Cloak of Shadows wasn’t just a corpse hanging over the Underworld.

“Arkk? Is that you?” Zullie asked as the stars in her eyes swept over the laboratory. The rectangular glasses she still wore for some reason only seemed to magnify the lights in the back of her eye holes.

“It is,” Morvin added at her side. “And a dark elf.”

“What are you doing all the way over there?”

“Just making sure I don’t startle you and end up with that dagger in my stomach,” Arkk said as he approached. “Wouldn’t want to be turned into one of those Underworld shades.”

Zullie waved her hand back and forth. “Oh, that wouldn’t happen. We stabbed a chicken, just to check.”

Arkk paused. He had been excessively busy, but he did his best to pay attention to what Zullie was doing. He didn’t recall her asking for approval for that. “What were the results?” He hesitated to ask but his curiosity got the better of him.

“Well, as tends to happen to something stabbed by a blade, it bled out and died.”

“Oh,” Arkk said, wondering why he felt disappointed.

“Then it turned into a shadow monster.”

“Oh?”

“Tried to kill us, I think, but didn’t manage much. It just kept pecking at our shadows.”

“It still hurt,” Morvin added, rubbing at his arm.

“I dispatched it with a flash of light that blew away all the shadows in the room at once,” Zullie said, frowning to herself. “Which, combined with its strength remaining that of a chicken, is an unfortunate weakness that makes similar creatures rather infeasible in any kind of combat capacity. Even the most inept casters can create simple light spells.”

Arkk shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Right,” he said. “Of course they can.”

“Anyway, chicken aside, I wasn’t expecting a visit today.” She scrunched up her cheeks as if she were narrowing her eyes. It didn’t quite work with her lack of eyes. “And a guest? Prisoner for experimentation or ally… for experimentation?”

Arkk glanced at the dark elf, who had decided to return to her quiescence, before looking back to Zullie. “This is Claire. She volunteered for Project Liminal. Assuming you’re still looking to progress with that project.”

“Liminal..?” Zullie asked, half turning.

Morvin cleared his throat. “The… uh… ‘reality layer’ project.”

Zullie snapped her fingers. “Right. Interesting project. The chicken we tried it on fell through the world. Pretty sure that’s because it can’t think, though. Someone who could think would be able to control the power much better. Probably.”

“Another chicken?” Arkk mumbled before shaking his head. “It fell through the world?”

“More of a sucked through the world,” Morvin said, gesturing with his hands. “Like it squeezed itself into the thin gaps between the floor tiles.” He paused, frowned, then added, “And then it exploded.”

With a sigh, Arkk turned to Claire. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. And for causing that fight with Kia. If you—”

Claire didn’t even look at him. She stepped forward, a single step past him, and looked to Zullie. “Can you give me the power to crush a demon?”

She didn’t say anything else. No context. No elaboration.

“I don’t know about crush,” Zullie said with a thoughtful hum. “If you can use it the way I think it should work… How does peeling apart the layers of reality holding it together sound? Like an onion.”

“Will that be painful?”

“Excruciatingly so, I’d imagine.”

Claire didn’t hesitate. An unpleasant smile worked its way across her face. “I can work with that.”

Zullie’s smile matched Claire’s. “Wonderful. Welcome aboard.”

Arkk… let out a small sigh.

 

 

“Haven’t we been this way before?”

“No.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t even see.”

“I see what I need to see.”

Leda glowered at the back of the dragonoid’s head. At one point in time, she had feared Priscilla would eat her. Or drop her. Having gone on more than a handful of these exploratory ventures with Priscilla, Leda wouldn’t say that she was afraid anymore. If the dragonoid were going to eat her, surely she would have done so already. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t fear becoming emergency rations should they become stranded but, at that point, getting killed might be preferable to dying of starvation.

Falling was still a concern. The harness that kept her strapped to Priscilla’s back had been upgraded. Every powerful downward thrust of Priscilla’s wings still made her stomach drop.

But with a lack of fear for the woman, Leda found annoyance filling that gap.

On their very first flight through this land, Priscilla had headed directly for that great walking tower as if she had known it was there. It was a massive find. One Arkk had been beyond happy to hear of. Enough to give Leda a large bonus. He gave a bonus to Priscilla as well, only for the dragonoid to toss the coin away as if it was worthless.

So, in effect, Leda had gotten two bonuses.

Despite her reservations about flying with the dragonoid, she had eagerly agreed to more outings in the Underworld.

Now, out here for the twentieth… thirtieth? How many times had they come out here on their flyovers? All without finding much of anything. There had been that church on their third or fifth flight. And a bunch of smaller villages, all left in ruins. For a few of the larger ruins, they had dived down to explore, only to find a Protector there saying that there wasn’t anything worth disturbing the shadows over.

Leda refused to believe that their first outing had been luck or coincidence. It had been too deliberate. Too focused.

“Don’t you see any more of those towers with your blind eyes?” Leda snipped, having to raise her voice to be heard over the rushing wind.

“A few. But they are so far off that it would take days if not weeks of flight to reach the nearest.”

“Shouldn’t we head toward one of them?” Leda asked, only to squeak in surprise as a particularly heavy thrust of Priscilla’s wings sent her bouncing off the dragonoid’s back. The leather of the harness snapped taut, keeping her in place, but it still sent jitters through her wings.

“What good would that do?” Priscilla barked back. “Arkk has to interact with them himself. I already asked if Arkk wanted transport out to them. He said he couldn’t leave Fortress Al-Mir alone that long while that avatar and that prince are out there.”

“Isn’t there any way we could bring one back? He doesn’t need the whole tower, right? Just the little ball thing.”

“If I try to touch the Heart of a fortress, I’ll lose more than just my eyes.”

“What? What does that mean?”

The dragonoid let out a low, grinding growl. One that vibrated through Priscilla’s back to the point where Leda felt like she might fall off even despite the harness. The air chilled along with the noise. All that fear that had gone away throughout their repeated expeditions rushed back in force.

“Sorry,” Leda mumbled, curling up on herself. “I didn’t…”

“I broke my contract,” Priscilla said in that same continued growl. “The Pantheon will undoubtedly strike me down if I touch one of their treasures.”

“I… I see.”

Leda didn’t see. There were a lot of mysterious things about Company Al-Mir and the magical fortresses Arkk had. He didn’t talk about them, but the mere fact that he could teleport around anyone who signed his contract as well as grant fairies the ability to cast magic, if in small and limited amounts, was proof that something unusual was going on.

This was the first she had heard of a pantheon.

Leda honestly wasn’t sure what she should do with that information. From Priscilla’s reaction to the question, it certainly sounded like something serious. Something she should not bring up with the dragonoid. The chill in the air was already starting to wane back toward that unpleasant heat that permeated the Underworld, but if she asked again, she might just find herself entrapped within a sheet of ice instead of safely returning to the fortress.

“What about me?” Leda asked, softly. When it seemed as if the dragonoid couldn’t hear her over the rush of wind, she cleared her throat and asked a little louder, “Could I touch the ball thing?”

Priscilla’s laughter was a rumble of thunder against the backdrop of wind as it shook the air around them. “A magicless fairy? Touch the Heart of a fortress?” She opened her maw in a wide laugh, showing off her sharp teeth as she angled her head backward.

Though the ice-covered her eyes, Leda still felt like she was seen.

Leda shirked away, feeling like she was the butt of a joke that she didn’t understand. Except, Priscilla didn’t continue with her laugh. She paused and stared with her head craned back over her shoulder, her countenance taking on a calculating expression.

Leda wasn’t sure she liked that expression.

“What does our food supply look like for the next…” Priscilla trailed off, looking about ahead of their flight trajectory. “The next four days? You can eat my portions.”

Leda wasn’t sure she liked that question either.

“Uh…”

“Hold on tight, little fairy,” Priscilla said.

Leda didn’t get a chance to respond before Priscilla folded her wings behind her. They angled downward, falling into a sharp dive that sent the wind roaring over the top of Leda’s head. “Ground! Ground!” she screamed as the terrain below got closer and closer. If Priscilla heard, she didn’t show it.

The stupid dragonoid might be able to survive a fall like this. Leda had no chance. She squeezed her eyes shut, grasping hold of her harness.

Except, the end didn’t come. Leda felt like her stomach sank into her boots, but beyond that, there was no sudden stop at the end. The wind was still rushing past, far faster than she had ever felt before with Priscilla. With a grimace, fearing what she might see, Leda nevertheless peeled open her eyes. She had to duck down and use Priscilla’s back to block most of the wind in order to see.

