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“It doesn’t feel good.”

“War never does.”

Arkk didn’t have the experience to make that kind of claim. He wasn’t old enough to have seen any other wars. All he had were the stories told by bards, mercenaries, adventurers, and other ramblemen who passed through Langleey Village.

Hawkwood sat on the other side of the room, scowling at a letter delivered by a Swiftwing harpy.

“They always glorified it. Stories, that is. Warriors fighting off the barbarian hordes and heroes standing up against evil. They never mention the mud, blood, and dead children.” Arkk paused, then added, “Dead soldiers as well. Nor the prisoners and their fates.”

“The poets won’t mention it here either,” Hawkwood said, not taking his eyes off the letter. “It will become a shining battle, the moment the invaders were forced back to the border. They’ll pose you with a sword raised high in the sky with Evestani fleeing like cowardly dogs… Unless, of course, history chooses to vilify you. Then this will be the dark point in the Kingdom of Chernlock’s story.”

Arkk shifted in discomfort. Another weight settled in on his shoulders. He had never really considered a legacy. Simple villagers didn’t leave legacies. Now he had the weight of future narratives pressing down on his mind. “Why can’t they just tell what happened? Evestani invaded, assassinating leadership before their armies killed the masses. We fought them back.”

Hawkwood finally looked up. His gaze pierced Arkk with an intensity that made him flinch.

“The truth,” Hawkwood started, “is the first casualty of war.”

Arkk broke eye contact. That was certainly true. After all, he well knew that Evestani had come for him and Vezta. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t antagonize them or invite them here. Nevertheless, Evestani wasn’t simply trying to conquer territory and expand their nation.

“The truth gets distorted, covered up, and buried under the rubble of grand moments and epic tales. Even absent political influence, the truth is too… raw for feasts and celebrations.” Hawkwood stood, picking up the letter as he did so. “But, ultimately, history is written by those with power and influence. In the long term, perhaps that will be you—and you’ll be able to say whatever you want. For now, whether you are a villain or a hero will likely depend on Prince Cedric’s judgment.”

“A man about whom I’ve heard nothing but good things,” Arkk said, sarcasm on full display.

Hawkwood motioned with the letter. “As the sole remaining member of our former Duke’s retinue, I’m to meet with the Prince as he enters the Duchy. I just got the exact date he is expected to arrive. Two and a half weeks from today—”

“Does he know you’re in Elmshadow? You wouldn’t normally be able to get to the eastern border in three weeks. Obviously, you’re free to use my teleportation circles…”

“I suspect it is some attempt at a power-play. Perhaps he wishes to use my absence as an excuse to justify moving all the King’s armies into the Duchy to… quell matters.”

“More war,” Arkk said, slumping.

“More of a purge, at least from their perspective. White Company has been decimated and split, the Grand Guard is barely being held together, and there are few other major threats in the region—at least on the level that can contend with the King’s armies. Except for you.”

Arkk only slumped further.

“Which is why I will be there on time. I will be doing my utmost to convince the Prince that you are the hero of this story, not a villain.”

“Thank you.”

Hawkwood smiled. That was a rarity these days. When Arkk had first met the man in Cliff all those months ago, he had been nothing but smiles. He had been larger then too, with a well-kempt beard and hair.

“Don’t get me wrong, Arkk. I like you. But I’m doing this for me,” he said with a chuckle. “The idea of fighting against you is terrifying. We just took out an entrenched opponent that numbered up to four times larger than our force. All in under a day. All without using this tower in the actual attack.”

Arkk almost said that it was because of the tower that they could create such deep and intricate tunnels and make use of instant teleportation to get their wounded out even from the midst of battle. It was the tower that had finally shaken the resolve of the defenders, instigating their surrender and rout. The tower that now stood tall in the middle of the ruined city was their victory, even if it hadn’t personally stomped down their shields or crushed their armies under its feet. He closed his mouth, deciding against saying anything. Hawkwood surely knew all that.

Instead, Arkk smiled back. “You could always join up more permanently.”

“It is a consideration,” Hawkwood said, folding the letter and sliding it into the inside pocket of his militaristic jacket. “Whatever happens, I will take the route I believe will lead to less conflict. I’d urge you to do the same, not that I expect you to lay your head on the chopping block should the Prince call for that.”

“I’ll take that advice,” Arkk said, grimacing at the image.

“Good. Then I should be off. I’ll have my adjutants lead the majority of my army back over land while I and a small retinue take the ritual transport.”

“Before you do,” Arkk said, standing. He held up his letter, one that had arrived just this morning via harpy. “Any idea what I should do about this?”

Hawkwood hesitated. “Instinct tells me not to trust the Evestani leadership. Not after everything they’ve pulled. That said, I can understand and empathize with a leader trying to get his men home. I believe I would make the emotional decision and agree to the release.”

Sighing as Hawkwood departed now that his advice had been delivered, Arkk stared down at the paper. A letter from some sultan. The supposed leader of Evestani. In all the war, Arkk had known there was a sultan, but he had been so focused on the Golden Order and their avatar that he hadn’t even considered the Sultan an actual person, let alone one potentially involved in the war.

He wanted his people home. People who, just a few days before, had been fully ready to take the heads of everyone Arkk knew. How long would it be before they turned around and pointed their swords at him once again?

There were no apologies—though there might have been a few implications that the war had been a mistake, if Arkk squinted between the lines—and no restitution or ransom for the majority of the soldiers. A few names with monetary amounts attached as a reward for their release, Arkk recognized. Leaders who were unaccounted for that the Sultan hoped Arkk had in his prisons. Only a small fraction of the names were in his prison. The others had either escaped with the rest of the fleeing army or had perished in the assault.

The Sultan was willing to part with a significant chunk of his treasury, gold all of it, in exchange. That was the price for the important leaders and a smaller lump sum for anyone else Arkk had imprisoned.

Arkk needed gold, it was true. Building the tower had not been cheap and he still had his minions to pay. At the moment, he was supplementing his income by eating through Elmshadow’s ruins. The lesser servants could convert the material they consumed into gold. It wasn’t much. The amount converted seemed to be based on the general value of whatever they ate and ruins just weren’t worth that much. Still, it cleaned the place up.

He had a few lesser servants digging deep into the ground below Elmshadow and into both of the mountains, looking for any deposits of gold he could mine from while occupying the city. They found something, though it wasn’t gold. Some kind of large gemstone that they had a hard time eating through. For the time being, he had them ignoring it, spreading out while looking for anything else of value.

Funds weren’t an emergency yet…

But if Priscilla did find another tower on her exploratory flights through the Underworld, Arkk would need a sizable amount of gold more than he could spend to rebuild it here. The amount the Sultan was offering could almost fund a quarter of a tower on its own.

Yet, he had to be suspicious.

He knew things that Hawkwood didn’t. The Heart of Gold, a deity, could easily curse the gold or cause it to attack like those golden statues.

The golden statues that had attacked the tower had gone inert. Agnete was going to try melting them as soon as she got back from capturing another small group of enemy soldiers. If they were solid and proper gold, that would certainly help.

Arkk performed a quick check on all his employees. Finding no immediate or major problems at Elmshadow, he stood, teleported himself to the teleportation ritual room, and performed a few quick chain hops back to Fortress Al-Mir.

As soon as he was inside, he made his way to the private quarters. On the opposite end of the section from his quarters, he lightly knocked on a door.

The door opened after a short moment, revealing a tall elf with long silver hair. Her face pinched when she saw who was standing there. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Alya,” Arkk said, keeping his tone carefully neutral with the elven matriarch. “Glad I caught you before you left.”

Convincing Alya to head out on an expedition in the other world had not been as difficult as Arkk expected. For all that she viewed Fortress Al-Mir and their activities within much like the Abbey of the Light—and likely the Golden Order—the fact that Ilya was here tempered her somewhat.

It was… strange. Arkk had observed their interactions, usually from a distance. Personally, he couldn’t stand Alya. She had once been like a mother to him, but now? Not so much. But the way Alya acted with Ilya was a lot like how Arkk remembered from his childhood. It made Arkk consider her actions, that of leaving Langleey to serve as the Duke’s advisor, in a somewhat different light.

She was an elf. She lived naturally for… potentially forever. Arkk had never heard of an elf dying of old age. While she hadn’t lived forever—she was roughly six hundred, give or take—Arkk had only been a part of her life for a tiny percent of that. Even Ilya didn’t amount to a significant chunk of that time. To an elf, spending fifteen years trying to prevent a war was hardly worth considering. Were it not for Fortress Al-Mir’s activation pushing that avatar to war, she might very well have been successful. Then she could have let the Duke die of old age or simply found some other way to leave. She could have come back to Langleey and reentered her daughter’s life without a significant delay from her perspective.

It was different for Ilya. Ilya was only a little older than Arkk was. Her perspective was more akin to that of a human. That would probably change after a few centuries, but for now, Ilya had much more human-like attachments.

“Was there something you needed?” Alya asked, folding her arms over her chest. She tilted her head down ever so slightly. It was something of an illusion but the pose made her look dignified and yet a little more approachable for someone of lesser stature. A pose she had likely grown used to using while in the Duke’s employ.

“Do you know anything about Evestani’s Sultan?”

It was subtle but Alya twitched her head in surprise. Ilya did the same on occasion, though a bit more obviously than the time-tempered manners Alya had developed. “I know plenty,” she said after a slight pause. “We met on several occasions. You may wish to narrow down what you wish to know if I am to make it to the expedition in time.”

Rather than figure out what questions would be best to ask, Arkk simply held out the letter requesting the release of the captured Evestani soldiers. He watched Alya’s eyes move back and forth over the paper, widening slowly in the process. Once she reached the bottom, her eyes darted about the paper once again before finally settling back on Arkk.

“This is signed… Sule. The Sule I knew was a man of the people. Well-liked generally and respected. He even offered one of his daughters for marriage with Levi in an attempt to strengthen comradery between our nations and to prevent another war.”

“You doubt its authenticity?”

Alya slowly shook her head. She turned away from Arkk, reading the letter again while pacing around the doorway to her chambers.

That gave Arkk a good look at the interior. He did try to avoid looking in on his minions around the Fortress, especially in private locations. There was a near-constant level of activities going on that he would rather ignore. Yet it still wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before.

The magic of the personalized rooms only worked for employees. As Alya was neither a prisoner nor a minion, she had been left to collect furniture from John the carpenter. She had a spartan bed, covered in only a few thin blankets, and a simple desk with a chair. A tall wardrobe held a few changes of clothes. Beyond that, she had next to nothing. The walls and floors were plain brick much like any corridor or empty room in the fortress.

Alya stopped her pacing back in the doorway, frowning down at the letter. “The words read like someone overly concerned with his men. Not the kind of person who would throw years of peace away for… whatever the goal of this war is.”

Arkk carefully did not change his expression. He doubted anything good could come of letting others know his suspicion that Evestani marched for Fortress Al-Mir, not the rest of the Duchy.

“So it is a genuine offer?”

“I… believe so. But I do have concerns about some of the other content in this letter,” she said, dragging a lithe finger down the paper. “You captured five thousand soldiers. You?”

“Closer to two thousand. I’m not sure they knew how many survived the battle when they wrote the letter.”

“You… Hawkwood,” she said, speaking with finality, like she had realized something. “White Company captured the Evestani.”

“White Company made up about half of our side of the battle,” Arkk said slowly.

“Who else? What other free companies? The Grand Guard?”

“Just us. Most other free companies have been destroyed, were absorbed into our companies, or stayed out of the war entirely. And the Grand Guard is… still a little discombobulated following the change in leadership.” He paused and then added, “I’m not quite sure you know just what it is you were supposedly keeping an eye on out in the Cursed Forest.”

Alya crossed her arms again. This time, she tilted her head upward, looking down on Arkk without a word. Her posture said enough.

“To be fair, I own the thing and still am discovering things,” Arkk said with a small laugh. “You know, when it was just me and Ilya, practically the first idea we had was to rescue you. There was no plan, no thought behind it. Just the idea and a whole lot of gold. We thought we were going to buy your freedom—thought you were some kind of slave back then. Yet I was cautious. Didn’t want to do anything that might get the Duke’s armies set against us.

“Now look at me,” Arkk said with a casual shrug. No grandiose arm waving or haughty posturing. It just wasn’t needed. “Fighting on even footing with an entire foreign army. When I rescued you and Ilya from the Duke’s dungeons, there was barely a consideration that making an enemy of the Duke would turn out poorly. It just didn’t matter. I knew I could handle the Duke. Turned out, he handled himself pretty well. I hardly needed to lift a finger.”

Alya pressed her lips into a thin, disappointed line. “Only the foolish seek conflict instead of cultivating allies.”

“I am cultivating allies,” Arkk said, thinking of the Protector. “They do seem to come from strange places. Besides, it isn’t like I want conflict,” he added, fully in agreement. “But it seems like a lot of people want to fight me. Maybe you’ll be happy to know that I’m trying to get more normal allies. Hawkwood is heading out to try to convince the Prince that I’m some kind of hero.”

“Prince?” Alya tilted her head again. “What prince?”