They were still flying. Much, much, lower now. If Leda were as tall as an elf, she could have stood on the ground below and clapped hands with Priscilla as she flew overhead. That was how low they were. But they were moving horizontally, flying straight ahead while the ground zoomed beneath them fast enough that it made Leda dizzy to watch it go by.

“I hope you’re prepared, little fairy!” Priscilla yelled out.

Leda shrank down, closing her eyes once again. She had no idea what she was supposed to be prepared for. All she knew was that she wasn’t prepared.

Not in the slightest.

“Inquisitor Vrox?”

Darius jolted, taking in a sudden breath as his eyes flicked around. The tall, tome-filled shelves of the archives stood around him. He was at one of the desks with several books open and a small glowstone providing a little extra light. One of the books was in his own writing and, unfortunately, now contained a large blob of black ink that had dribbled down one of the pages.

He took in another breath, trying to use the fresh air to wake himself up. It might have worked if he was still in the forests and mountains of Mystakeen. The air there, especially in the mornings, had a crisp chill and pleasant taste. In comparison, the air in Chernlock was as dry as the surrounding deserts and stiflingly hot. The air in the archives was particularly stale.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your rest,” a woman said, her voice carrying notes of amused humor.

Darius quickly gathered his composure, swiftly wiping at the ink with a small cloth, though that only smeared it further across the page. “No, no. I was just… engaged in a little mental reflection,” he said, straightening to face the woman. His voice carried a hint of embarrassment that he tried to mask with his usual professionalism.

The woman before him adopted a truly radiant smile, making him think he wasn’t all that successful. Lyra Zann stood on the other side of the desk. The High Librarian of the Chernlock Archives always had a bright smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes. If ever there was a woman more blessed by the Light, Darius had yet to lay eyes on them.

She pulled a chair from one of the nearby desks and slid it toward him before taking a seat. “You’ve been here every day since you arrived in Chernlock. Are you still yet to find what you have been seeking?”

The momentary good mood Darius felt awakening to Lyra’s face diminished somewhat as he looked down at his smeared notes. “Some,” he said. Sylvara was returning to Mystakeen with the knowledge they had uncovered regarding the creation of artifacts that have the capacity to bind abominable powers. The powers of avatars, presuming Arkk was correct.

It wasn’t an easy process. Darius wasn’t sure that they would be able to accomplish much, not having access to the high priests of the Abbey and their miraculous magics. But if anyone could use that knowledge outside the Abbey, it was Arkk.

Darius was still not sure that giving that information to Arkk was the right decision. But it wasn’t his decision at all. He had left it up to Sylvara. The inquisitrix would sooner partner with a demon than help the Golden Order’s avatar. At least Arkk, whatever else he was, was no demon.

“But not everything,” he finished, looking down at the half-written book in front of him. A compilation of everything he had found so far on the topic of gods. The fact that it fit all into half a book was telling.

Nobody knew anything.

There were bits and rumors here and there. A great deal on the Light, but it was difficult to discern what was fact and what was exaggerated dogma of the Abbey.

Lyra hummed a knowing note, grinning down at him like she knew something that he didn’t. “And you still won’t come to me for aid? I know my way around the archives, you know?”

Darius pressed his lips together. It was tempting to ask. When Sylvara had been here, they had asked the High Librarian about a few topics. Nothing sensitive, of course. The research they were conducting was borderline heresy. With Sylvara gone and left to fend for himself, research had slowed drastically… Slowly, Darius shook his head. “I wouldn’t wish to involve you in matters such as this. As it stands, the inquisition may not take kindly—”

“Oh please,” Lyra said, rolling her silvery eyes. “I have read every tome within the archives. I have memorized every tablet and looked over every scroll. If you’re reading something you found in here, I already know it.”

Breaking eye contact, Darius glanced up at the tall shelves around him. They were packed with books and tomes, charts and diagrams, scrolls, and even ancient texts that none could read today. And this was just one small section of the archives, the portion dedicated to historical works. The archives sprawled outward in every direction, there were always more and more shelves filled with more and more books. A single person claiming to have read all of them was… unbelievable.

His train of thought must have shown on his face. Lyra let out a light laugh.

“The Light has blessed me with a wakeful mind and a capacity for knowledge. As the Light sweeps away the night every morn, it is my duty as High Librarian to sweep away ignorance with enlightenment,” she said with a grin that swiftly turned into another laugh, one hearty enough to send ripples through her dark red hair.

Darius had to raise an eyebrow. Although clearly a joke, comparing oneself to the Light wasn’t something someone would normally do in front of an inquisitor. It was a step away from blasphemy.

Yet, her offer warranted consideration. It was an exaggeration, to be sure. She was older than Sylvara but still a good decade younger than Darius. To have read every book in the archives in that relatively short amount of time was absurd. She was still the High Librarian.

“I am seeking information on deities other than the Light.”

Rather than surprise, the High Librarian nodded knowingly. “I presumed so,” she said.

It caught Darius off guard a bit until he realized that someone who had read even the titles of the tomes he had stacked on his desk would be able to guess at his intentions, let alone reading the whole books.

“So, who? The Almighty Glory? The Heart of Gold?”

Darius stared at her for a moment. The first time he had heard those names in full had been within this very library, reading through ancient books. Everyone knew of the Gold, the Glory, and the Light. They made up the Three Divines, though current Abbey doctrine said that only the Light still remained active among them, as evidenced by the sun’s rays shining bright every morning.

“The Gold is one of my subjects of interest, yes,” Darius said, “but more than that, there is one other. A name I have yet to come across. Are you… aware of what occurred mid-winter? The Fissure in the Sky that streaked across Mystakeen for an hour?”

The incident had been visible even from Chernlock, he knew, but it hadn’t been as… intense. That false moon that had stared down from the fissure had barely been visible, for one.

“Ah,” Lyra said, leaning back in her chair. She folded her arms over her chest, covering up her usual attire of traditional librarian garb with subtle, intricate markings of a caster proficient in arcane magics. “You seek information on the one known as Xel’atriss, Lock and Key.”

Darius leaned forward. That she had been able to immediately say a name had caught his interest. He couldn’t say for certain whether it was the correct name, but the way Lyra sat there, radiating confidence, that alone made him trust her a little more. Then again, he supposed it made sense. The Ecclesiarch would surely have come to the High Librarian for information following that incident. It would be fresh in her mind.

“You know something?”

“I know everything,” Lyra said in a teasing note. “It is, after all, my duty to enlighten fools. You may not be a fool, but…” She grinned, then looked over the books on the desk. “It is no wonder you haven’t found what you have been searching for. You’re in the wrong section.”

“Old gods from before the Calamity would be historical—”

“This is why you should have come to me to begin with,” Lyra interrupted as she stood. “Come. Come, come, come.”

Without giving Darius a chance to argue, she started off through the archives, forcing Darius to grab his cane and hurry after her. They traveled to a stone staircase that spiraled up to different levels of the archives. But, instead of traveling up the spiral, Lyra moved underneath the stairs and, with one quick glance around, placed her hand on the wall.

A bright flash of silvery light forced Darius to turn away. It only lasted a moment but left several spots in his eyes. When he finally blinked them away, he found Lyra standing at a shimmering rectangle that hovered just off the wall. It was such a strange bit of magic that, at first, Darius wasn’t sure what to make of it. Until Lyra grabbed hold of his hand and dragged him through.

Then he knew. “Planar magic,” he whispered, looking at the High Librarian with far more suspicion.

She just smiled and shrugged. “There are things in this archive that not even the Ecclesiarch is aware of.”

The silver portal behind him cut off, sealing him in a smaller chamber that nonetheless resembled the archives outside this space. There were shelves, books, tomes, scrolls, desks, and even a bowl of silvery liquid that had a faint glow to it. A scrying pool?

Lyra caught him looking. “I’ve dabbled in oracle training,” she said as if that was some casual thing anyone could do. “Which reminds me, it may interest you to know that the blindness that had stricken the Abbey’s oracles around the time of that fissure incident has been lifted.”

Darius had heard of that. It was part of why the Abbey had been in such disarray for much of the war. He didn’t speak, however. He stared at Lyra, trying to decide what his next course of action was to be. Dragging an inquisitor through planar magic like this… She was either a fool in the extreme or confident that Darius wouldn’t do anything.

From the way she casually walked through the small archives and took a seat at the scrying pool, crossing her legs and folding her arms, made him think this was far more on the confidence side of things.

“Welcome, Darius Vrox, to the hidden archives. All the ancient lore and lost mythos that you’ve been seeking can be found here. I cannot guarantee that it holds the answers to everything you’ve been seeking, but I can guarantee that you won’t find anything like this outside this space.

“But only the High Librarian can enter and exit this space at will. I will grant you access on one condition. One little payment in return. There is something I wish to know and I believe you can help enlighten me.”

Darius licked his lips, watching as she leaned forward. The silver light from the bowl reflected off her eyes, making them look as if they were glowing. “And that is?”

“I wish to know of the one who caused the fissure incident. The current master of Fortress Al-Mir?” She grinned again, though this time, her smile held little humor. “Tell me of Arkk.”

Darius tapped his finger against the end of his cane, thinking for a long moment. His eyes broke away from Lyra Zann, looking over the books stacked on the shelves. Just from their appearance alone, he could tell that they were ancient. Yet, they were in impeccably good condition. Not a spec of dust adorned even the fine wood of the shelves.

Slowly, he stepped forward, sliding into the seat across from the scrying pool.

“What do you wish to know?”

 

 

 

“Why are you still here, elf?”

Alya turned an irritated glare on the old orc. “You well know why I am here, orc.”

Olatt’an let out a small chuckle. “Not here,” he said, waving a hand around the desolate landscape.

The Underworld was, as always, void of life. The air was thick with an almost palpable sense of loss and desolation, as if the land itself mourned its fallen state. Olatt’an wasn’t sure if that was because of the Cloak of Shadows or if it was his imagination, projecting his feelings onto the emptiness.

Where he was at the moment, the landscape was dominated by hues of gray and muted blacks. Not shadows, exactly, but darkness all the same. The colors shifted into each other, transforming and moving unnaturally. Almost like something was out there, moving. But… there was nothing. Were it not for the presence of the Protector and the general lack of life outside the Protector, Olatt’an might have been far more on edge and wary of attacks.

The only thing that really put him on edge was the lighting. The cloudy orange skies never changed. There was no night. No day. The concept of time felt distorted. The only way they had to tell how long it had been since the last break was their grumbling stomachs.

That and the exhaustion that came from travel.

All-in-all, not the worst expedition he had been on.

“I’m wondering why you remain in the fortress,” Olatt’an said, adjusting the reins of the horse pulling the cart. “You must realize that you aren’t a prisoner. If you approached Arkk and asked, you could leave at any moment even if it wouldn’t be in his best interests. Even if that failed, a word or two from your daughter would have Arkk providing teleportation to anywhere in the Duchy. Maybe even beyond.”

Alya, sitting in the back of the cart, looked away. Her gaze turned out toward the distant columns of shadow that seemed to stretch up through the clouds. She didn’t answer and gave no indication that she was going to.

After a long minute of silence, Olatt’an shrugged. “Don’t answer if you don’t want to,” he said as he let go of the reins and hopped off the back of the cart. “Eiff’an! Take over the horse. I’m going to walk for a bit.”

Eiff’an grabbed the side of the cart and hauled himself into the lead seat without complaint. He had been walking for a few hours now, so he was probably beyond pleased for the break.

Olatt’an let himself fall a short distance back from the cart before he matched its pace, leaving him a little on his own with a clear view of the entire caravan. Half a dozen orcs marched along while another half a dozen were split across three carts. The Protector walked ahead of the group, leading the way to where he thought some of Olatt’an’s stories might have been described. Ritual circles in the carts provided cooling for the entire group, letting them pass through the warm Underworld without cooking in the uncomfortable heat.

It really wasn’t that bad of an expedition.

“The company could be better,” he mumbled to himself.

To say that Arkk was disappointed would be an understatement.

Elmshadow, despite the losses, had been a great victory. Gleeful before it had been more of a pyrrhic victory with the entire burg buried under a mountain of magically conjured boulders. But not Elmshadow. They had recovered the city, captured a significant chunk of the opposing force, and rescued all the remaining civilians who hadn’t been able to flee when Evestani first took the burg—not that there were all that many, only a few thousand, mostly the elderly or children.

It wasn’t like he assumed the war would just be over.

But with the retreating of the Evestani army followed by those letters that sounded like the Sultan would be open to negotiations, Arkk had thought—he had allowed himself to believe—that the western side of the Duchy would calm down enough.

Now this…

“Lexa. You’re back.”

A shadowy figure uncloaked at Arkk’s side, standing hunched with a deep scowl on her face. She gripped the blade of her knife with a cloth and pulled the two apart, cleaning off blood. “They aren’t bandits,” she said, sheathing the dagger. “Or, if they are, they aren’t from around here.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“Learned they speak an awful lot of Evestani and not a lick of Chernlish. Caught one of them out. Tried to interrogate him. Didn’t go so well.” She paused, frowned, then added, “For him, anyway.”

Arkk sighed. He had been hoping for a little more information. He wasn’t surprised, however. He had learned from the prisoners captured at Elmshadow that, aside from perhaps one or two of the higher-ranked soldiers, nobody in Evestani spoke a language he understood. The same was true in reverse, to be fair. Nobody in Arkk’s employ spoke Evestani.

And if they were Evestani… he now had this to deal with.

What were they doing up here? North of the Elm mountain range, there wasn’t much of interest. Was it just a way to the eastern side of the Duchy that they were after, now that Elmshadow had been closed off to them? Were these men remnants left behind, ignorant of their army’s defeat at Elmshadow, or were they on a mission that had been decided in response to that?

Well, he could puzzle such matters out later. They weren’t up to any good. If the scrying reports were accurate, they were producing and stockpiling alchemical bombs out here.

“Any sign of the avatar?” Arkk asked. “Or the gold-armored knight?”

Lexa shook her head back and forth. “I swept through the whole camp. Nobody had tattoos. Nobody had that armor.”

Arkk clicked his tongue in annoyance. It wasn’t like he wanted to fight them. Especially not with Priscilla exploring the Underworld and Agnete back at Al-Mir working on her projects in their downtime. At the same time, getting eyes on them would be valuable. Perhaps valuable enough to let the group carry on as they wished, if only to keep a watch on them and learn what they were up to.

Since Elmshadow, there hadn’t been a single sighting of the avatar. Not a hint of golden magic among the Evestani army. Some areas were still protected from scrying, especially within Evestani territory—Arkk had tried to get eyes on the Sultan after receiving the letters only to find that misty fog covering practically the entire capital city. So the avatar could have been there.

It just made him uneasy. Like the avatar was plotting something and could pop up at any moment, blasting him down before he could react.

But until that happened, he still had a job to do.

“Kia. Claire.” The two dark elves stood from their crouched positions. Kia sported a bright smile while Claire just stared off into the distance with an utterly blank look on her face.

He had considered recalling Agnete for this. Wiping them out would have been easy for her. But she was busy and it wasn’t like Agnete was his only enforcer. He had other employees and those employees needed to earn their keep. Or, rather, he didn’t want the dark elves to get too bored. Claire especially. He wouldn’t say that he feared for himself but he did worry a little about what Claire would do if she had to sit still for too long.

“Extermination time?” Kia asked, chipper as she drew her heavy sword.

Kia was a little concerning as well.

“I would prefer if their leaders survived,” Arkk said, hoping that one of these higher-ups would be more susceptible to interrogation. “But it is not a requirement.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” she said, half turning. “Vector, Prav’en. Take your team to the east side. We’ll ambush from the west. Claire’s arrow will signal our start.”

The squad split up, moving to follow their orders. As had become their typical tactics, Arkk hung back with Lexa. His duty was to move in and assist if something unexpected popped up. It hadn’t always been a successful tactic. In the case of the golden knight, he hadn’t managed to do all that much. But anything short of an agent of the Heart of Gold wouldn’t be trouble for his old magic. Or even some of his regular spells.

And Lexa was here too. The gremlin donned the hood of her cloak once again, shrouding her in shadow. She wasn’t invisible, but she was far more difficult to keep track of. Especially in these thick woods up in the hills. Every tree cast a shadow and Lexa’s form blended in with them while she was wearing that cloak. If not for Arkk’s ability to sense all of his employees, she could easily disappear from his perception.

“How are you doing?” Arkk asked as he observed the coming fight through his employee link.

Claire just loosed her first arrow, picking off one of the Evestani on their own without alerting the rest of the camp. Even though the teams were split, she managed to hit the guy in such a way that their other team saw.

The shadows shimmered. “I’m fine.”