“Prince Cedric of Vaales. He is apparently on his way to the Duchy—”

Alya closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her forehead as she let out a long sigh. “If that prince is on his way here, I fear the King feels as if the Duchy is beyond salvation.”

“So I’ve heard,” Arkk said with a frown of his own. “But he is approaching with a relatively small entourage, not an army. I hope that means there is still some hope.”

“I would advise caution regardless. There was some… discussion regarding the methods through which he subjugated the Vaales rebellion among the Duke’s advisors. The systematic and utter destruction of rebellious elements and the speed at which that destruction was carried out have… unpleasant implications.”

“Unpleasant meaning what, exactly?”

Alya shifted, moving from foot to foot in clear discomfort. Not even spotting her daughter in the middle of the Duke’s party had her quite so rattled. It was enough that Arkk, though normally dismissive of Alya’s concerns, felt compelled to listen as she whispered, “Rumors imply he may have sought extra-planar assistance in subjugating Vaales.”

“Extra… Demons? He summoned a demon?” Arkk shook his head. “Impossible. The Abbey of the Light—”

“Either doesn’t know or they lack the evidence to accuse a royal—or they were convinced to look the other way.”

Arkk clenched his eyes shut, grinding his teeth together. When he had heard that the Prince was approaching with only a small force, he had been overjoyed that there wouldn’t be a big fight. But it didn’t take a lot of people to summon a demon. If Alya was right and those rumors were true…

Most of his advisors were still at Elmshadow. Luckily, his spellcasters had all returned to Fortress Al-Mir following their victory. Zullie sat in the library, speaking with one of her assistants. Savren stood hunched over a ritual circle, drawing out fresh lines in what looked like a way of trapping people in a daydream-like hallucination. Hale was in the infirmary, patching up some of those who had been injured worse than others and had volunteered for her… unique methods of using Flesh Weaving.

Arkk pulled all three of them straight to the hallway. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled Ilya in as well.

All three jerked slightly, reorienting themselves after the sudden relocation. They were all used to it enough that they didn’t fall flat on the floor. Zullie looked around the most, turning her head back and forth as her empty eye sockets took in some small amount of the surroundings. She had performed some ritual that let her know a few things that she shouldn’t be able to see. It wasn’t perfect, but she eventually looked to Savren and then down at Hale.

For some odd reason, she had taken to wearing her rectangular glasses again, though the lenses were far more smudged than she had kept them previously.

Ilya first looked surprised to see Arkk. He probably should have visited her when he first got back to the fortress. Especially as she looked at her mother with mild accusation in her eyes. However, she was quick on the uptake. That Savren, Zullie, and Hale were all present meant this situation was serious. She folded her arms in an almost exact mirror of her mother’s earlier pose and waited for Arkk to speak.

“I infer an issue has intruded, incessantly. Immersed in intellectually intense investigation, if it isn’t an exigent emergency, I entreat you to escort me back to my endeavor. My colleagues can confront the conundrum.”

Arkk stared at Savren for a long moment before he simply shook his head. “I need all three of you on a priority task. Delve through the black book again. Find anything you can on demons—”

Ilya sucked in a breath. The anger in her pose fled, quickly replaced with worry.

“Don’t summon one,” Arkk continued, giving a firm and deliberate glare at Zullie. He wasn’t sure if she quite got the look but the way she shifted implied she heard something aimed at her in his tone. “Look for defenses, ways of banishing one, or otherwise ways of dealing with hostile demons.”

“What idiot summoned a demon?” Zullie asked, somehow managing her haughty tone even as she failed to look directly at Arkk. “Not the Golden Order.”

“No one has, yet. I hope no one will. But I have come to appreciate the maxim of being prepared for anything.”

“You’re asking in such a hurry that we’re having a meeting in the hallway,” Ilya said, trying to keep her tone flat. There was a slight waver in her tone, betraying her worry. “What’s going on?”

Arkk shook his head. “I’ll call a full meeting to explain the situation,” he said with a small glare at Alya. He shouldn’t hold it against her for dropping this on him but… it was still annoying right now. He wanted a few days of peace before being bombarded with more problems. “But I need to get to Hawkwood before he gets too far away. While I’m doing that, I want you to pen a few letters to Astra and Vrox. See if they know anything about fighting demons. We’ll have the meeting after.”

Turning, Arkk looked fully at Alya. “I don’t suppose you have any information on the topic? Or are capable of fighting demons yourself?”

“Certainly not,” Alya said.

“Then you’re still on for Olatt’an expedition.” There wasn’t much point in delaying their journey. If Olatt’an had a way of fighting demons, he surely would have used it with their old chieftain instead of coming to Arkk for aid.

Hale piped up. “What about the wounded?”

Arkk stared down at her. She wasn’t a researcher or all that knowledgeable in magic. He had pulled her into this mostly because of her propensity for Flesh Weaving. If she could use that spell to such a degree… Well, it had come from the black book…

Quickly scanning through the infirmary, Arkk grimaced at the sight of it. There had been a lot of wounded in the aftermath of the battle of Elmshadow. Most of everyone had already been stabilized. But stabilized and healthy were two very different things.

“Get the worst of them as healthy as you can,” Arkk said. “Then join the others.”

Hale nodded her head, her twin tails of black hair bobbing with her.

Without further room for arguing, Arkk sent all of them away even as he teleported himself straight to the ritual circle room. He had to get to Hawkwood and find out if he knew anything about this demon summoning that he had neglected to mention. And, if not, to warn his mentor.

 

 

 

On one hand, Arkk felt like a deep burden had been lifted from his shoulders. The Duke was gone. His army was effectively under Arkk’s control. Evestani was broken and retreating. They had a whole nation across the border, so he couldn’t count them out of the fight. Especially not while that avatar was leading them.

But, for the time being, they were not an immediate issue looming on the horizon.

There was the issue of the Prince. Prince Cedric Valorian Lafoar. The Prince lacked scrying protections, allowing Arkk to spy on him with impunity as he set out from Vaales and approached the Duchy. He and his retinue didn’t constitute a full army but they still numbered upward of five hundred individuals, mostly humans with a handful of demihumans mixed in. That shouldn’t be able to threaten Katja or Arkk, especially if they worked together, but the rumors around Prince Cedric and his subjugation of Vaales still had Arkk on edge.

It was also not something Arkk was worrying about at the moment. Vaales was on the complete opposite side of the Duchy from Evestani. There was too much going on here on this side of the country.

“Sir, we’ve found a-another d-detachment.”

Arkk sighed. “Numbers?”

“About a hundred soldiers plus logistic p-personnel.”

“Any sign of the avatar or tattooed pious? Any golden knight?”

“No, Sir.” The chameleon beastman leaned over the crystal ball, peering into its depths. “All regular soldiers by the l-looks of things.” Luthor gave a nervous laugh. “I d-don’t think they know what happened here.”

Arkk wasn’t surprised.

While the bulk of Evestani’s forces had been concentrated in Elmshadow Burg, they hadn’t been solely stationed within its walls. Scout units patrolled all around the burg at varying distances, raiding teams had been charged with scouring the surrounding villages and burgs of their food and supplies—mostly hardy cloth and metal—and even larger detachments patrolled around to secure the land from any opposing armies, whether those be the Grand Guard or even smaller militia made up of farmers, miners, and other regular people.

“They’re heading for Elmshadow?”

“Yes. About a d-day away. I imagine they’ll camp for the n-night and arrive sometime tomorrow afternoon, assuming they don’t stop for any other reason.”

Arkk nodded his head. “If they do deviate, send out Priscilla and Agnete to round them up. Otherwise, no sense exerting effort walking all the way out to them. Let them come to us and have some men round them up out sometime tomorrow morning.”

“Weren’t they down south of the burg? There was that g-group of p-pious…”

Pausing, Arkk quickly scanned through all his minions. He checked their position and current tasks, making sure he hadn’t forgotten things or gotten mixed up. It wouldn’t be the first time. Things had been hectic. Even without a battle going on, it seemed like thousands of different items all required his attention.

He wished Ilya was here. Or Vezta. Both were back at Fortress Al-Mir, keeping up operations there—mostly dealing with the refugees who hadn’t gone back to Cliff. Now that the battle was over, Arkk had sent all the wounded and the medical team through the teleportation ritual circles to recuperate back in the fortress’ safety.

“Richter and his battlecasters are dealing with the pious,” Arkk said. “And Hawkwood should be shoring up the burg’s walls and magical defenses. Agnete is down in the foundry, hammering away at something. Priscilla is lounging at the peak of one of the mountains.”

The dragonoid had constructed a large chair for herself out of ice and snow. She just sat, one arm propped up on the icy armrest, with her head tilted up toward the sky. Or, rather, toward the Stars.

“I’ll let them know they have upcoming duties,” Arkk said, knowing the chameleon wouldn’t be able to hike up and down the mountain in any reasonable amount of time. “Is there anything else of importance?”

“Not that I’ve s-seen.”

“Good. I’m heading into the burg for a time.”

“I’ll alert you if anything c-changes.”

Arkk nodded and teleported.

He didn’t go straight to the burg, however. He stopped at the base of the tower which was currently positioned directly in the center of Elmshadow, on top of the ruins of the old keep.

It… leaned. Lesser servants crawled all over the exterior, trying to seal the shadowy stone that had been hit by the avatar’s golden ray. The stone had held up to the ray, mostly just melting against one side but not wholly vanishing like regular ground or buildings had in the past. Unfortunately, that wasn’t as reassuring for future operations as it felt like it should be.

Turning, he stared at the sharp spike of the mountain that had once hidden the tower from the burg’s direct line of sight. A circular hole had been carved straight through, puncturing a hole that let him look through the mountain. Would the tower have survived if it had taken a direct hit? How much of the avatar’s magical power had gone into boring a hole in the mountain versus into the tower itself?

Arkk doubted the same tactic would work again. Right now, the Evestani remnants were headed toward Moonshine Burg. They were bypassing a few of the larger burgs in favor of that one, presumably to use the entire rest of their nation as support in its defense.

Not only were there no tall mountains to hide behind near Moonshine Burg, but that avatar would have come up with a way to hit him even if he could hide the tower.

If the tower had collapsed, instigating the surrender and routing of Evestani’s fighting force would have failed. They would have likely fought to the end, or at least a lot further. People would have died. The entire battle might have ended differently.

He couldn’t risk it being hit again and yet, he did not doubt that this war would continue unless he managed to kill the avatar. The actual avatar, not the possessed puppets.

Sylvara Astra. Darius Vrox. Arkk didn’t like to pin his hopes on those who might like to see him fall and yet… he really hoped they got back to him with information about possible countermeasures for the avatar’s powers. Either his power of possession or a way of nullifying the golden rays. Both would be best.

“Should you not be celebrating with the others?” Arkk asked, half turning as he heard a heavy set of footsteps approaching. “It was your plan that gave us this victory. You deserve a little rest and relaxation.”

Olatt’an let out a small chuckle. “Plan? That’s a bit grandiose. I merely suggested we play to our strengths. As for rest…” He shook his head, scoffing. “There is much to do, even now.”

Raising an eyebrow, Arkk hummed. He had much to do, Arkk wouldn’t argue with that. But Olatt’an? Most of his advisors were going around, cleaning up minor holdouts or just maintaining order in the rapidly expanding prison system in the depths beneath Elmshadow Burg. Arkk hardly counted that as being busy.

Most of them were drunk on the job. Something Arkk would be cracking down on in the near future.

“Have you got more suggestions?” Arkk asked, wondering what was on the old orc’s mind.

“I would like for you to give me a team to delve into the Underworld a little further. And I would like for this team to include the elf.”

“Ilya?”

“Alya.”

That made Arkk hesitate. Ilya would have given Arkk pause enough but Alya? The elven matriarch had taken to caring for the refugees, handling them with Ilya while Vezta focused on the rest of Fortress Al-Mir. She wasn’t an official minion of Fortress Al-Mir, nor was she considered a prisoner. She did go out of her way to avoid Arkk. It was almost like she had a sixth sense for his presence.

Of course, many of the refugees at Fortress Al-Mir were originally from Elmshadow. Many were eager to return, even if there wasn’t much to return to but hard work repairing the city. There were some of Elmshadow’s original inhabitants still present here, those poor souls who hadn’t managed to evacuate in time, who would be beyond pleased to reunite, he was sure. So perhaps that job was of far lesser importance going forward.

“What do you hope to accomplish that Priscilla or one of the harpies can’t scout out faster?”

“It is a personal request, though I don’t doubt that it might have some benefit for you. Now that the Protector isn’t threatening anyone who ventures through the land, I have some ideas on where we might go.

“You see,” Olatt’an continued, “I believe your servant was correct when she said that orcs might have originally come from the Underworld. The younger generations don’t know much and even I have only heard scraps and pieces from legends passed down. But, having seen what I have seen, some of those legends hold grains of truth.

“I hope to find the homeland of the orcs. During some of my guard postings in the Underworld, I mapped out the mountains and landmarks. I think I know where to find it, assuming the legends are true. The Protector, if willing, might help narrow down those legends into fact.”