Arkk sat down on a fallen log. It looked like it had been felled by human hands but had been left behind instead of hauled off. Not that he was complaining. It provided a decent place to sit. “Are you? After our last talk—”

“I’m fine.”

“—you haven’t once tried to get me disrobed and in your bed.”

A silence settled in, disrupted only by distant sounds of fighting. Not that it was much of a fight. Evestani tried, but they were being ambushed and had no arms within easy reach. They did have weapons, but they were hidden within those hollowed-out logs on the carts. Someone managed to get to one of the carts and started tossing out weapons to his comrades. At least until he took an arrow to the skull.

Lexa threw the hood of her cloak down, revealing her wild red hair. She looked back, raising an eyebrow. “Finally up for something fun?” she asked.

“No.”

With a huff, Lexa turned away again, glowering. But she didn’t raise her hood again. “Katja was a whole lot more fun,” she grumbled.

“I’m sure she’d take you back.”

“Haaa? You think you can get rid of me that easily?” She scoffed. “Besides, Katja is going to be the first one eaten by the Prince’s demon. No way I’m going near her.”

“Do demons eat people?” Arkk asked, earning an uncertain shrug from Lexa. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Nobody is getting eaten by a demon if I can help it.”

Kia took the head of one of the soldiers with a wide smile on her face. In the same swing, she changed the angle of her sword, jamming it through the leg of another. She left it there, turning away from the man who was now screaming in pain, and drew a smaller blade that she immediately stabbed through another soldier’s chest. Arkk wasn’t sure why she hadn’t killed the one man. Nothing about him stood out to Arkk from what he could see. Something must have tipped her off that he was a kind of leader.

With that large sword through his leg, he would bleed out in short order if it were removed. Arkk would have to patch him up to keep him alive long enough to interrogate.

Just as Arkk was about to turn back to Lexa, he spotted one of the soldiers fleeing from combat. Right at the edge of the employee link vision, Arkk watched him grab hold of a flaming plank of wood, burning his hand. But he kept hold of it and started rushing off toward one of the carts.

One of the carts with the bombs?

Arkk bolted to his feet. “Acceleratæ!” he barked out. The haste spell had him sprinting through the woods at speeds that turned trees into blurred lines. “Electro Deus,” he said, well in advance of the encampment.

He arrived at the edge, fingers crackling with lightning, just in time to watch one of Kia’s arrows slam through the back of the soldier’s neck. The flaming log dropped from his limp fingers, harmlessly hitting a patch of dirt nowhere near the bomb cart.

Arkk let out a small sigh, observing the final moments of the battle in person. The lightning at his fingertips dissipated.

He should have trusted his subordinates more. If they weren’t faced with an avatar, they were quite competent. He should have known that no rank-and-file soldiers of Evestani would pull one over on them.

Lexa rushed up behind him with her blades drawn and ready. She moved fast but nowhere near as fast as magic could make him. Upon seeing that he wasn’t fighting and nothing seemed to be going wrong with the battle, she gave him a look as she sheathed her knives.

“Can you help it?”

“Help it?” Arkk asked, turning his gaze to the man still pinned to the ground with Kia’s sword.

“Keep the demon from killing everyone.”

“Ah.” Arkk… Well, he didn’t exactly have a good answer for that. There were plots and plans in place. His magical researchers were carrying out their duties and Sylvara had sent a letter stating her intention to help with both the demon and the avatar. But could he? It was easy to talk. Less easy to do.

“I think you’re focused too much on the avatar.”

“You think that,” Arkk said, disbelief in his voice.

“I do.” She traced a hand along the handle of her blade. “Make no mistake. I will kill him. But the avatar has been in hiding. Meanwhile, the potential demon summoning is approaching far more visibly. It is good to be on guard against the avatar and whatever he is plotting, but to the exclusion of all else?”

“That’s… a good point. I don’t like leaving an enemy half-defeated, able to strike back. But…” Arkk looked around the encampment. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps another visit to Cliff is due.”

“Arkk!” Kia called out, raising a bloody hand in greeting. She planted the hand on her hip and looked over the encampment. There wasn’t much movement outside the warriors of Company Al-Mir. “Think we’re just about done. Even got one alive for you.”

Nodding, Arkk started forward. “For now,” he said to Lexa, “we should see if we can’t find out why they’re here. After that…”

After that, he would turn his attention to the demon summoning.

“I was chosen, when I was born, to keep watch over the Cursed Forest.”

Olatt’an didn’t look up as the elf came to sit next to him. He kept his eyes on his bowl of porridge. A few berries spiced up the paltry breakfast, but the fresh fruit wouldn’t keep long and they still had days if not weeks of travel left, according to the Protector.

He had to savor what they had while they had it.

“I was told that a great evil cursed the land,” Alya continued, “that my presence would be needed to ensure it didn’t spread, consuming the entire region and beyond.”

“They think a little dead land might spread out and consume the whole Duchy… And they send one elf to observe it.”

“As decreed by the goddess Ya, only one was needed,” Alya said with a sigh. “And I was to do more than merely watch. There were wardstones erected around the Cursed Forest. I was taught a truly paltry amount of magic. Just enough to maintain them. Five of them, positioned around the edge of the boundaries.

“Except, when I arrived in my… fifteenth decade? Was it that long ago?” Alya whispered to herself. With a shake of her head, she continued. “I found one of the stones had broken. I’m not sure what caused it. I reported it immediately, of course, but my people were still suffering from the after-effects of the wars that followed the Calamity. No one with the magical expertise necessary to repair or remake the wardstone had survived. They said they would try to contact others to find someone who could…”

Olatt’an grunted an acknowledgment. Seeing the way her story was going, he said, “A failed effort, I presume.”

“No, actually.”

“Really?” Olatt’an said, looking up from his bowl of porridge. “Huh.”

“They found a magical expert. Not an elf. An old fairy who, while he had lost his capacity for magic, still retained his knowledge of magic.” She scoffed. A hint of elvish superiority shone through her calm demeanor. “He inspected the remaining stones, called us all fools, and took off. According to him, the stones were doing nothing. Just scribbles and made-up nonsense that looked like magic but was anything but.

“I kept watch anyway. My family tried to find others who might be able to repair the stones. That effort failed. But over five decades, the Cursed Forest hadn’t spread further than the length of my arm. Shortly after that, another of the stones failed. Washed away by a flood. It didn’t seem to affect the spread or growth. If anything, the spread slowed. The next five decades, it only grew as far as my hand to my elbow.”

Olatt’an hummed. From what he knew, the Cursed Forest was a side effect of the magical fortress seeking sustenance in the absence of a master. Assuming its need for sustenance didn’t increase or decrease over the years, the spread of the forest probably only appeared to slow as the area in which it fed spread outward. Every step out from the center point, several steps worth of land would be added to the total space.

Rather than comment, he just nodded his head and gestured for her to continue.

“Another stone went missing some time later. No idea where or how. Maybe it was stolen. The fourth was defaced by humans who didn’t know—”

“It sounds as if you weren’t very good at your job.”

Alya stiffened, turning her distant gaze into a harsh glower. “I was to travel around the Cursed Forest once every decade, maintaining and charging the stones with magic.”

“A lot can happen in ten years. You elves might be unable to parse the difference between your thirtieth and thirty-first decades the same way my thirty-first and thirty-second years have become hazy with age. That doesn’t mean the world stops turning.”

“I am aware,” she said, barely moving her lips. “And I have certainly become more aware of that as of late.”

“Indeed? Good for you. So, one stone left. I presume that one broke as well?”

“Arkk,” she said with a scowl. “He and Ilya were playing in the woods. He was… three? Four? Before his parents died. Always following Ilya around…” Alya’s tone turned nostalgic for a moment before she shook her head. “He came across it, touched it, and it exploded. Violently. Near killed the boy.”

“Really? Interesting…”

“Is it?”

Olatt’an shrugged, slurping down some of his porridge. “I don’t believe in coincidence. Even the smallest happenstances have connections. That Arkk is what he is today…”

Alya fell silent, eyes turning inward as she reflected on Olatt’an’s words. “The local abbess tested him for magic shortly after. He blew up every test. The academies didn’t want him and just told us to keep him away from magic. Now though… I wonder if they hadn’t made an error in their judgment. Whatever was up with him, it destroyed the stone.

“But my family didn’t care. At this point, it had been over a thousand years since the Calamity. Whatever magic had created the wardstones was long lost. Recreating them was impossible and, besides that, the Cursed Forest’s expansion had slowed to a crawl. Mere finger lengths after decades. They even said I could return home, if I wished.”

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t.” Alya pressed her lips together in distaste. “For an elf, a decade or two might be nothing. It is as you said. We live so long that even ten years feels like no time at all. Yet I spent hundreds of years out in the middle of the Duchy, watching towns spring up and fall and build up once more, always feeling like an outcast among the humans, all for some worthless duty that apparently hadn’t ever mattered. That fairy was right. The stones did nothing.

“I had Ilya. I had a home in Langleey. Shortly after, practically the next day, though it must have been a year or two, Arkk’s parents died. I took him in. It was something to do. Something that felt like it had more meaning than the rest of my life. Then, a short time after, a harvest failed. The Duke’s taxmen came, demanding tribute…

“I heard about the rumors of another war brewing. Wars happen all the time. Every few decades. But I saw a chance. An opportunity to do something important. So I went to the Duke, gained his trust, influenced him, supported the strengthening of bonds between the nations… Everything was going so well. I knew I would be leaving Ilya for a time—I didn’t want to subject her to the Duke if even half the rumors of his… personality were true—but what is a few decades apart?”

Olatt’an couldn’t help the smile. “A few decades is an entire lifetime for the young.”

“Yes,” Alya said, glaring down at her bowl of porridge. “I have noticed. And it was all… wasted in the end. Again. Everything I do…

“Why am I at Fortress Al-Mir? Why haven’t I left? I don’t know. Maybe I just need to see with my own eyes what I wasted my life for. What is this great evil I was supposed to prevent spreading? What will become of the land after the war?”

Olatt’an drained the last of his porridge. He was a little disappointed, if he were being honest. He was expecting a little something more. Glancing to his side, watching as Alya finally began to eat her meal. “In all that time,” he said, speaking slowly. “Did you ever hear anything about the Stars?”

Alya tried to suck in a breath. With the bowl of porridge at her lips, she ended up inhaling her food instead. She promptly doubled over in a fit of coughs. Olatt’an gave her a few good pats on the back.

“The…” She sputtered, coughing a few more times before finally drawing in a decent breath of air. “What do the stars have to do with anything?”

Olatt’an slowly shook his head. “Perhaps I’ll tell you some other time. For now, it would be best if we got moving.”

They still had a long way to go. Plenty of time to talk.

 

 

Vezta looked around the room, eyes like miniature suns burning with mild disapproval.

Arkk paced back and forth in a room devoid of furniture or decoration, deep beneath Elmshadow Burg, at the head of scores of soldiers. Twelve rows of ten soldiers, arrayed in a precise, imposing formation, stood perfectly still. Their attention unwaveringly focused on his movements back and forth.

The air was thick with unease, yet not a breath could be heard from the ranks. No murmurs of impatience, nor the customary clinks and shuffles of armor. A hundred people crammed into a small room should have made noise. They should have given off the musky scent of sweat. With their helmets on and the thin cloth mesh over the small gaps in the helmets acting as veils, Arkk couldn’t see the expressions hidden beneath.

Not that there were any expressions.

Vezta, approaching the nearest of the soldiers, reached out. With a single hand, she lifted the helmet off its skull.

Vacant sockets stared back. Bones clanked and metal finally shuffled as the skeleton within adjusted its pose to compensate for the motion.

“Master…” Vezta said, turning to Arkk. The expression on her face was perfectly neutral. Not a hint of her earlier disapproval remained.

Yet Arkk couldn’t help but wilt in on himself. “I know,” he said, planting his palm on his forehead. “I should just destroy them. What was I thinking? Zullie is a bad influence but I still was the one who decided in the end.”

“I am not particularly fond of necromancy,” Vezta said, jamming a finger between the skeleton’s eyes. It stumbled backward but quickly righted itself. “It is the domain of the Smiling Prince. A particularly… Well… His followers tended to be difficult to get along with.”

“Oh?”

“The Smiling Prince embodies two primary concepts. That of elation and that of undeath. He is the jester in the court of existence. I’m sure a theologist would have a lot more to say on the Smiling Prince’s philosophies, but the primary word his followers live by is that life is the greatest joke of them all.” She paused, frowned, and sighed. “His followers come in roughly three varieties.

“First, those who tend towards misanthropy. Life is a joke and thus, it is their duty to end it.” She shook her head. “Then there are those who believe themselves to be funny but everyone outside their altered perception of reality just view them as annoying. Mostly harmless, though. The third type follow the Smiling Prince in name only, just wanting the power of an army that they can control on a whim, that grows as their enemies fall, and that requires neither payment nor nourishment.”

Arkk shifted. While he had heard Vezta mention the Smiling Prince before, he wouldn’t say that he revered him in any kind of capacity. But, if he did, it would probably be the third type. “The spell I used operates with modern magical rituals and incantations,” Arkk said after a long moment. “If Zullie is correct in her theories, it isn’t tapping into the power of the gods at all.”

“True,” Vezta agreed with a small dip of her head. “Though I doubt the Prince of Laughter sees it that way. It was said that he would offer blessings to anyone so long as he thought they might provide some amusement. With all the chaos you’ve caused or been a part of, I imagine you would already have been in his sights were it not for the Calamity.”

“That sounds bad. I’ve already got one god watching me and another three who likely hate me. The Heart of Gold does for sure.” Four gods personally interested in him felt like four more than any mortal should have.

“In truth, I’m surprised you don’t count the Cloak of Shadows among that number.”

Arkk cocked an eyebrow. “I… didn’t think I had gotten anything from her. I mean, yes, we’ve used the Shadow Forge and found some artifacts. Those don’t feel like the direct attention of a god.”

It was Vezta’s turn to look surprised. “You think the Protector didn’t attempt to commune with the Cloak of Shadows before joining us? You think you just stumbled across those tools and items and even the Walking Fortress?” Vezta slowly shook her head back and forth. “The years of isolation have certainly made her quite weak, but that doesn’t mean she is ignorant to the goings on of her domain or your intentions there.”

Arkk folded his arms, frowning at that thought. He was fairly certain that he—or his minions—had done all that themselves. He supposed he felt some kind of pull toward the Walking Fortress when he first arrived in the Underworld, but he thought that was just the Keeper of a Fortress feeling drawn to another. Finding a knife half-hidden behind an altar wasn’t the act of a god.

If a god was going to help him, he very much preferred something tangible. Like how Xel’atriss had opened the portal. If the Cloak of Shadows wanted to help him, giving him the ability to fire beams of shadow to counteract the Heart of Gold’s avatar sounded a whole lot more useful than directing him to a ceremonial dagger that he would have found just by performing a thorough search anyway.

That did get him thinking.

“Do you suppose the other gods have suffered the same fate as the Cloak of Shadows?”

“Weakening?” Vezta paused, thinking while turning the skeleton’s helmet over in her hands. Just a little idle movement. “I suppose that depends on what happened with their realms. The realms effectively are the gods. The Underworld is polluted and desolate. It wasn’t always like that. If the Calamity has similarly harmed the other gods, then yes, I would say they have weakened.”

“Does that include Xel’atriss?”

Vezta went silent again, staring down at the helmet.

The silence stretched on long enough that Arkk realized he wasn’t going to get an answer. Vezta either didn’t know or, more likely, didn’t want to admit anything. The Lock and Key was the one Vezta revered the most. Speaking ill of Xel’atriss might well be too blasphemous.

“Portals originally were able to connect to multiple worlds, weren’t they?” Arkk asked, changing the subject.

“Correct. My former master was able to reconfigure it at will to connect to allies afar.”

“I wonder if we could make contact with the rest of the Pantheon through it. Perhaps not this Smiling Prince, but Agnete is interested in anything to do with the Burning Forge. The Anvil of All Worlds seems like a good place to try for next. If it has turned as desolate as the Underworld, at least we know what to expect going forward. If it isn’t, then perhaps we could get some real assistance.”

Vezta pressed her lips into a thin line, likely not liking his disregard for the efforts of Xel’atriss and the Cloak of Shadows. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she said, “The method through which the portal was opened is, obviously, unusual. In addition, I do not know how to alter its destination. That was knowledge privy to Keepers alone.”

“Priscilla…” Arkk started, only to trail off. “No. She only came into power after the Calamity…” he murmured. “Priscilla did finish her translation notes. Perhaps one of the books from the original fortress or the books we salvaged from the Underworld tower…”

“If I may make a request?”

“You know you can always speak your mind. I encourage it.”

Vezta nodded, then shoved the helmet back on the undead. “I would ask that you leave this research to me.”

“Really? You don’t know much about magic.”