Arkk nodded slowly, mind churning over the request. There wasn’t a good reason to deny it. Unless Evestani and the Golden Order had a big surprise up their sleeves, they were on the run. Even if Arkk wanted to chase after them, the tower couldn’t move more until it was repaired and the prisoners relocated out of the large chamber beneath it. The Prince wasn’t likely to cause an immediate problem. Just an eventual one.

They had weeks… potentially months of calm ahead of them.

Arkk wouldn’t plan for months of calm, but he couldn’t deny their possibility. Besides that, Fortress Al-Mir had grown. Losing a team for a few weeks wasn’t as big of a loss now compared to what it would have been before the war.

“Why Alya?”

“She is an ancient elf. She might well know orcish legends far better than even I. Besides that, I think the elf knows more than she has said. You—the fortress, your glowing eyes, and your connection to Vezta—make her hesitant to speak, not wanting to fuel your corruption,” Olatt’an said with a scoff. “A journey like this is an opportune time to pry out those secrets.”

Arkk let out a long sigh. “I don’t want her harmed, despite everything.”

“Calm yourself,” Olatt’an said, propping himself up against the base of one of the tower legs. He crossed his arms. “I know your temperament. She won’t come to harm from me. What do you take me for?”

“The Ripthroat.”

Olatt’an grinned, flashing a tusk-less smile. “That’s an old name. Hardly counts as mine anymore. No, there will be no throat-ripping. Just a long journey with a fascinating new world and little to discuss but topics of the ancient past.”

Arkk mirrored Olatt’an’s crossed arms. Were this Rekk’ar making the suggestion, Arkk would likely have denied it. If only because he wouldn’t trust the more aggressive orc to not harm Alya. Olatt’an, despite his storied past, was far more mellow. More than that, he had never done something to give Arkk cause for worry.

“How soon were you thinking of leaving?”

“As soon as possible. Today even. I only have my legends to guide me, so I don’t have a timeframe for how long this will take.”

“I don’t know about today,” Arkk said with a small shake of his head. “People need time to gather gear. I presume you’ll want horses as well? Food and water?”

“Day after tomorrow, then. That will give you enough time.”

“Doable.”

“Excellent,” Olatt’an said as he reached into his brown leather vest. He pulled out a slip of paper. “I have the names of the ones I wish to accompany me on this expedition.”

Arkk skimmed the list, wincing as he came to one of the names. “Gromm’as didn’t survive the battle.”

“Really? I expected better of him,” Olatt’an said, tone entirely flat. There was no emotion in his voice.

“Everyone else is mostly unharmed. Though Hamm’on took a heavy hit to the leg. Hale healed it up but did so in her way. It has somewhat impacted his mobility. He might decline because of that.”

“Doubt it, but if he does, I’ll come up with replacements.”

“Right. I’ll have everyone else on the list meet you at the teleport back to Al-Mir?”

Olatt’an shoved himself off the wall. “Thanks,” he said. Without a word more, he turned and headed toward the downward-leading stairs at the base of the tower’s leg. Arkk almost asked if he wanted to be moved straight to the teleportation ritual room, but decided against it. If Olatt’an wanted it, he would have asked.

Still, as Olatt’an walked away, it got Arkk thinking. An expedition into the Underworld wasn’t a bad idea. He had bought some space, some relief of pressure. Sending Priscilla and Leda out—maybe a few harpies as well, if they were willing—to some areas of import that the Protector had pointed out would be best done now.

If there were more towers at all close to the portal, retrieving them, bringing the [HEART] here, and setting them up would be invaluable. He could plant Al-Lavik on the western border, blocking further incursions from Evestani, and one on the eastern border, keeping any army Prince Cedric might call for well away from him. A third one could go on the southern border, interposed between Chernlock and Mystakeen.

Arkk closed his eyes, quickly scanning over all his employees. The gorgon made it through the battle unharmed. They could accompany Agnete to subdue the stray group of Evestani soldiers. That would free up Priscilla to leave as soon as possible. She wouldn’t need to carry an entire team’s worth of provisions and wouldn’t have a whole team ready. She could leave tonight.

In scanning through his employees, Arkk spotted one particular employee looking… despondent. Priscilla could wait a few more minutes.

Arkk teleported through the tunnels connected to the Walking Fortress and reappeared just outside the ruined walls that had once encircled the keep. Not far from where Priscilla and Agnete had taken down the avatar.

The city was in a poor state. Once that golden dome had gone down, Arkk hadn’t held back. Every bit of bombardment magic they had came down upon the city. It was a small consolation to know that there weren’t any of the original inhabitants present in the center of the city. They had all been segregated into a small section of slums and effectively left to fend for themselves.

At this point, razing the entire burg to the ground might be better than leaving it in ruins. The tower wouldn’t be here permanently. As soon as Arkk left, he had no doubt that people like Katja would see it as a perfect place to move in. Bandits, the deserters who hadn’t joined up with Arkk, and even whatever scattered remnants of Evestani’s forces that he would inevitably fail to locate. If he stayed long enough to rebuild, it would help, but he wasn’t sure if he could do that.

Evestani’s forces were another problem. He wasn’t sure what to do with them all. Almost three thousand people sat in the depths. Without the infrastructure of Fortress Al-Mir close at hand, he couldn’t keep them fed for long. As it was, he was using their stores that their supply lines had managed to deliver, but those wouldn’t last and there wouldn’t be any more coming from Evestani.

Execution had been brought up among his advisors—Rekk’ar, mostly. It was a fairly standard tactic for combatants deemed a significant threat. Perhaps it was the difference in upbringing between a raider like Rekk’ar and his own, but that didn’t sit particularly well with him. Especially when he took into consideration Hawkwood’s words from before the initial siege of Elmshadow, where he suspected that a large portion of the Evestani army was made up of conscripts who likely didn’t want to be here in the first place.

Then again, Evestani as a whole hadn’t been kind to the citizens of the Duchy who failed to get out of their way in time. Perhaps it was just paying their harsh tactics forward.

A few, the leaders and commanders, might be worth ransoming back. Arkk doubted the income would supplement his reserves that much. Vezta had suggested that her former master was someone who enjoyed capturing favored minions of others and then bartering every concession possible from those who wanted them back.

The idea of recruitment had crossed his mind, but he hadn’t decided to act on it. Though he might be viewing the Evestani as a monolith rather than as individuals, they were far too fanatical for his tastes. He had already executed a small group of priests who had been trying to draw tattoos on another’s head.

The worst-case scenario at the moment would be that avatar popping up right in the midst of their group.

Since that incident, his guards patrolled on the regular and everyone had to submit for inspection—something he lacked the personnel to do effectively.

There just wasn’t a good solution.

Or rather, there was, but he didn’t want to admit that execution was the best option.

But he hadn’t teleported away from the tower to decide the fate of the prisoners. He could put that off for another day or two. Long enough to gather up the remnants from the area. For the time being, Arkk stalked across Elmshadow Burg’s empty streets, between ruined buildings and broken walls. There, near the damaged wall that had once encircled the burg’s garrison, stood about half of an Abbey of the Light church.

Much of the air around Elmshadow Burg smelled foul and rotting. The church was no different.

The entire eastern wall was just gone. The rest of it… didn’t look all that stable. Every few moments, an odd creaking of wood or grinding stone echoed over the otherwise silent section of the burg. If he couldn’t teleport instantly, he doubted he would be brave enough to step over the waist-high remnants of the eastern wall.

A gremlin with fiery red hair and a shadowy black cloak sat on a cracked bench in the middle of the church. The bench leaned at one end, letting her short legs reach the floor. Her elbows were propped on her knees and her head rested in the palms of her hands. She didn’t move even as gravel crunched underneath Arkk’s boots.

“Lexa?” Arkk said, voice soft as he slowly lowered himself to the bench. Broken as it was, it wasn’t a very comfortable place for a fully-grown human to sit. He ignored the discomfort just as he tried to ignore the creaking groans of the wood. Gently, he rested a hand on the gremlin’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

She started at the touch, jolting. Her hands rubbed across her face, doing little to clean it. Realizing the futility of the attempt, she stopped and let out a sorry laugh. “I tried,” she said. “I tried so hard.”

“I know.”

“A snap of his fingers. A flash of gold. And they were all gone. I just…” She grit her sharp teeth, clenching her fists. “I keep thinking about it.”

She slowly looked around. The bodies of the children had been removed. It wasn’t much, but Arkk had spared some manpower to dig a few graves.

“I keep wondering what I could have done differently. I thought I didn’t have time to explain why I had to mutilate them. They were already panicked and scared. I didn’t think they would listen. But would things have been different if I had tried?” A crack of frustration broke her voice. “What if I had counted? I was in a rush. Things blurred together. But I could have counted how many I had done. Or just… looked. I knew some of them tried to hide, especially after the first. But—”

Arkk put his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her close, giving her a firm, comforting hug. “It isn’t your fault.”

“It is. I could have been faster. I could have practiced the spell more, spoken it faster, or—”

“It isn’t your fault,” Arkk said, voice far more firm. “It is mine. I ordered the detonation of the alchemical bomb before you were ready.”

“It’s not—”

“It is. I may not have had perfect battlefield knowledge, but my abilities give me a better scope of things than anyone else is capable of. I gave the order,” Arkk said. “I killed these children.”

For a long minute, silence reigned in the broken church. Only the faint creaking of wood and distant wind ruined that silence.

“No.”

“Lexa, it wasn’t your—”

“No,” Lexa snapped, shoving herself away from Arkk. Whirling around, she glared at him. Even with her standing and him sitting, she barely came up to his chest. Yet the fury in her eyes gave her an extra level of imposing. She jammed a finger in his chest. “Promise me.”

“Promise what?”

“When we track down that avatar—the real one, not his… puppets—I get to be the one… I get to drag my dagger across his throat and watch that golden light in his eyes fade.”

Arkk pursed his lips. That wasn’t something he could easily promise. It would likely be him, Agnete, and Priscilla fighting against the avatar. Although the avatar could deflect the bolts of lightning Arkk favored, he wasn’t omnipotent. A distraction could easily get lightning through his defenses, as their recent encounter showed.

But a dagger was far slower than a lightning bolt.

The way Lexa looked up at him, her eyes darting back and forth as she looked at his eyes, made him hold his rejection.

“Alright,” Arkk said.

Lexa didn’t look happy. If that simple agreement could bring even a little comfort and contentment, it was a small price to pay. Even if he had to break that promise in the future.

 

 

Thousands dead. People he had been charged with leading into a new, more peaceful age. Sons and fathers who would never return home.

The aftermath of Gleeful had been bad enough. Now this?

Sule, head bowed and hands clasped together, listened to the listeners as they mumbled over their bowls of water. Each word, translated by Grand Vizier Zarkov, added a weight to Sule’s back. He had never been one to concern himself with legacy, not while the people of Evestani were suffering. Yet, he couldn’t help but think now that he would undoubtedly go down in the annals of history as the most vile sultan Evestani had ever seen.

The irony was not lost on him. Back when he had been a mere civil administrator during Evestani’s internal war, he had come into power thanks to his dreams of reform and ideals of a better, brighter future. As his influence grew and more and more villages, men, and resources came his way after fleeing the warring generals, he had envisioned a kingdom where the arts flourished, where scholars from all over the world would gather to share knowledge, and where the markets would never be without food, clothing, and even luxuries.

As Zarkov continued to translate, Sule’s thoughts wandered to the faces of the men he had sent into battle. Young faces, full of hope and determination, believing in a cause Sule had championed on behalf of the Golden Order. A divine edict to sweep Evestani’s prosperity across the land, blessed by the Golden Good.

It had all been a farce. He had known that. Yet, upon witnessing the fissure in the sky, his enthusiasm jumped. Just knowing that there was an actual reason for the war more than the madness of the Golden Order’s Most Blessed had him thinking that maybe, just maybe, they were in the right. Few could turn down a divine crusade to save the world.

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with grief and unspoken accusations. Sule could feel the eyes of his court on him, their gazes heavy with expectation and disappointment. Word was confined to this room for now, but that wouldn’t last. A vizier or general offhandedly speaking in front of a servant would see the word spread throughout the city like wildfire. Sule wouldn’t be surprised to find a mob forming outside the palace by the week’s end. They had managed to downplay their losses at Gleeful, but this?

Sule placed a hand on his forehead, covering his vision. He hadn’t heard word of his daughters in weeks. There had been rumors of his eldest being spotted out in one of the villages near the southern border between Evestani and the Tetrarchy… Against his better judgment, he had his spymaster send one of his agents out to investigate. Nothing had come of it, however. Which was probably for the best. He didn’t need to give the Golden Order any further hold over him.

Were they doing well? Had they abandoned their names to better distance themselves from him? He could only hope so.

“Sultan?”

Sule opened his eyes to find Zarkov standing a few paces away, fingers twisting the tip of his long beard. “Yes?”

“Your… orders, sire?”

Sule pursed his lips. He looked around the room, casting his gaze over the tops of the listeners’ heads to meet the eyes of his generals and military advisors. Even General Kala, by far the biggest proponent of the war, stood uncharacteristically still.

“Where is His Holiness?” Sule asked, looking back to Zarkov.