“True. But searching through books is hardly magic.” She spread her arms wide, forming them into several dozen tendrils, each tipped with a glowing yellow eye. “I believe reading is something I am uniquely suited for. Especially if I must constantly reference translation notes to continue reading.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Arkk said as Vezta pulled her arms back together and clasped them over her waist. “I presume you’re also wanting to keep Zullie away from such research?”

“Zullie is useful.” Vezta looked out over the assembled army of skeletons. “She has also had some… concerning ideas as of late.”

Arkk frowned, watching as the skeletons watched him back. He shuddered, forcing his gaze back to Vezta. “I do wonder if the incident… If she’s alright. Or if she is acting according to the designs of the Lock and Key,” Arkk added. “It seems like she has developed an obsession with tapping into the Lock and Key’s powers.”

“Indeed. Though, I suppose that will be a self-correcting problem.”

“Oh?”

“If she goes against the will of Xel’atriss, I imagine she will be losing more than just her eyes,” Vezta said with cool neutrality.

“I’ll… warn her to be careful.”

“I doubt she’ll listen, but that is kind of you.” She paused as a sly smile crept over her face. “Speaking of listening, have you mentioned this to Ilya?”

Arkk opened his mouth, closed it, shifted uncomfortably, and sighed. “How long do you think we can keep this a secret?”

“Not nearly long enough.”

“Yeah,” Arkk sighed. “I figured.”

“Luthor, could you check the riverside just past the northern mountain range?”

The chameleon beastman started, hopping in his seat at the sudden voice. Harvey, the flopkin member of their scrying team, stood on his chair to see over the top of the small pit that they were stationed in. He wasn’t quite sure why Arkk had designed the tower’s command room like this. Ostensibly, it was to keep the two teams from being distracted by each other.

Right now, they were in a low-stress situation, so only one person sat at each of the crystal balls. Luthor and Harvey, today. But during the battle of Elmshadow, he had shared his scrying pit with the fairy Camilla. They each had their specific things to keep an eye out for. Two sets of eyes were better than one, just in case someone missed something vital.

But that high-stress situation was only a small fraction of the total time he spent performing his duties. At other times, since there were two crystal balls, the scrying team had developed a back-and-forth method of checking through territory. Arkk didn’t wish to be alerted to minor things but also wished to be informed of potential problems as far in advance as possible.

So when something was ambiguous, communication and double-checking felt necessary.

Luthor nodded to Harvey and then leaned over his own crystal ball. His duty at the moment was to keep a general overwatch of Elmshadow, looking for any problems, while Harvey was to look for issues afar. Switching jobs with Harvey, Luthor skimmed the view over the top of the northern Elm mountain.

Further north, beyond the high peek of the mountain, the land lowered into a range of smaller mountains for a fair distance. Eventually, it smoothed out into rolling hills, which themselves flattened into river-strewn plains that lasted all the way to the northern sea. It was a land of many small villages and several larger burgs, all taking advantage of the fertile land.

But if Harvey wanted him to look around a river, there was only one choice. The Thyne River, fed by all the other smaller rivers, was the largest. Big enough for specialized rope-drawn ferries to travel up and down many times a day, transporting goods along the large burgs built on the river. There weren’t many trees out in the plains but there were plenty near the mountains, resulting in lumber and carpentry products needing to go from one end of the river out to the other.

“A-At Thyne Burg?” Luthor called out, focusing in on the largest burg nearest to the mountain, right at the head of the river.

“Naw,” Harvey said, hopping up onto the upper platform before springing over to Luthor’s side of the scrying pit. Technically, that left one of the crystal balls unused, but there wasn’t much chance that Elmshadow would be attacked in the short time it went unattended. “Over here. The little river here, flowing between the hills at the mountain’s edge.”

Following Harvey’s directions, Luthor scanned over a smaller river. More of a creek or a brook that acted as a tributary to the larger Thyne River. Harvey didn’t say what to look for, which meant it was something ambiguous. He didn’t want to taint Luthor’s observations with his opinion.

It didn’t take long to find something out of place. A large group of tents and several horse-drawn carts were grouped up in the hills. Judging by the stacks of logs on the backs of the carts, Luthor might have dismissed the group as nothing more than timberfellers out harvesting wood for Thyne Burg now that winter was over with. But Harvey’s presence over his shoulder had him looking twice.

On the second look, Luthor wasn’t sure that he liked what he saw.

Despite it being early in the day, none of the supposed workers were chopping down trees. That might have been explained away by the fully loaded carts, but if they had no more room for materials, they would surely head back toward the burg. Instead, they were camping around. The tents, large white fabric tents designed to hold many men, were all occupied. This was a truly massive logging operation.

Yet, why there? High in the hills, there was certainly lumber around, but they could have gone down to the lower hills, closer to the burg, to fell trees there. They would be easier to transport.

And those tents…

Luthor wouldn’t claim to be an expert in tents and large tents made from canvas were popular all around, but the encampment looked awfully familiar. He had seen the same setup at the various Evestani military encampments they had strewn throughout the Duchy. It could have been a coincidence.

There was no magic in the area preventing scrying. That let him peek into each of the tents, looking for weapons. If he spotted more than a handful of swords or spears for personal defense, or even armor, it would be a sure sign that they were up to something.

Luthor leaned back from the crystal ball a few moments later, humming to himself. There were a few weapons. A few bows with quivers of arrows and a couple of pikes. Nothing that made the large encampment look like a military operation. Just enough to fend off wild animals or, if it came down to it, a group of bandits, goblins, or other unpleasant sorts. Nothing strange about that.

“Well?” Harvey chirped. He had gone back to his crystal ball while Luthor had been working.

“It is a g-group of unusual size,” Luthor said, staring at the ceiling. “But… no weapons. No armor. Evestani hasn’t been spotted that far north either.”

While Evestani had units of their army scattered all across the Duchy, especially in the land west of Elmshadow, they hadn’t gone too far north. If one wanted to cross past the Elm mountains without traversing through Elmshadow, heading south was the way to go. Not only were the smaller mountains considerably easier to pass over, but they had dedicated trails leading through them. If one wanted to go around the mountain ranges, the southern range was shorter as well. Thus, there had been no reason for them to venture that far north.

“I’m wondering why they’re just sitting there,” Harvey said. “They paid by the day or something? I’d want to head back to town the second I could.”

“Maybe they c-can’t go? A wheel b-broke or their horses have fallen lame… Or they can’t work because their tools…”

Luthor paused, churning over the thought.

Leaning forward again, he quickly scanned through the horses and their carts. They had several, mostly filled with lumber, but some were clearly for supplies. All the horses looked in good shape, hale and healthy. The carts weren’t damaged either. But he wasn’t too interested in either of those.

He scanned through the entire camp again, this time searching for tools. He couldn’t remember spotting a single one on his first pass-through.

“No axes. No s-saws. No sleds for hauling timber,” Luthor said softly. “What kind of t-timberfeller doesn’t have an axe?”

“Ah ha! I knew something was strange.”

“Strange, yes. N-no weapons. And no tools? What are they d-doing?”

Were they just spies? It was such a large group. All burly men. The difference in build between a trained soldier and a timberfeller wasn’t all that great, so they could easily pass as lumber workers. Were they really Evestani? Arkk had them watching out for that prince as well, but he was supposed to come from the eastern border of the Duchy, not some lumber camp in the mid-north.

Luthor picked up his pen and marked it down as an area of interest, but not one of vital priority. It wasn’t Luthor’s job to figure out what his targets of observation were up to, just to watch them. They didn’t seem to be doing anything at the moment, so he would bring it up to Arkk during the evening’s meeting with the scrying team. He, and his replacement once it was time to change shifts, would keep an eye on them throughout the day until Arkk decided if they were to keep a permanent watch on them or if they could be safely ignored.

Setting down the pen, he looked over the encampment once again. Just a last check before returning to his usual observation schedule.

From an overhead view of the camp, he spotted something else amiss. One of the carts filled with logs had its back open. Not the back of the cart, but the back of the logs. It was open like a door, swung on a hinge, to reveal a hollow interior. A man, standing at the open log door, hefted up a clay cask, something that looked uncomfortably similar to the alchemical explosives that Company Al-Mir had put to use on occasion.

The man wiped the sweat from his brow as he secured the clay jar in place with a few fabric straps. After that, he closed the rear of the stack of logs, leaving it looking like nothing more suspicious than several felled trees.