Zarkov grimaced. The vizier did not like even mentioning their golden-eyed compatriot. To be fair, neither did Sule. For all that the Golden Order and His Holiness stood against evils like that fissure in the sky, Sule couldn’t help but feel like they planned on discarding and replacing him the moment he failed to live up to their standards.

With recent events, Sule wondered if that moment was coming sooner rather than later.

“He has yet to emerge from his private chambers.”

Sule closed his eyes. The Most Blessed had vanished into his quarters days ago, back when they first received word of that building that walked and its aim toward Elmshadow.

Well, if they were going to be abandoned now, the Golden Order could hardly complain about them taking matters into their own hands.

“Pull all forces back to the border. Moonshine Burg is still under our control, is it not?”

“It is.”

Sule nodded. “Good. Retreat there. Ensure there are ample supplies ready to comfort those who make it. If that tower begins walking toward Moonshine… pull back immediately. Do not try to defend further.”

Kala took a step forward. Her black and gold dress, militaristic in its cut, felt too gaudy for the situation. Nevertheless, she swept her hand around in a grandiose manner. “Retreat? And let that tower into our lands?”

“And how do you propose we stop it?” Sule snapped, standing. “Even if it didn’t march on the city itself, that tower provided a base from which to launch attacks, magical support the likes of which we don’t understand, and those tunnels. His Holiness even failed to—”

Sule didn’t get to continue. His words, borderline blasphemy, sparked an outcry among his advisers and generals. It was a muddle of noise with nobody managing to to make clear words. The sensitive listeners in the room began showing signs of distress, scrunching up their faces and twisting in discomfort. Zarkov noticed the listeners and quickly began moving around, trying to keep them calm.

Sule just sank back down into his seat. Joining in on the shouting now would only disturb the listeners further. It wasn’t like their orders mattered. After Gleeful and now Elmshadow, he would be amazed if anyone in that army even stopped at Moonshine. They would probably flee back to central Evestani without pause.

A large portion of the army had been captured at Elmshadow. Not killed. Not yet, at least.

Sule wondered if they could be saved, somehow. If he could get them back, that would be a small bright mark on the charred remains of his legacy. What would it take?

Military force was out of the question. They had seen that for themselves.

Diplomacy? Could he even try to be diplomatic with the heathens across the border?

And what of His Holiness? Surely he wouldn’t support any diplomatic actions. Not unless Sule phrased it right. If he managed to argue that recovering their captured soldiers would help in carrying out the war, His Holiness might agree.

Whether or not they could continue the war didn’t matter in the short term. If his men remained in the hands of their enemy, they would die. Getting them back was the priority. Everything else could come after.

“Zarkov,” Sule said, voice soft. “Fetch me a messenger harpy. One of the ones accustomed to long-distance travel.”

“Now?” he asked, turning back to the mess of the strategy room. None of the listeners were actively listening anymore. They just sat, some askew and even drooling, leaning back away from the bowls of water. There wouldn’t be any further information coming in through them until the room calmed.

The arguing among his advisors was still going on, now shifted to the topic of that battle tower and how they might stop it—or build one for themselves. Lavis Harren, the court wizard, was trying to discuss some of the previously unseen magic the listeners had mentioned. Most notably the sudden teleportations of various members of the enemy forces, taking them out of danger and even, at certain points, teleporting them straight behind attacking opponents. Sule suspected he wanted to discuss that massive ritual spell that had taken out swaths of the army—the one featuring shards of the night—but he had so far kept his mouth shut. Likely to avoid accusations of heresy.

Sule was well aware that Evestani, under the watchful eye of the Golden Order, was woefully inadequate in terms of magical knowledge compared to the likes of Chernlock. Their neighboring kingdom’s religious order almost seemed to revel in heretical magics, even making use of such things in their inquisitorial forces. It was little surprise that their various magical academies outpaced those of Evestani. Even more so given the disruption to the nation in the civil war following the previous war.

Regardless, such things were out of his hands. Sule was no spellcaster. He was no researcher. He was hardly even a pious of the Golden Order, attending various sermons but avoiding anything delving into the magics the Order’s pious used.

Sule was no warlord or general either. Nor was he a strategist or tactician.

He was a civil servant who had been granted far too much power.

It was best to use this time away from His Holiness to focus on what he was good at.

Diplomacy.

“We have a problem.”

“It is under control.”

“Oh, is that what you call the situation?” A loud laugh echoed through the wide pool of silvery liquid.

“We have a problem.”

“It is under control.” A shimmering, golden light burned at the bottom of the pool. “Why have you called me here? I have a war to run.”

“Yes. Run it into the ground.” The laugh coursed through the ripples once again. “That is what you are best at, isn’t it? You did the same a few decades ago, didn’t you?”

The gold pulsed, violent and angry. “If you have summoned me for nothing more than insults, I will be leaving.” The gold faded but didn’t fully vanish. Lingering, it waited, perhaps hoping that someone would have something to add beyond insults.

A deep, feminine voice shook the bowl. “We have a problem.”

“Yes, yes. We heard you the first two times. Or… Oh dear. The avatar of the Alwhiny Glory is stuck in a loop again.” Laughter echoed like hollow chimes in a gentle wind. “Hello! Glory! If you can hear me, try striking your avatar’s face as hard as you can!” The joyful tone turned harsh and vicious. “Maybe you’ll break her neck and rid us of your influence for the next century.”

A faint, curious glow of gold lit the pool. “You seem woefully unconcerned with the situation.”

“Weren’t you just saying that there wasn’t a situation?”

“He is in your lands.”

“But he’s focused on you. If he wants to crusade across the land to take your head, who am I to stand in his way? You kill him or he kills you. Either way, neither of you will be in a position to fight further. I win.”

“You would stand aside, watching as he works to undo everything we have worked for?”

“We?” Saccharine sarcasm dripped from the word. “Don’t think your true motives went unnoticed, Golden Boy. You were fully prepared to use him as an excuse to wipe me from the face of the world up until our little friend proved hardier than you expected. Then you, what was it again? Oh yes, you came groveling to me, begging for an alliance.” A sharp, piercing laughter made the silvery liquid stand in tall spikes before it splashed back down.

“I didn’t… You… That… Traitor.”

“Aren’t we all.”

“That alliance accomplished nothing. Did you even try?”

“Nope. Not in the slightest. In fact, I blinded that fat ecclesiarch and his oracles. They couldn’t decide what to do for the longest time. When the majority finally pushed for an alliance, it was a fractured and halfhearted effort. As expected of mortals fearful of an invading army.”

“Wha… Why? Whyever would you—”

“As I said, no matter the outcome, I win.”

“Irresponsible,” the deep, feminine voice graced the pool with its presence once again.

“Your light must have blinded you.” The gold pulsed in anger. “You failed to notice the Lock and Key’s interference? I personally witnessed the Cloak of Shadows’ unilluminable magics present in that recent battle. This is worse than—”

“The Cloak was present? Really?” The silver pool rippled with a light, joyful hum. “Shadows and the Light always got on well. The Light even extended an invitation to old Lady Shadows to join, you know? I wonder… A thousand years of isolation could change the mind of anyone, even a god…”

“You cannot seriously be considering—”

“What does it matter? You have it under control. Allow me my idle thoughts and I’ll allow you your absurd delusions.”

“Unacceptable.”

The silvery liquid shook in a scoff. “I’ll accept criticism from you when you sail your armies across the world, Glory. Until then, you’re as impotent as a blustering wind.”

“Your wit and mockery may amuse you,” the feminine voice said, shaking the pool in a surprising amount of words for the being behind the voice, “but they do not protect our realms.”

“Spare me the sermon of unity,” the silvery liquid gurgled with an audible gag. “You never cared about that when the Heart of Greed began forcing my influence off the continent and onto this tiny peninsula. Nor when he began his wars to try to wipe even that influence off the world.

“There is no benefit to carrying on this charade of an alliance.”

“Unacceptable. The Cloak of Shadows and the Lock and Key are interfacing with the world in ways that are not meant to be. These are not isolated incidents. They are harbingers of a deeper malaise. The Heart of Gold has proved that containment in isolation is impossible—”

“I have it under control,” the golden light snarled. “It is one lone mortal and one servant of the Stars. Both are dispatched as easily as any other mortal. I just need a moment’s opening.”

“Regretting the theatrics of taunts and banter, are we?”

“If you would have—”

“Silence. The enemy does not care for our infighting. To him, we are but obstacles to be eradicated.” The Glory emanating from the pool grew stronger, threatening to drown the gold and silver. “We need not become allies in the truest sense. Our interests are too divergent, our pasts too stained with each other’s blood. But a truce, a pact of non-aggression, could allow us all to fortify our positions. The two of you must cease your sabotage of each other.”

“And you?” The golden light shined with harsh anger. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your warships on patrol around my northern territories. Circling like a vulture…”

“Myself as well.”

“A truce,” the silvery liquid repeated, roiling around the word as if tasting it for the first time. “Temporary, of course.”

“Until our enemy’s ambitions are curtailed.”

“I’ll need some concessions from our greedy friend as well. As restitution for using the situation to try to wipe out my influence—”

“You would dare—”

“Enough. I will arbitrate these concessions after our enemy is dealt with.”

The pool simmered with anger from all three sources. That anger slowly subsided as thoughts warred and, after a long few moments, the surface of the pool reflected a momentary agreement. A rare occurrence among the avatars of three divine beings.

“If these concessions involve ceding territory and influence, you will both pay.”

“You do understand what concessions mean, don’t you, Heart of Greed? You must give up something. In return, I’ll cease my block of the oracles and ecclesiarch. Maybe even throw a vision their way implying that an alliance with the Eternal Empire is in their favor.”

“That’s it? That isn’t an alliance.”

“It is more than enough for a truce of non-aggression. They can use their renewed prescience to determine their fate. Perhaps even attempting to renew their alliance with you.”

“And if they don’t? Will you step in for once?”

“I am not in the habit of grinding my fellow worshippers of Light under the heel of my boot. Nor can I control the whims of mortal minds. I’ll show them the Light. They can choose what to do with the information.”

The glory in the pool pulsed. “If your followers fight the Heart of Gold, it will be a violation of the truce.”

The silvery liquid hung in the pool, staying still for a long moment before rippling in glee. “Then I can assure you, no true follower in good standing will act against you or yours. I will ensure it.”

The gold bubbled in barely concealed anger. “Fine. Then a truce.”

“A truce.”

“A truce.”

The gold didn’t stick around to affirm anything else. The pinprick of light faded from the pool. The radiant glory quickly diminished, leaving nothing but the mercury-like silver liquid all on its own.

It bubbled with laughter. “Fools.”

The pool went still.

 

 

 

Clamors of war, cries of battle, and the clang of steel filled the air. Evestani forces defended with faith and power, wielding their overwhelming numbers against Company Al-Mir. Their god protected them, keeping the hostile siege magics from causing any harm.

Then, the protective magics failed. Siege magic bombarded the primary concentration of Evestani forces. They fell back, moving to better defensive points where they could hold off the lesser numbers with greater efficiency.

Until a shadow fell over their forces.

Walls cracked and the ground trembled as an elongated shadow eclipsed the burg of Elmshadow.

The mighty tower of shadowy stone loomed on the horizon, an ominous silhouette against the evening sky. It moved with an eerie grace on six colossal legs, each step causing another quake to shake the ground.

Walking Fortress Al-Lavik approached Elmshadow burg.

Evestani confidence shattered, replaced by abject terror as the Walking Fortress drew near. Wails of fear and confusion erupted from the rank and file as they stared up at the towering behemoth. The commanders tried to maintain order even as their hearts trembled, shouts shifting between threats to keep in line and promises that the Golden Good would prevail, crushing the tower before it could reach them.

With every step the tower took, those promises grew less confident.

The masses broke rank, abandoning their positions and fleeing in a chaotic rout.

The soldiers of Company Al-Mir, though affected by the shaking ground as much as their enemies, found their spirits bolstered. Faces, grim with the strain of prolonged combat, now shone with relief and vigor. Deafening cheers drowned out the panic of Evestani as they surged forward, backed by the might of the Walking Fortress.

There weren’t many things Priscilla could see.

That ray of gold still seared into the darkness of her vision.

Priscilla dipped a wing, sending her glide around in a tight turn. The protective dome, another thing she could see, was gone. Nothing would stop her from reaching the source of that light.

It was the Heart of Gold. The destroyer of this world. Even her hatred for humans was nothing but a pale, flickering flame next to the burning rage she felt for those so-called gods. They ruined everything, killed her kin, and destroyed her [HEART].

They couldn’t die. Or, if they could, Priscilla wasn’t capable of killing them. Nor was any mortal. It would be like trying to kill the sky. But she could kill their minions. She could scour their influence from the world.

That scouring would start here and now.

Reaching the point above the source of that golden ray, Priscilla folded her wings behind her and let herself drop. The air screamed past her until her body crashed into a thin series of wooden planks. A roof. The moment she felt herself crash through, she spread her wings wide. Her right wing scraped into the side of whatever building she had entered.

Despite using her wings to slow herself, her feet struck the ground with enough force to crater the floor. Somethings squished between her clawed toes along with the familiar cracking and snapping of bones. Judging by the lack of sudden screams, whoever it was wasn’t alive.