The man headed back to one of the tents. Luthor hadn’t looked too closely at it earlier. It looked like several alcohol kegs had been stacked around a small table topped with a small, portable distillery. Nothing too strange. Everyone liked alcohol. But… now…

Those tools for distilling alcohol were probably not for alcohol at all. They were an alchemical equipment set.

Luthor let out a small sigh, adjusting his notes. He still wasn’t sure if they were Evestani agents or simply smugglers or other criminals. Regardless, the fact that they were trying to hide their operations out in the middle of nowhere was suspicious enough that Arkk needed to be informed.

 

 

“You received a letter as well?”

Darius Vrox looked up from a flimsy sheet of paper to find Sylvara Astra leaning against one of the old archive’s many shelves. Wearing just one glove, she held up a similarly thin piece of paper. On the backside, he could see the broken wax seal bearing the compass rose atop a maze-like background.

Without a word, Darius held out a hand. The inquisitrix shoved her shoulder against the shelf and stalked over, flipping the paper around as she moved. She placed it into his hand.

Darius set the letter down next to the one he had been reading and quickly scanned over the content.

Hope this letter finds you well…

… an encounter with the Heart of Gold’s avatar…

… successfully fended it off by removing the tattoos…

… defeated the body it was possessing…

I have been too lucky, I think. I doubt such tactics will work again. Unless this avatar is a complete fool, it will take measures to better protect its body doubles.

… in addition, a knight wearing golden armor…

… near invulnerable…

I don’t mean to pressure you, but I eagerly await word that you have discovered something usable against such a foe.

One other thing. A rather sensitive topic. I shall avoid using specifics in such an easily intercepted method of communication but I must ask whether or not you and your order have any information on a possible demon summoning that occurred within the province of Vaales roughly around the time of the rebellion. I don’t mean to heap additional pressures on you and Vrox, especially not pressures of such a depressing nature, but any information you have on that topic may have become uncomfortably relevant to modern problems.

… my researchers are attempting to find a better method of long-distance communication… related to planar magic used in the Duke’s ballroom…

… should you require assistance that I can provide, simply ask.

Arkk.

Darius took a breath, looking up from the two papers. “They’re nearly identical,” he said finally. “Aside from direct references to you or me.”

“You thought he would send two conflicting letters?” Sylvara cocked an eyebrow. “Lie to one of us even though we’re working together?”

“Perhaps not intentionally,” Darius said with a small scowl. He grumbled, more to himself than Sylvara, “It wouldn’t be the first time he has lied to me unintentionally. Another difference,” he continued, louder, “is that he offers you assistance while assuming I can handle things myself.”

Sylvara’s expression turned stormy. “He thinks I need help? And you don’t? Oh, that’s—”

“I should think it is more of a result of his friendlier nature with you. He calls me Vrox in the letter but refers to you as Sylvara.” Darius raised his eyes, scanning over Sylvara’s different-sized legs and her gloved hand before stopping at her face. “Unless something more occurred between the two of you during your interactions? Something you neglected to mention.”

“I didn’t lay with him, if that’s what you are implying,” Sylvara said, face completely blank. “From what I observed, I would think that he only has affection for non-humans.”

“Ah.” Darius looked back down to the letter. “Perhaps he is still cross with me for threatening the Horror from beyond… from the Stars.”

“Enough about our relationships. What of the actual content of the letter?”

Darius leaned back in his chair, looking upward. The ceiling of the Abbey of the Light’s main archives was a tall, vaulted panel covered in an intricate and ancient mural. That of the sun extending its rays of light across all the land, casting out shadow and darkness wherever it touched. Crops grew because of the light. Life flourished.

There was a metaphor up there. Light didn’t represent just actual light. Fitting in with the nature of the archives, light represented knowledge. Darkness was ignorance. The growth of crops and life was akin to intelligence and innovation progressing.

Yet, sitting here, surrounded by ancient scrolls and even stone tablets bearing runes that few could comprehend, he had hardly felt more ignorant.

He had uncovered things here, perusing through tomes long forgotten behind newer books, rolls of vellum covered in dust, and even an ancient tapestry bearing depictions of historical events. A history of the Abbey that he had never known. An alleged alliance, formed between beings blessed by the gods themselves before their departure from the world as they fought a long and bloody conflict against a far more devious alliance of evil. Gods that wanted nothing but destruction and darkness.

Except for one odd detail. That being the one blessed by the god of darkness fought alongside the warriors of Light in some previous conflict. They were allies.

Which was a strange notion for several reasons. Darius had never considered that a god of darkness might exist. The current stance of the Abbey of the Light was that other gods had existed in the long past, but they were gone now. Dead or departed, only the Light itself remained, casting its holy gaze over the world at the dawn of every morning. But if a god of darkness existed in the past, wouldn’t nightfall signify its continued existence?

None of the texts mentioned what happened to the god of darkness or its avatar. It was more like, they just stopped mentioning other gods at a point. More wars erupted. Alliances formed and were broken. There were only a few exceptions to the lack of other gods mentioned. Most notably being some kind of schism that erupted between a man armored in gold and the warrior blessed by the Light. That tidbit did not surprise Darius in the slightest, given the endless animosity that continued to this day between the Golden Order and the Abbey of the Light.

But that animosity just made it all the more suspicious when they had pushed for an alliance against Arkk.

That moon in the sky’s fissure… Had that been the god of darkness, once again looking down upon the world? Its very presence put pressure on two sides who hated one another to reforge their old alliance…

Except the darkness had been on the same side as the Light.

There were too many contradictions. Too much history missing. Too much inferred and implied rather than outright stated. And, on occasion, historians simply made things up because they didn’t know the truth. That was the crux of the issue.

Everything in the archives had been written by mortal hand. Perhaps gods of darkness, light, gold, and whatever else was out there were infallible. Perhaps not. But mortals certainly made mistakes.

Shoving all the gods out of the picture and looking only at mortal happenings that he could prove with his own eyes and ears, he could see two sides. On one side, Arkk was trying his best to do what he thought was right—he was possibly misguided… probably misguided in his other efforts, but overall, he was trying to help people. On the other side of things, the Golden Order had started a war, apparently unprovoked, that had killed thousands in just a few months. There was no valid reason in his eyes for the Abbey of the Light to try to ally with such an entity, even in the face of the fissure in the sky.

“It is good that Arkk was able to fend off the Golden Order,” Darius eventually said, pulling his eyes back down to Sylvara Astra. “I believe he is correct in his assertion that the avatar of gold will not be so easily dispatched in the future. He’ll need assistance.”

“You’ll go back then? Take what we’ve learned here and join him?”

Darius folded his hands together, looking down at the letters. Rather than answer, he asked, “Your intentions?”

“I’m already packing. Chronicler Qwol will join me.”

Darius nodded his head. “Then the two of you will have to suffice.”

“You aren’t coming,” Sylvara said. Her red eyes widened in genuine surprise.

“There is something here. Something going on that is bigger than a mere war. Perhaps it is mere corruption or, worse, infiltration of the Abbey’s higher echelons. Or… perhaps something even larger than that.” Grasping hold of his cane, he stood from the archivist’s desk he had borrowed for his research. The High Archivist had been incredibly helpful in their research, always knowing exactly where a book containing information they sought was and even reciting entire passages from her memory. “We are inquisitors,” he said with a small smile. “It is our duty to root out corruption. Whether that be corruption out in the wildlands… or corruption closer at home.”

“Dangerous words,” Sylvara said after a long moment of silence. Her expression belied no emotion.

“No more dangerous than what you are doing. I doubt the Ecclesiarch sanctioned your actions.”

“What I am about to do is not approved by the Abbey,” she confirmed with a slight nod of her head. “But I’m not going to be surrounded by the Abbey while I’m out.”

“True. Whatever is happening, I feel I can discover more here than I can afar. I’ll just have to tread carefully.”

Sylvara nodded slowly. “If you find yourself in trouble, get word to me. I’ll see what I can do.” She started to turn away, only to pause and look back. “What of the other issue he mentioned?”

“The demon?” Darius frowned down at the papers in his hand. After a thought, he handed Sylvara’s back to her. “Merely mentioning it has worrying implications. I’d hope that Arkk isn’t getting into more trouble but… my profile of the man suggests that he won’t be able to help himself. Not sure why he brought up Vaales. I’ll do some research and pass on what I find to you, hopefully before you arrive back in Mystakeen.”

“Good,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to delay any longer. The sooner we kill this avatar, the sooner we can get back to usual business.”

Darius looked after her, watching the swaying of her silver hair as she stalked out of the archives. “Usual business, huh?”