It wasn’t the avatar. She could see the avatar. A pinprick of golden light gleamed in her dark eyes.

Priscilla didn’t hesitate. She didn’t banter or bargain. In her experience, those with power often liked to gloat about it. Her tenure as a Keeper of a [HEART] had ended poorly in part because she had once been one of those types. It was an exploitable weakness… but one that worked in both ways. The one listening would just stand around.

Blind as she was, her opponent could be preparing Frost-knows-what while she just stood there with a stupid look on her face.

So, she didn’t hesitate. Unhinging her jaw, Priscilla breathed. The temperature of the room plummeted as sharp shards of ice formed in the air, sailing through it like miniature arrows.

The golden pinprick swelled. Whether a shield or an incoming attack, Priscilla didn’t stick around to find out. The claws of her toes dug into the ground, propelling her forward with a burst of speed that was too fast for human eyes to follow.

As she charged, the golden light intensified, morphing into a dazzling array of thin, destructive beams. They scattered through the air in rapid series, with several trailing just behind her.

One appearing in front of her forced her to twist and turn, her dragonoid form shrinking in on itself as she wove through a forming web of deadly light. She could hear the missing beams carve deep gouges into the walls and floor, leaving trails of destruction in their wake.

A stray beam grazed her side, searing through her icy scales and flesh with agonizing precision. She stifled a roar of pain, refusing to give that bastard the satisfaction of hearing her suffer. Instead, she forced her cold fury inward, channeling it into the elemental crucible within her chest.

Another blast of ice erupted from her unhinged jaw. This time, she aimed at the ground around the avatar, turning every surface in the room into a slippery sheet of ice. Excess icy crystals hung in the air like tiny flecks of snow, filling the room with a thick mist that would hopefully render the avatar as blind as she was.

Using the mist as cover, she darted forward, closing the distance between her and the avatar.

A golden construct melted into her vision just ahead of her. Humanoid and golden, she couldn’t tell if it was like that man in gold armor or like those golden statues that turned everything they attacked into more of themselves. Either way, letting it touch her was not an option.

Priscilla beat her wings, launching herself into the air. Her back slammed through another beam of wood, but she ignored it. The pinprick of light that was the avatar looked like it was struggling against the icy terrain. Its movements became sluggish as the cold began to take its toll and… well, she hoped it was slipping and sliding about. She wished she could see that. That might even be enough to make her laugh.

Unable to see the comedy, Priscilla focused on her rage. She dove with a powerful beat of her wings sending her back down, over the top of the golden construct. Claws extended, she reached for the avatar. For all his power, he was as mortal as anyone else. If she could just get her hands around his throat…

Something grasped her wing. Just a finger-length more and she would have had her claws in the avatar’s heart. Now, the construct pivoted and released, taking her with its movement and sending her sailing through wall after wall. Stone broke and shattered around her as she plowed through at least two buildings. Her back finally skimmed against the ground, bouncing her off and slowing her enough that the next wall stopped her momentum.

Priscilla’s head spun. If she still had working vision, she imagined she would have thrown up.

“[You]/[enemy]… You seem… [familiar]/[recognized]/[do i know you?].”

Clenching her teeth, Priscilla shook the spinning world from her head. The pinprick of the avatar stood before her with the bulk of the construct blocking a direct path to him.

“I suppose it won’t matter. [Kill]/[slaughter]/[destroy],” the avatar said, waving a hand.

The construct took a step forward, its weight enough to send vibrations through the ground. Priscilla tried to push herself off the ground with her wings, only to hiss as a familiar pain coursed through her bones. The wing the construct had grabbed was broken.

Priscilla dug her claws into the ground, ready to shove herself out of the way of an attack.

Before the construct could rise up at her, a gout of heat surged forward, intense enough to make even Priscilla shriek. She breathed out a heavy gust of ice, just to keep herself from burning to bits. But the heat wasn’t coming for her. It swirled around the construct. The sheer weight of the construct combined with the heat had it sinking into the ground.

Priscilla used the opportunity to push herself to her feet, carefully folding her wing behind her and out of the way. The avatar’s pinprick had grown again, much like it had when she unleashed her first icy breath at it. A shield then.

“You’re late,” Priscilla hissed at where she thought the flames were coming from. Although she could see the Gold’s avatar, she couldn’t see the avatar of the Forge.

“Not all of us have wings,” the flame witch said. With the construct down to its waist in the ground, she allowed her fires to fade. “I would have been later if not for—”

“Enough,” the Gold’s avatar barked out.

Another welling of golden light filled Priscilla’s vision. She could feel the heat swelling at her side as the flames coursed toward the avatar. Priscilla ducked and weaved, leaping over a dazzling array of beams. Rays of gold struck where the flame witch had been, but rather than carving through her position, the beams deflected up into the sky with a roaring of intense flames.

A cry of true pain echoed out as flames forced the golden beams back to the avatar. Another shield enveloped him, cutting off the heat of the flames momentarily.

Not one to be outdone by a human, Priscilla seized the moment, her claws scraping against the ground once more. The construct was stuck, leaving her with a clear path forward. The pinprick of golden light was her sole focus. She dove into the flames surrounding the avatar, grimacing as she could feel the ice melting off her scales but trusting in the Permafrost to see her through.

Priscilla crashed into the golden barrier, her momentum sending cracks spiderwebbing through it. She drew back her arm and slammed it forward. And again. And again.

The heat of the flames twisted around her. It was probably burning her skin off her bones, but she didn’t care. She struck again.

This time, the flames intensified, but only right where she had struck. She could feel the intensity of the heat in the exact spot she had struck double over, then double over again.

Priscilla slammed her fist onto the intense blade of flames.

The fire pierced through the barrier. She felt that satisfying lack of resistance as her arm followed straight after. The knife of flames erupted around her arm, filling the interior of the shield. Her arm grasped the face of the avatar.

She squeezed. If breaking through the barrier had been satisfying, it was nothing compared to the feel of brittle bones cracking and breaking underneath her icy claws. The pinprick of golden light scattered in a thousand different directions as a splattering of hot liquid exploded across Priscilla’s front. She flinched at the feeling of the liquid boiling off her skin but still managed to taste a few drops of human blood as she licked her lips.

The golden motes of light in the air didn’t escape unharmed. The flame witch’s power nipped at them even as they streaked off into the distance, off to the west. They went far, far beyond what Priscilla could see. Far enough that she had to assume they left the city entirely.

Priscilla’s knees hit the stone as the heat of the flame witch’s fires winked out. Blessed cold covered her body. Which Priscilla took as a good sign. If she could feel cold, then she couldn’t be that hurt. Maybe the flame witch’s skill with her power let her control the flames to such a degree that none of them ever actually touched Priscilla, leaving her exposed only to the convection. That had to be it.

She could have stopped herself from collapsing completely onto the ground. All she needed to do was raise a hand to catch herself. But, for some reason, Priscilla’s face still slammed into the nearly molten stone where the avatar of gold had been only moments ago.

She opened her mouth, breathing out ice that vaporized into steam almost the moment it left her lips. It still cooled down the stone she was now pressed against.

With a twist of space, she found herself removed completely from the heat of the flame witch and in the cool air of an underground room—or maybe one of the tower’s rooms—smelling a mix of blood and sweat from a variety of different species. Moaning and groaning from the wounded bounced off the smooth walls. The infirmary. This was the second time that the golden avatar—or its minions—had sent her to the infirmary.

Priscilla clenched her teeth but lacked the strength to do much else about her anger.

“What’s wrong with you?” The voice of the human child, lower than expected but higher than most humans, sounded utterly exhausted.

Last time, Arkk had healed her of her concussion. Now, she had a child looking after her. Priscilla honestly wasn’t sure which she would have preferred.

“What’s wrong?” the girl asked again.

“Wing’s broken.”

“Ha? That’s it? I have a harpy missing a wing. You can wait—”

“I have a hole in my side.” That was an injury she had taken, wasn’t it? It seemed so long ago now. “Am I burned to a crisp? I honestly can’t tell. I think all my ice melted away.” What she wouldn’t give for eyes at the moment, just to see how poorly she looked.

And now this human was looking at her, seeing her in such a sorry state.

A loud click of annoyance snapped through the air like the clap of someone’s hands. The little girl uttered one of those long new spells the humans had developed. A sharp, snapping crack of bone made Priscilla jolt.

“Sit still,” the girl snapped even as more of Priscilla’s bones cracked back into their proper place.

Pain tore at her wings. Priscilla forced herself to remain as still as possible even as she felt like this mad medic was trying to rip her wings into pieces. Three more sharp cracks echoed through the room before the sharp pain faded. It still ached, but the worst of the pain quickly subsided.

“Your bones are… strong.”

“Uh…” Priscilla raised an eyebrow. Now that the pain in her wing was gone, she was feeling much better. Her body still tingled all over and her side still ached. “Thanks? Yours are weak.”

“I know,” the girl said with a pout in her tone. “Hold still. I’m going to patch up the hole in your side.”

A human that could admit to her own weakness. That was refreshing. As was the lessening of the pain in her side. Now that she wasn’t in intense pain, she found herself feeling more exhausted than anything. Had she been able to see, she imagined she wouldn’t have seen much more. Her eyes closed and her mind decided that now was the perfect time for a nap.

Dakka fell back, stepping just in time to avoid a flying fist from the gold knight. In the weight of her old armor, she would have been far too slow to dodge like that. Even as it was, Dakka had taken more beatings from the knight than she cared to count. It was a surprise that the shadowy gear was still intact.

But she couldn’t do damage. It wasn’t that her new equipment was lacking. The first strike she made had lopped the golden knight’s hand clean off his arm. But since then, she hadn’t landed a single hit. It wasn’t her equipment that was the problem. It was her. The knight was too fast. And he was fighting without an arm.

At least she could confirm that he was human under there. Or flesh and blood. A good portion of his blood had spilled out from his stub. But not enough to seriously inconvenience him. Or maybe the armor just had healing properties and was replenishing his blood as he went.

She swung again, aiming for any part of the knight that she could swipe at. He barely moved, only raising his arm to avoid the swipe of the scythe.

Dakka grit her teeth in frustration. She was fairing better than she had last time she fought the knight but it just wasn’t enough. And she was wearing out. Though the blade of the scythe didn’t feel like it weighed anything, her arms felt sluggish and her steps less sure. If the knight was feeling the same fatigue, he didn’t show it. She was slower than him to begin with and that gap was only widening with every passing moment of the battle.

The knight stepped into her guard. His foot snaked behind hers even as he planted a hand directly on her chest. All it took was a heavy shove to knock her off her feet.

The first few blows hadn’t been so bad. She had thought that she would be able to get a lucky hit if she just made enough strikes. Now, she regretted having waved the other members of her team away to finish their job. Would they have helped? Maybe. Maybe not. At the very least, they could have taken some of the pressure off her, letting her rest for at least a few brief moments.

The knight clapped his arms together and raised his joined hand and wrist high over his head. Dakka clenched her fists, digging her fingers through the muddy ground in frustration.

He didn’t even have skills beyond his speed. Dakka was an untrained raider who had lucked herself into a good station and she figured she would easily have trounced this guy in an unarmed fight. If he didn’t have that implacable armor…

Before the knight brought his arms down on top of her, the knight froze. His helmet turned slightly, looking off into the distance of the city in the same direction as where that ray of gold had come from.

Dakka didn’t know what distracted him. She didn’t much care. A distraction was a distraction.

Dakka lurched forward, flinging one arm up. Mud flew through the air, striking the golden knight in the thin, vertical slats of his helmet visor. She heard the grunt of surprise and pain as some of that dirt got in his eyes. It was no gorgon venom but the eyes were the weak spot of even the strongest warrior.

She didn’t stop moving there. The scythe was too unwieldy to use from the ground. Dakka snagged a small mail breaker from her waist belt and, in one smooth motion, jammed the thin, needle-like blade up beneath the knight’s fauld and straight through the mail protecting the gaps in the armor around his groin. A spurt of blood shot out as she twisted.

“Gotcha, bastard.”

The knight kicked forward, sending Dakka sliding across the ground.

Yet she couldn’t help but laugh at how weak that kick felt. What was more, she still had her grip on the dagger. Ripping it out of him with that kick would have only done more damage.

Dakka rolled to the side just in time to avoid the knight crashing down where she had stopped moving. With renewed vigor from the success of her strike, she shoved herself to her feet, watching with unbridled glee as the knight staggered after his attack. Blood ran down the golden armor of his leg, tainting it red. That felt good to see.

It probably wouldn’t kill him, unfortunately. Especially if her theory of his armor healing him was true.

But if it slowed him down…

Dakka’s eyes flicked to her scythe, lying on the ground where she first fell. Too far away to be of use now. She angled the mail breaker in her hand, pointing its tip toward the knight. It was just a regular blade. Metal, not shadow.

The knight knocked his hand against his helmet, trying to get some of that dirt out. Dakka flung another fistful of muddy dirt at the knight. He raised his good hand this time, blocking his eye holes. It still obscured his vision, letting her dash forward without hesitation.

He staggered back, stumbling slightly. One of his legs wasn’t working right.

Dakka grit her teeth, wishing she could show her opponent her tusks, and jammed her mail breaker forward, aiming for the thin gap between his helmet and the rest of his armor.

The knight swept his arm to the side, knocking her away with hardly any of the force that had been behind his other blows. She still rolled along the ground.

Right next to the scythe. Her fingers curled around it. Twisting on her knees, she swung out. A ringing of metal against metal sounded as the haft of her scythe struck his leg.

“Gotcha again,” she quipped as she pulled forward.

The shadowy blade of the scythe slipped straight through the knight’s leg. Blood rained down around his armor as the leg fell away on its own. The knight tumbled to the other side, unable to keep himself upright.

Dakka stood, swinging the scythe in a high arc over her head.

She slammed it straight down on the knight’s face and then pulled.

The knight split in two from head to groin, exposing a steaming pile of blood and bone and viscera as the two halves of his armor broke apart.

Panting, sweating, and aching everywhere, Dakka stared a moment. A part of her expected some trick. An illusion where the body would disappear and he would jump out from behind her. But, after a long moment, nothing happened. Dakka chuckled. Slamming her faceplate up, she hocked back and spat a blood-tinged glob at the knight.

“Bastard.”

She sank back, finding a wall to lean against as she worked to catch her breath. As she tilted her head back against the wall, she ended up looking toward the sky. But, instead of the sky, she found herself staring at a shadowy tower standing tall in the center of the burg.

“When did you get there?” she wondered. Knowing the effect the tower’s movements had on the ground, it seemed impossible that she wouldn’t have noticed. But there it was. She must have been enveloped in that fight to the point of tuning everything else out, even groundquakes.

Then again, thinking back, there had been several times where she had stumbled. She had attributed that to some magic…

Now she was thinking it was lucky that the knight hadn’t capitalized on any of her quake-induced blunders. Or, perhaps, he hadn’t been able to capitalize on any of them with the quakes affecting him as well.

“We won!”

Dakka turned at the familiar voice. Klepp’at was hobbling toward her, limping heavily while using his scythe’s haft as a walking stick.

“We won!” he cried out again, sounding pleased beyond belief. “Some of the enemy managed to retreat. The rest have surrendered!”

Dakka’s breathing turned heavy and labored. For some reason, those words brought exhaustion rather than elation. All of a sudden, the blows of the battle came back one by one, making her feel like she was getting hit all over again. It was nothing magical. Not an attack. Just her mind finally getting caught up with the pains and aches that she had suffered through that battle.

“The others are on their way to help with the gold knight, but… you killed him?” Klepp’at asked. His helmet turned toward the pile of meat. “That’s amazing…”

“Damn right, I did,” Dakka snapped, suddenly finding that elation that had evaded her moments before. She had won.

And she was going to make sure everyone knew it.

 

 

 

Getting men to close the last few paces and engage in combat wasn’t an easy task. The young, no matter their talk while gearing up, would find themselves nervous while those experienced in war and combat would know the risks well. Only the foolhardy would charge ahead, bleating their cries of war. They were usually the first to fall. No matter how foolish they were, their deaths would harm the morale of everyone around them.

Which was why Hawkwood did not accept the foolhardy into White Company. Anyone who joined had their foolishness beaten out of them during the training camps.

The army of Evestani did not seem to ascribe to the same principles.

Blades clashed with shields. Pikes jabbed forward. Blood spilled. Spells flew overhead, crackling with power. The occasional soldier turned to stone.

Hawkwood yelled a cry of pure noise with no meaning. His blade arm hung heavy, worn and sore from uncountable swings. His shield arm rattled with an impact, sending a fresh ache up through his shoulder and down his back. Grinding his teeth, he grunted and shoved aside his shield and the weapon that had hit it. His opponent, yet another faceless soldier of the Evestani army, staggered back.

Hawkwood thrust forward. The chipped tip of his sword scraped against the cloth gambeson of Evestani’s pikeman before it slipped up a small plate of metal and jammed into the gap between the man’s helmet and collar. Three long spurts of blood shot out from the man’s neck before the spurts lost their strength and began dribbling all down his front.

His opponent dropped his pike, hands clamping to his neck. The man only managed to keep the pressure up for a few seconds before his grip faltered, his eyes unfocused, and he collapsed into the mud.

Hawkwood didn’t get a moment of reprieve before one of his fellows shouted out a cry of anger. In an instant, another soldier stood in front of Hawkwood, just as faceless as the last. Hawkwood barely got his shield between him and the soldier in time.

A second strike against the shield never came. Peering over the top, Hawkwood let out a small, relieved sigh. The new pikemen was a statue of marble, frozen solid in a thrusting pose.

Hawkwood wasn’t sure which of the five gorgon spread through his army had managed that but he sure wasn’t about to complain. Even a few seconds of rest were like a long nap on a summer afternoon in a situation like this. Teeth clenched, Hawkwood nonetheless forced his back straight. The armor he wore, fancy and well polished—some of which managed to gleam through the muck and blood—wasn’t just for show. Or rather, it was exactly for show.

He was Hawkwood. Champion and leader of White Company. His armor was a symbol more than it was a protective garment. The reason he was here at the forefront rather than back at the tower was solely for morale. They were up against an army that outnumbered them by far, headed by an avatar. While most of the rank and file likely didn’t know about the avatar, they knew without a doubt about the strange and powerful golden magics.

They needed a symbol of their own that they could follow. It painted a target on him, but that was a risk he had to take.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Hawkwood grumbled under his breath. He gripped his sword, finding his brief moment of rest at an end as another soldier moved up to face him. This one armored in proper plate.

They didn’t get a chance to come to blows before an explosion rumbled throughout the burg. A column of flame and fire stretched high into the sky—not from where Agnete had been assailing the burg, but from the center of the city, toward the keep. The inferno wasn’t magical in nature, but alchemical.

A few seconds after the flame went up, the golden dome over the burg wavered and shattered. Motes of falling gold magic dissipated into the air.

Without more than a second of delay, a bombardment began. Falling rocks slammed down into the city in the distance, causing rumbling in the ground. Multi-colored comets of flame fell. A fresh explosion of roaring flames erupted near the southwestern edge of the city, visible even over the tops of the nearby buildings. At the same time, a wave of cold rushed from the northwestern side of the burg, near where Priscilla was supposed to be.

Closer to him, Hawkwood watched as the sky above his army split.

It wasn’t like the fissure in the sky that appeared mid-winter, just before the Duke decided to ally with Evestani. But it was close. A starry void stretched out overhead like a web woven by a particularly chaotic spider. More forbidden magic. Orbs of tiny stars shot forth, black and weaving and distorting the air—no, the world—as they traveled. They skimmed over the heads of his army, striking down into the ground in the midst of Evestani’s bulk.

Hawkwood wasn’t quite sure what the orbs were doing. This spell was one developed in just the last day or two by Arkk’s now-blind witch. Untested and likely unstable, he was somewhat glad that the front row of soldiers blocked his view of where the orbs had struck.

The sudden screams were more than enough for his imagination.

The sound of clashing swords and metal striking metal faded as everyone, Evestani and Al-Mir-aligned stopped and stared. Both sides looked on in horror, though Evestani had the worst of it by far. Even on only those faces he could see opposing him, uncertainty had gripped the hearts of the soldiers.

Hawkwood couldn’t let his side falter. Not now. No matter what was happening over their heads, as long as it was focused on their enemy, it was good for them. But only if they took advantage of it. He forced his sword into the air. “Huzzah!” he cried, throat burning from the guttural noise.

Alone, the cry would have passed entirely unnoticed in the chaos. But those of White Company closest to him saw and heard his cry. Those who weren’t in imminent danger copied him, raising their own blades as they let out loud cheers. The effect spread like a stone thrown into a pond, rippling outward as more and more cries of “Huzzah!” echoed around him.

Between the shouting and the magic overhead, Evestani’s forces began falling back. Those that held strong didn’t manage for long. As their neighbors fled, their resolve faltered, making them flee in turn. The chain reaction continued, spreading through the enemy force just as the cheer had spread through White Company.

In moments, their hesitant retreat turned into a full rout.

It wasn’t over by a long shot. The city wasn’t yet retaken. But this small segment of the battle?

He could call this a victory.

“Huzzah!” Hawkwood cried again, feeling less weary and worn with the bolster to morale. “Huzz—”

A ray of golden light blasted through the land, coming from the church near the keep. It sheared apart buildings and people, striking both Evestani’s retreating forces and Hawkwood’s men without discrimination. It tilted upward, cutting into the dark slice of stars in the sky.

The gold coursed through the fractured reality above, encompassing the stars one by one until there was nothing left but a bright golden light burning itself into Hawkwood’s vision.

It vanished all at once, leaving behind an afterimage of gold.

Lexa dashed forward, grasping another child by the back of his neck. She twisted her fingers around the crown of the girl’s head, using the Flesh Weaving spell to twist and ruin the skin. The intricate rectangular tattoos broke apart, turning to streaks of dark ink spread out across the girl’s scalp.

The girl screamed and cried and thrashed, beating against Lexa’s arms in stark protest. It didn’t hurt. Not physically. These children were half-starved and far weaker than they should have been. Yavin would have trounced them in a fight and the elven boy could barely bring himself to strike at an irritating fly.

Mentally, Lexa grit her teeth. She had to do this. She had to do this as fast as possible. There was no alternative.

She was saving them. She had to remember that much. As much as they cried and struggled, they were alive. Maybe someone talented with the spell could even put their scalps back together.

Dropping the girl, leaving her in a crying heap on the floor like so many others, Lexa turned around the church. There was one left. An older boy whom Lexa had deliberately saved for last specifically because she feared he might be able to put up more of a fight where the others had managed nothing but impotent struggles.

Sure enough, although backed in a corner, he had picked up a broken plank of wood from somewhere. He tried to bring it down on Lexa’s head. Her short height and lithe steps let her dance around the incoming attack. Whipping out a blade, she slammed it straight through his overextended arm, piercing the flesh between the bones of his forearm.

He screamed, dropping the plank as he grasped at his wrist. That gave her more than enough time to jump onto his shoulders. Uttering the Flesh Weaving spell as he fell forward, she grasped at his head. Before he even hit the ground, she had scraped back her fingers along his scalp, twisting the flesh of his head into an ugly knot of skin and tiny stubs of hair.

“Sorry,” Lexa whispered, releasing the older boy’s head.

As she did so, a low rumble coursed through the room. That had to be the alchemical bomb going off.

Sure enough, looking out the broken window, she watched as the golden dome around the burg wavered and fell.

Lexa closed her eyes. A sudden surge of emotion struck her somewhere in her chest. She felt like crying. In relief, not in sadness. She had made it just in the nick of time.

She didn’t get a chance to enjoy the release of all that stress. The boy she had just saved by mutilating his tattoos grabbed her by the ankle and yanked. Unprepared, she barely managed to get her hands in front of her before she hit the ground. Luckily, as a gremlin, she didn’t have far to fall.

“Get off,” she hissed, kicking her foot. “Let—”

Lexa froze.

All that relief she had felt turned to ice colder than that dragonoid’s breath.

There, in front of her, one more young boy hid beneath one of the pews. A young boy with rectangular tattoos fully intact on top of his head. His eyes, wide and frightened, locked with her own. For a long moment, both stared at each other.

The boy with his hand on Lexa’s ankle tried to drag her back, breaking the staring contest. The younger boy immediately started scrambling away, crawling under the rows of pews.

Lexa flicked a knife out from under her cloak. Without even looking, she threw it back behind her. The hand around her leg dropped with a cry of pain from the boy. She didn’t glance back to see what she hit. All that mattered was her freedom.

Her freedom and the younger boy underneath the pews.

“Get back here!” she hissed, diving underneath the pew. He was trying to scramble away. Lexa, fresh dagger in hand, slammed it through his foot, pinning him to the ground.

He screamed, violent and anguished. Lexa grasped his flailing hands and yanked him toward her.

She put his hands to his head and uttered, “Tenun bebarengan otot lan daging lan balung—”

Bright, golden light flooded her vision before she could finish the Flesh Weaving incantation.

Lexa couldn’t see. She felt the ground leave her. The pew she had been underneath slammed into her back but she didn’t stop. She flipped, end over end, through the air until the back of her head broke against the stone of the church. Lexa slumped to the ground.

With her vision split into a series of spiraling afterimages, Lexa could only watch as the boy stood, eyes aglow with golden light. He casually tossed the knife aside, ignoring the bleeding from his foot, and looked around with an expression of utter disdain on his face.

“Useless.”

Snapping his fingers, a thin beam of golden light spiraled around him. It burned into one wall of the church and swept around, leaving a dark black mark on the white walls.

The sound in the church died off in an instant. All the crying, whimpering, and sobbing simply… stopped.

His golden eyes looked over the room once more, pausing for a long moment on Lexa. He stared, eyes widened in surprise before narrowing into thin slits. He held up a hand, pointing it at Lexa, only for something outside the church’s window to catch his attention. He shifted his hand upward and outward and a bright, golden beam flooded Lexa’s vision once more.

What little strength Lexa managed to hold onto faltered. That golden beam faded into darkness.