As he folded up the letter and slid it into his breast pocket, he shook his head. He didn’t begrudge her for her opinions or her single-minded drive against that avatar. Not after hearing what she went through following the fall of Elmshadow. But…

“I doubt things will return to usual so easily.”

Agnete let out a short puff of air, blowing off metal shavings she had just filed away. She removed the toothed cog from its clamp and looked over the quality of her work. Her finger ran along the ridges and the valleys, feeling for obvious imperfections.

She paused with a grimace, looking down at her hand. The skin, blackened and charred, didn’t hurt. She still had full range of movement. But she couldn’t feel. During the fight with the avatar, she had deflected one of those thin beams of gold with flames wrapped around her hands. Either her flames hadn’t been intense enough or… they had been too intense. She wasn’t sure. Either way, it left her with an injury that she didn’t know how to fix.

Hale hadn’t been able to help her. The young woman had tried. Something about the injury—possibly the source being magic derived from gods, whether that was the Heart of Gold or the Burning Forge—resisted the effects of the Flesh Weaving spell. Since it didn’t hurt, Agnete had taken to ignoring it. Often wrapping it in a wreath of fire, which did have a slight soothing effect.

But she couldn’t do that without ruining her project.

Examining the cog with her other hand, Agnete nodded to herself. Finding the cog satisfactory, she turned around.

Katt’am sat in his wheelchair, watching her without particular emotion. He was either very good at hiding his emotions or he genuinely wasn’t upset.

Were their positions reversed, Agnete wasn’t sure that she would be able to contain herself. She had taken his legs, destroyed his ability to fight, and sentenced him to carry out the remainder of his life bound to that wheeled chair. It was true that they had been enemies at the time, with her having been under Inquisitor Vrox’s command and Katt’am under Arkk’s, but they were allies now. He was the one she had harmed the most.

It was why she had built the chair.

But now…

“Let’s try this,” Agnete said, voice soft as she crouched down near the wheelchair.

Today, she wasn’t performing upgrades or maintenance on the chair itself.

Katt’am sat with the stumps of his legs held out. Rather than ending in misshapen lumps of scorched flesh, his legs were capped with metal plates covered in arcane ritual lines that Agnete didn’t fully comprehend. The idea had come to her in a dream. A vision? She had been having a few of those since the encounter with the avatar… Since burning her hand. With Savren’s help, she had brought that dream into reality. With Hale’s help, she had attached the metal to his legs.

She was a little surprised that Katt’am had rejected Hale’s offer to heal his legs. Then again, it wasn’t exactly uncommon among the lightly wounded to reject her ministrations. Seeing others walk around with monstrous and mutated parts of their bodies had a way of making others shy away.

And now, after locking the cog into place, she carefully slotted the thick metal limb onto the anchor points of Katt’am’s leg. The ritual circle on the plates lined up with ritual circles on the mechanical limb. Light pulsed from the inscription before fading to a dull glow.

Katt’am let out a grunt as she twisted the leg, locking it into place.

“Pain?” she asked.

“No. Or… Yes? It’s strange. I haven’t had legs for months, yet I can still feel them. My eyes confirm the lack of leg, but an irritating itch still gnaws at me where I have no skin to scratch. But now…” He looked down at the prosthetic.

The surface of the legs was smooth metal, akin to that of plate armor, designed to conceal and protect the intricate mechanics within. Everything stemmed from the connection of the ritual circles scrawled into the plates of his legs and the top end of the prosthetic, they connected to his mind to read his intentions, magically operating spinning gears and stretching pistons to articulate the knee, ankle, feet, and even toes.

“I can feel these,” he said, lightly scratching at the armored cover. “Even that. I know I’m touching metal. Maybe it is my imagination. But it’s like I can feel a sensation there that has been nothing but a scratching itch ever since… Since I lost my legs.”

“The ritual circle,” Agnete said, pointing to the connection. “It is mind magic designed by Savren. I don’t fully understand it.” Standing, she crossed over to his other side. “If there is no problem, we can try attaching the other leg.”

Katt’am nodded his head, letting Agnete get to work. It was just a quick twist and clamp. The legs were designed to be removed and attached with relative ease. Given their heft, she imagined he wouldn’t prefer to sleep with them on. It also made maintenance, modification, and cleaning far easier.

He grunted in that same pained and surprised noise. But he didn’t complain.

She stepped back, watching his legs for problems as he started rolling his ankles and flexing his toes.

“This feels… strange.”

“Bad?”

“No. Just strange.”

Agnete hummed. “I don’t see any issues. Everything is working the way it is designed to.”

“Can I try walking?”

In lieu of an answer, Agnete made sure that she was running cool and then held out her hand. Her good hand. He clasped his hand with hers without hesitation, pulling himself to his new feet in the process. Using a bit too much gusto in his movements, he almost threw himself straight forward. Agnete had to plant a hand on his chest to keep him from falling flat on his face.

“Careful.”

After a few initial wobbles, he steadied himself out. For a long few moments, he simply stood, adjusting his position ever so slightly. His weight shifted from hip to hip and his legs and feet adjusted to compensate. After growing comfortable with simply standing, he took a step. Then another.

Agnete kept hold of his hand the entire time. She occasionally felt him putting weight on her hand when his balance went askew. With every step, he kept his balance better and better. To the point where he felt comfortable letting go.

Remaining in place, Agnete watched as he walked around the workshop. Her eyes honed in on the metal prosthetics, watching and observing for any fault in the construction. Some sixth sense for structural integrity and her own work—perhaps a gift from the Burning Forge?—let her simply know if there was a problem.

There wasn’t all that much room for him to stretch his new legs. Certainly not enough to break into a run, but that was probably for the best. As he tried to pick up the pace, he got clumsy. One toe scraped along the ground, dragging just enough to send him off balance. He tumbled forward, arms swinging around to try to keep his balance. But his efforts were for naught.

He hit the ground with a heavy thud and a hearty grunt.

“Are you alright?” Agnete asked.

In response, she got a laugh. “This is… amazing,” he said as he rolled over to his back. “I—”

Agnete felt that twist and pull of being moved through space. In the blink of an eye, she stood not in the workshop, but in front of Arkk within the main transportation hub of Fortress Al-Mir.

She felt the heat start to rise. The flames in her chest always roiled around Arkk. Even more so when something like this happened. Unannounced teleportation usually meant something was wrong. If something was wrong, that usually meant that she would get to unleash her flames. She stared into his glowing red eyes, starting to get excited, until she noticed the relatively relaxed and calm posture he had.

“Sorry for interrupting you,” Arkk said, losing any air of imposing dread as he ducked his head in an apologetic gesture. “I’ll send you back in a moment. But I have a small job for you in about an hour over at Elmshadow and I didn’t want you to get started on any big projects.”

Agnete let out a breath, trying to expel some of that heat as she did so. It wasn’t easy, but she managed. It was easier now than it had been with the inquisitors. She didn’t enjoy cooling down and it was probably unnecessary in Arkk’s presence. He wasn’t going to pull out the Binding Agent if it got a little hot in the room. Still, it was the polite thing to do.

“Did something happen?” she asked in that same breath.

“The… Well, Evestani followed through on their agreement. A crate of precious metals and gemstones was left out in the wilderness. I’m surprised they got it here this quickly. A little suspicious too, actually. The…” He trailed off again, sighing. “The undead are hauling it back toward Elmshadow.”

Agnete felt her lips quirk into a frown before she could school her expression. Perhaps it was lingering values left behind from her time with the Abbey of the Light but undead? Really, Arkk. If she couldn’t see how much it bothered him, she might have had more vocal complaints.

“Anyway,” he said, quickly moving on without lingering on the topic, “I’m wary of traps so I thought it would be a good idea for you to melt it all. Your flames destroy most magic, so the gold should be clean afterward. And if you can’t melt it like you can’t melt those golden statues, then we know that Evestani is up to something involving the avatar’s magic. Your flames combined with the lesser servants eating it and turning it into regular gold coins should hopefully clean the gold enough that we don’t have to worry about traps.”

“Reasonable,” she said, nodding. “I can certainly assist.”

“Good. Be at Elmshadow in an hour then. I’ll send you…” Arkk paused, thought, and then asked, “How is Katt’am doing?”

“When you teleported me, he was laughing.”

Arkk clasped a friendly hand on her shoulder, donning a smile that seemed at odds with his ominous glowing eyes. “No one asked you to do that. But you did anyway. I’m proud of you.”

Agnete sucked in a slight breath, feeling the heat rise with it.

“Thanks,” she whispered.