The infirmary was filling up. Hale dripped with sweat as she ran from person to person. Every time she turned around, three more people were groaning and clutching at wounds. If they were lucky. The less lucky weren’t able to groan.

She had assistants in Vezz’ok and Hyan. They couldn’t use Flesh Weaving properly, however. The most they could manage was to seal wounds. Which, to be perfectly fair, wasn’t much less than what Hale was doing. There just wasn’t time to use Flesh Weaving to its full potential. They had to prioritize saving lives right now.

Improvements could come later.

“Another one!” Vezz’ok barked out, entirely unnecessarily.

There was always another one.

“Looks bad,” he added, making Hale turn away from some poor dryad.

Hale hadn’t even known that any dryads were working for Arkk. Unfortunately for the plant-like woman, the Flesh Weaving spell was having a hard time working on the rough bark that made up her skin. On the plus side, she didn’t seem to be bleeding much. Or… sapping? Her blood was a sticky, amber-colored liquid that was far thicker than blood. Hopefully, what little Hale had managed would be enough to see the dryad through another day.

Vezz’ok stood hunched over…

Hale wasn’t actually sure what it was. Or what it might have been. That it was here at all meant that it had a connection to Arkk, allowing him to teleport it. But…

It was humanoid. Likely a demihuman. Yet, at the same time, it had an amorphous look to it. Like the humanoid shape was something it had been molded into, rather than formed normally. Its skin was a translucent ruby color that let Hale see through it to the spot of the floor it occupied—almost like a colored one of those lesser servants.

A… A slime? Hale kept her hands back, well away. She had heard that slimes would dissolve people into nothing but bones and then use those bones to give themselves structure—mimicking people’s shape. Just where had Arkk been recruiting from?

It stirred. A small ripple undulated in its oil-like skin, making it look like something was crawling around just beneath the surface.

Hale hopped back at the movement. “I… I don’t think Flesh Weaving can help a slime,” she said. “Try to scrape it into a… bucket? A bucket of water. Maybe? Do slimes like water? Maybe that will help.”

Vezz’ok didn’t look like he knew what to do either but, as Hale had somehow managed to garner some status as the head of the infirmary, he nodded and proceeded to follow her orders. Which was good. He could handle it. Orc flesh was much hardier than Hale’s flimsy human skin.

She wanted to fix that. She knew she could fix that. The weakness of her flesh wasn’t pleasant to think about. It never used to bug her but, since learning the Flesh Weaving spell, she had been exposed to more injuries than Langleey Village had likely suffered in the last hundred years, let alone during her lifetime. She now knew just how frail people were.

And how much better they could be.

But there was still that fear there that she might regret it in the end. Flesh Weaving wasn’t an easy spell to undo or revert.

Besides. She had too much to focus on.

Like Lexa. The poor gremlin popped into the infirmary on one recently vacated table. Her shadowy cloak hung askew, giving her an odd look of being there but not at the same time.

The gremlin was in bad shape. Just looking at her, Hale could spot a dozen broken bones all along her back, ribs, and arms. The back of her skull looked like someone had taken a mallet to it. Her face was scraped up like someone had ground her against rough stone.

Hale got started immediately, working on the back of Lexa’s head first. It seemed the most pressing issue.

The entire tower rocked before she could finish. It shifted and shook beneath their feet, tilting to one side. Hale had to grab onto the table, bolted to the ground as it was, just to keep from falling.

Several patients weren’t able to hold on. More than a few fell the short distance to the ground and then promptly started sliding along the angled floor. Hale closed her eyes, hoping this was planned like the last one.

Today made her really hate this walking tower. She missed Fortress Al-Mir.

But the tilting didn’t stop. If anything, it felt worse. Her arms started to strain, especially once Lexa bumped into her. Hale tried to keep her on the table while using her own body to block the fall, but—

A twisting pinch in her stomach signaled a teleport. Off-balance and unable to right herself in the tilted tower, Hale collapsed as soon as the table vanished from under her fingertips.

She wasn’t the only one to hit the ground. Hyan and Vezz’ok didn’t maintain their footing. The many injured from the infirmary weren’t in a position to catch themselves either.

They were in a long and narrow corridor that stretched off further than Hale could see. The tiles lit by violet glowstones were of the shadowy variety, meaning they were somewhere in the walking tower. But the ground felt level and sable, much to Hale’s relief.

“—hit through the mountain? How could—”

“If it had been aimed higher, we all would have perished.”

“Agnete couldn’t manage something like that. Calling her an avatar seems almost an insult to that gold—”

“Quiet.” Arkk looked around, eyes blazing red. He crossed gazes with Hale for a moment but didn’t stay on her for long, looking over all the wounded, several guards who hadn’t been around before, those of the scrying team, and several others. “The tower was hit,” he said, addressing everyone. “It hasn’t fallen yet but until the lesser servants can repair it, we’ll be relocating here.”

Several of the lesser servants appeared in their midst. They immediately set to widen the tunnel, turning it into a proper room rather than the corridor it was.

“Scrying team. Your job hasn’t changed. Get on it,” he said, pointing to two pedestals, each topped with a crystal ball. “Hale, Vezz’ok, Hyan. We’ll be making room for you to continue your work as well.

“So long as our assumptions about the avatar hold true,” Arkk said as he turned to his advisors, all of whom were present as well, “he won’t be able to do that again soon. But the golden beam sliced through the earth, disrupting my claim on the territory away from the tower.”

Arkk paused, looking over the assembled group. He had a look of concentration on his face.

A heavy rumbling ran through the room. More than a few people whimpered as the glowstones in the tiles winked out, plunging the chamber into darkness lit only by the glowing red of Arkk’s eyes. Another quake hit the room. And another.

“I’m marching the tower to Elmshadow proper,” Arkk said as a pair of glowstones appeared in his hands, bringing welcome light back to the chamber. The walls were bare stone now, lacking in the reinforced bricks and tiles. “Now is the time to finish this.”

 

 

The tower could not move.

Currently, the tower was planted in the ground, nestled in the crook of the northern Elm mountain. As per Olatt’an’s idea, they settled down, opened doors, and burrowed deep into the mountain using lesser servants. Arkk wasn’t quite sure how the old orc knew, but the Walking Fortress could be used to create contiguous territory, capable of being claimed just like the land around Fortress Al-Mir. That had expanded Arkk’s awareness, allowed him to teleport troops and materials, and gave him the ability to rescue people who were in trouble by teleporting them out of danger.

It came at a cost. The tower could not move.

“The gold statues breached the western leg!”

Nothing was preventing him from sending the directive to the tower to raise its legs, physically speaking. The legs were intact and operational. But if he did, it would break the connection between the tower’s heart and the land around it. The tunnels would all revert to bare rock and dirt. And, likely, grow unstable without the reinforcing magic. Anyone caught inside might suffer a collapse. It would kill his awareness and severely limit his ability to move around his employees.

“Keep everyone away! Don’t get touched by their blades!”

Not to mention, it would completely cut off Hawkwood and his men—they were not employees of Company Al-Mir and thus could not be moved around like them—as well as the furthest of Arkk’s minions. The tower seemed to have a far smaller area in which he could teleport his minions around. Right now, with tunnels burrowed all the way to Elmshadow, everyone was within reach. But when it was just the tower? He would be lucky if he could recall those who were attacking the near side of the burg.

“The door is holding for now but it is only wood. They broke through one already. They’ll get through this one.”

So, when a horde of those golden statues managed to approach the tower unnoticed until they were already hammering on the doors of the tower’s legs, Arkk couldn’t simply lift the legs and walk away—or, better yet, crush them.

Most of his forces, including the heavy hitters like Agnete, Priscilla, and Dakka were at Elmshadow Burg. Most of the soldiers were out in the tunnels. His spellcasters were positioned throughout the burg, awaiting orders to begin their attacks. The tower, massive though it was, was practically deserted at the moment. And a good thing too. Those golden statues were tearing through the tower.

Arkk had relocated everyone to the upper levels.

Rekk’ar and Olatt’an had geared up, as had Richter. They were accompanied by about a dozen guards of varying species. One of the Protector’s bodies stood hunched in the tall chamber. Beyond them, they had several noncombatants. The scrying team, smiths, and cooks, mostly.

And poor Evelyn. The warrior had been bracing one of the doors with her shoulder when one of those golden blades jammed through a crack in the door. It only nicked her arm but that was enough. Were it not for Olatt’an’s quick reaction in chopping her arm off, she might have become another statue.

“S-Sir… The golden—” A heavy hammering on the command center’s door interrupted Luthor. Splinters of wood exploded inward as one of the planks cracked. “G-golden shield is up.”

“Protector,” Arkk said. “Tell Dakka and Hawkwood that it is time. And Lexa is to aim for the three priority targets.”

“Understood.”

“Great that we’re continuing but what about us?” Evelyn hissed. Even though Arkk had sealed her arm with the Flesh Weaving spell, she still clutched at the stump like she was trying to staunch bleeding. “We’re running out of floors to evacuate to.”

“I’m awa—” Another battering ram against the door broke part of the wood around the latch. Another good hit would shatter it completely. “I’m aware,” Arkk finished. “The situation is under control.”

Rekk’ar scoffed. Arkk paid him no mind.

“This is my territory. My domain. The audacity of that avatar trying to take me down with anything but a fully powered ray of gold is laughable.”

The battering ram slammed against the door once again, cracking wood and splaying chips across the room. The door swung on its hinges, crashing into the wall.

A golden figure stepped forward. It wasn’t a soldier. It didn’t have the armor of a soldier. It was a woman. Frumpy. Like old lady Emma back in Langleey Village. She wore a simple tunic with a long, handmade apron—all cast in gold. A civilian? One of the citizens of Elmshadow Burg? It had to be.

Arkk’s eyes blazed. “Incendiary Explosio.”

A tiny pinprick of light formed at the level of the statue’s chest. The statue didn’t seem to notice. It stepped forward.

The moment the pinprick of light touched the statue’s reflective gold surface, it exploded into a dazzling inferno. The heat was intense, even from across the room. Arkk and his companions had to shield their faces with their arms. He was able to keep watch, however, using his omnipresence of his own territory.

Despite the ferocity of the flames, the old magic spell he had learned from Priscilla was nothing compared to Agnete’s fire. But it didn’t need to be. He wasn’t trying to melt the statue. Whatever enchantments were in the gold had shrugged off Agnete’s flames when they had first encountered the statues.

They didn’t shrug off the physical effects of the spell. The concussive force of the spell knocked the statue backward. As a pile of heavy gold, it didn’t go far.

“Hold on!” Arkk shouted.

There was a slight panic as everyone scrambled. They had been warned in advance.

The entirety of the tower shifted. Without leaving the ground, half the legs of the tower lifted up. The other half sunk down. The entire fortress tilted. Magic normally kept the interior from feeling like it was moving. He had shut that bit off.

The heavy gold statue, unstable from the explosion, toppled with the tilted floor. Gravity dragged it down toward the wall of the tower. It crashed into another three statues on its way. Lesser servants, clinging to the exterior of the tower, destroyed a section of the wall just as the mass of golden statues hit it.

All four went flying out, sailing down toward the ground far below.

As soon as they were ejected, he ordered the tower to right itself. The jolt from the legs shifting must have been too much for poor Luthor. The chameleon let out a yelp as his grip slipped.

Before Arkk could even think to teleport him back to safety, the Protector reached out and grasped him by the back of his tunic. The fabric stretched and ripped but it stopped his fall long enough for the floor to level out. Luthor dropped to the floor with a nervous chuckle. “Th-thanks,” he mumbled.

Arkk gave the Protector a curt nod of his head before turning. “See? Under control.”

Rekk’ar scoffed again. Arkk, again, paid him no mind. He quickly scanned through all the forces in the field, checking for anything he had missed while busy. “Scrying team, back on the crystal balls,” he barked out as he teleported the bombardment team back into the tower. “Sorry about the delay,” he said, practically growling the words.

He wasn’t upset with the bombardment team. They had done their job well, even managing to defeat several armed knights before he had extracted them.

The problem was further in the city. Dakka’s team was in trouble. Too much trouble to handle? He wasn’t sure yet. Their shadow armor and scythes weren’t tested to their fullest extent.

Agnete was the closest person to them but Dakka was inside the golden dome, Agnete was outside it. The battlecasters were tearing through the streets on the other side of the burg, handling the divided yet larger army well enough. They almost seemed driven by a light of their own, bright against the backdrop of the golden dome. They would have to cross practically the entire city if they were to assist Dakka.

Lexa couldn’t be diverted. He had no method of contacting her now that she was away from her Protector. Hawkwood’s men were on their own, fighting hard against the bulk of Evestani’s army.

Could Dakka’s handle that gold-armored knight on their own?

Or did he need to teleport them out before things went too far?

Arkk bit his lip, watching a moment longer before moving to confer with his advisors.

Dakka let out a barking laugh as she swung her scythe. Awkward weapon to wield aside, it was amazing. Every swing cut through whatever it touched with little more resistance than a blade through a stream of water. It worked better in the darkness—the shadows between buildings and indoors—but even out in the direct light of the sun, it still cut into anything with almost no effort.

“Get back here you—”

Dakka jerked back as three crossbow bolts struck her in the chest, one after another.

She had been somewhat nervous about her mission. She and her relatively small team had effectively been asked to act as an entire division of an army while taking on an entire division of Evestani’s army. There were a dozen of the shadow-armored orcs and several hundred expected opponents. Technically speaking, they had the easier job, cleaning up the Evestani forces who had split off from the main defense to try to deal with Agnete and Priscilla.

Hawkwood was tasked with leading his seven hundred against the majority of the Evestani forces. They didn’t even have many tricks up their sleeves thanks to Arkk, just a few odd magical spells powered by glowstone wands and most of the gorgon for their petrification and venom. Richter’s battlecasters were backing Hawkwood up, using larger-scale magic to ensure that Hawkwood never had to face a sizable force all at once. Dakka didn’t envy their position.

That was the nature of war, she supposed. Nobody’s position was all that enviable.

Still, watching those crossbow bolts simply fall to the ground, leaving naught a mark on the shadow-like metal—metal-like shadow?—gave her a good laugh.

Dare she say it, but she was having fun.

The battle was pure chaos. They had emerged from a tunnel near the western side of the burg. A dozen knights cloaked in darkness ripped through the assembled army. Like scythes through a field of wheat. Her blood pumped. The adrenaline flowed.

Dakka hadn’t much enjoyed her time as a raider. The fights were generally pathetic—a mass of goblins was hard for most to overcome, leaving little for the orcs to actually do—their leader had been an utterly insane witch, and Dakka herself had been the runt of the group with little personal power. Now, clad in fancy armor, leading a team of specialists, and able to properly enjoy the fights?

Dakka charged forward, rearing back the scythe. The line of soldiers had long since broken. Most were attempting to make their way around the Shadow Knights, avoiding them as they tried to regroup in the center of the burg. It was Dakka’s job to ensure that didn’t happen.

That would only make Hawkwood’s job harder.

However, before Dakka could bring down her scythe, the three crossbowmen who had just shot at her locked up for a brief moment. The first, the one closest to Dakka, threw down his crossbow. Both others swiftly followed his example. She figured they were going for their swords—crossbows were easy to use yet difficult to reload—but instead, they dove for the muddy ground, each placing their hands on the backs of their heads.

“Surrender! Surrender!” they cried, the words heavily accented.

Dakka clicked her tongue in annoyance. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Dakka didn’t exactly blame them. If she had to face herself, she might have been tempted to throw down her arms too.

“Zharja!” Dakka called out. “Three more here.”

The shadows against one of the nearby buildings rippled as a gorgon slithered out into the light. Zharja, wrapped in one of the shadowy cloaks made with the ceremonial dagger, simply formed in their midst. It was a bit disconcerting to watch.

Zharja grasped the sides of one of the crossbowmen’s heads and wrenched him up to meet her gaze. The soldier locked in place as his skin, previously a light tan color, turned to a marble white. They didn’t exactly have a better method of taking prisoners at the moment. Fortress Al-Mir had a fairly sizable prison wing, recently built, but the tower didn’t have more than a few rooms with bars on them.

Predictably, the other soldiers immediately started panicking at the sight of the first being turned to stone. At least, that was presumably what their sudden babble was about. Dakka didn’t speak a word of Evestani.

Dakka swept her scythe down, slashing its black blade through the crossbows, slicing them in clean halves. “You turn to stone or you get cut in half. Which will it be?” She leaned forward, grinning. They couldn’t see her tusks behind her helmet but they should be able to hear her smile. “Don’t worry. We won’t forget to unpetrify you after we’ve taken control of the burg. Probably.”

It took another moment before Zharja was ready, but she grasped the second crossbowman and petrified him.

Taking prisoners would have been faster if they had more gorgon assigned to them, but only Zharja was here. The rest were assisting Hawkwood. Zharja would have been with that group were it not for the injury the gorgon had sustained fighting that man in the golden armor. The bottom portion of her tail had been torn completely off. While Hale had healed her, it wasn’t quite perfect.

It was more like one of Vezta’s tendrils than a proper gorgon tail. It couldn’t form eyes and mouths like Vezta but its prehensility was unmatched. Unfortunately, that came at a slight cost of mobility. Hence her being here with that cloak than in the thick of a proper battle.

“You got the last one?” Dakka asked, already looking around for more targets. She didn’t want to sit around while waiting for the gorgon’s petrification to work again.

Zharja offered a nod. “Yess.”

“Good. I’ll be—”

Something slammed into Dakka’s helmet just as she turned away. It wasn’t anything light, like an arrow. It carried enough force to pick her up and off her feet. Dazed, Dakka flew back, sailing over the downed crossbowmen until her shoulder clipped the corner of a building. Stone and timber splintered with the impact, showering around her as she crashed into the muddy ground.

Rattled and shook, Dakka nonetheless forced herself up, grasping the haft of her scythe as she moved. To remain still was to die. She swung the scythe as she stood, half hoping to randomly catch whatever hit her.

Her head ached. Her eyes felt crossed. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and forced herself to focus.

Zharja was nowhere to be seen. Presumably, she was back in the shadows.

In Zharja’s place, standing on the other side of the downed crossbowmen, a familiar figure glared. A man in bulky, golden armor. He carried no weapon but Dakka knew from experience that he didn’t need one to be a threat.

The golden knight stepped forward. His foot came down on the spine of one of the marble statues. He didn’t even glance down as the petrified person shattered. He just stepped forward completely focused on his target.

“Come for a rematch, have you?” Dakka spat out along with a small globule of blood. It splattered against the inside of her helmet. Ignoring the metallic smell, she grasped her scythe with both hands. She leveled the scythe, bringing it down such that a swing might just cut his head off. “Well… bring it on.”

Lexa swept through Elmshadow Burg, wiping blood from her dagger with a small cloth.

She had to hurry.

The fuse was already lit.

As the guards slumped into puddles of their own blood, Lexa pushed the doors open to the old, ruined church near the keep wall of Elmshadow Burg. A dozen frightened eyes turned toward her. But, with the cloak on, the children’s eyes didn’t fully focus on Lexa. Their eyes went hazy as if they were trying to see through her but couldn’t quite manage.

Lexa threw off the cloak’s hood. “Quickly, children. Gather around,” she hissed, eyes darting back and forth. More guards could show up at any moment. Or, worse, that avatar could make an appearance.

Company Al-Mir didn’t have the ability to handle that avatar at the moment. Arkk had managed a lucky shot on it in Gleeful Burg but everyone doubted it would let its guard down like that again. Not without a significant distraction. Thus, it was her job to ensure that they had to handle that avatar as little as possible.

The children, terrified as they were, did not gather around. Lexa fully expected that. Lacking the time to explain, she just grabbed the nearest child. A young girl. No older than Hale. “This will hurt,” she said, “but it is better than the alternative.”

With that, she uttered the Flesh Weaving spell, pressing her fingers to the crown of the child’s head right where those box-like tattoos had been etched into her skin.

The child started screaming a moment later.

 

 

Priscilla circled Elmshadow Burg high over its tallest building. High enough that it would have been difficult to see the burg. However, that wasn’t because of pure distance. Today was an overcast day. The clouds were low and dark. Or so she had heard before departing the tower.

It wasn’t like visibility mattered to Priscilla.

Still, Priscilla wiped at her face, grimacing at the feeling. Although winter was over, it was still chilly out. An ice dragonoid didn’t care about the temperature much but, combined with the moisture from the cloud constantly spraying against her face, Priscilla had to admit some level of discomfort. It reminded her of Umasab, a water dragon who… had died long ago.

The constant spray reminded her of him. His teasing. His casual laugh. His laborious breaths. His blood flowed freely from his heart, ignoring his pitiful attempts at controlling the liquid.

Three times in the past, Priscilla had fought. She had waged wars. The first, immediately following the Calamity, had been a war of aggression and rage, with no focus and no goal aside from inflicting pain upon the perpetrators of the Calamity. She had claimed a [HEART] for herself and, together with dozens of dragonoids and full dragons, cut a burning scar across the world.

There was nothing left of that scar. A thousand years was enough to heal many wounds. Cities had rebuilt. People returned and spread out. Rivers, though rerouted, settled and their new positions became the norm.

Yet, some of hers had perished. They didn’t heal. They didn’t return.

A scant fifty years after, Priscilla, though blinded and confused, had seen the stars shift. The dragon the humans called Gorethorn the Jinx had enacted great magics to bend the reality of the world. Priscilla had rallied her fellows to fight once more.

Only for the combined might of the Light, the Glory, and the Gold to slap them into the ground.

Some of hers had perished once again.

Two hundred years after that, the stars shifted once again. Priscilla had rallied and fought and bled and failed.

How long had it been since then? How long had she sat alone on the mountaintop, waiting and watching for signs of others who might be able to fix this broken world? Five hundred… six hundred… seven hundred years? More? For hundreds of years, she sat in silence.

Now, their numbers had been reduced to… well… to just her. Priscilla knew of at least one other dragonoid still alive, but she had abandoned the call. No one else was here. So either they had ignored the signs or they were dead.

Now, she was working with a human. That rankled. More than once, she had considered just taking his [HEART] for her own. It wouldn’t work. Her heart was cold and dead. Attempting to become a keeper once again would see her destroyed completely. The temptation was there regardless.

Now, things were different. Priscilla hadn’t kept up with the goings on of the world below during her time on the mountaintop, but what little she had seen and heard since her descent spoke volumes. The Light, the Gold, and the Glory were separated and decidedly ununified. In the times since she last fought, the three had fought among themselves. Or their followers had, which was roughly the same thing in the end.

While the current Keeper was an ignorant backwoods hunter, that simple state of the enemy factions alone gave him a far better chance than she had ever had—and thus, gave her a far better chance.

Even if his odds were low, he was still providing this opportunity.

A slight shift in the Stars served as her signal. Whether or not Arkk wanted her to act now wasn’t relevant. Priscilla pulled her wings tight and angled herself downward, sending her into a steep dive.

Opportunities like this were things she couldn’t pass up. For while Priscilla hated humans in general, she detested the ones who worshipped their gods. A whole city full of them?

The elemental crucible in the heart of her chest stirred as Priscilla unhinged her jaw.

“The dragonoid started early,” Rekk’ar grunted, lowering the telescoping lens from his eye. He leaned over one of the scrying pits, squinting at the crystal ball within as if to confirm what he had seen out the window.

Arkk frowned but shrugged. “Well, better than late. Or not starting at all. It wasn’t like we had an effective way of signaling her.”

“Think they’ll fall for it?”

“Don’t think it matters. If dragonoids are half as destructive as I’ve been led to believe, they can’t ignore her. With Evestani having concentrated all their forces on our side of the burg, having her attack from behind is going to force them to withdraw at least some of their soldiers.”

“Unless the avatar deals with her.”

Arkk couldn’t help the wince. “I don’t think that will happen. If it does, we can move in, fully committing knowing that we won’t have to face another of those large blasts or an impenetrable magical shield.”

“At the cost of the dragonoid?”

“Our presence and the threat we represent should keep her safe. If it doesn’t… Priscilla has an odd way of sensing the world around her. If anyone can preemptively move out of the way, it would be her.”

Rekk’ar shrugged and brought the spyglass back to his eye. “No skin off my back, I suppose.”

“I’d be more worried about the man in golden armor. He beat down Priscilla before using just his fists, grabbing her out of the sky when she swooped down to investigate an oddity that the ‘Stars’ warned her about.”

Rekk’ar just grunted an acknowledgment.

“In any case,” Arkk continued, “her starting early isn’t a problem. Tunnels are still being dug but we weren’t going to have people attack immediately. Have to give Evestani a chance to spread their forces thin.”

Agnete shivered despite herself.

Elmshadow Burg reverted a few weeks into the heart of winter. A thick layer of ice and snow ravaged the outer wall of the burg and several of the inner buildings. What had once been farmland, trampled and left untended, was a solid slate of ice. It was a rather impressive showing, in Agnete’s opinion. It would have been more impressive if the brunt of the attack had swept through the center of the burg rather than the fields outside, but she supposed she shouldn’t fault the blind dragonoid for being a little off in her aim.

At least she managed to get the back of the burg instead of the front. Or, worse, miss it entirely.

Agnete cracked her neck back and forth, sending a series of pops echoing off the rocky hills around the south side of the burg.

The signal hadn’t come yet but Agnete started to stride out into the open anyway. It wouldn’t do to be outshone by a glorified winter storm.

This, perhaps, was the first time she ever felt able to go all-out. With the inquisitors, she had been limited, chained almost literally. Joining with Arkk had been freeing but, at the same time, limiting in other ways. There were always people around. Flames and flesh just didn’t mix. She always had to hold herself back.

Being with Arkk brought along the surprise that she was actually able to hold herself back. Something about the magic of Fortress Al-Mir had freed her from the madness of the cleansing flame. Which, she was sure, her newfound allies appreciated to no end.

Today, Agnete stood alone. She was one of the few who had been identified as safe to engage. Relatively speaking. Given her earlier feat of deflecting one of those golden beams, the hope was that she could pull off that trick once again.

Never mind the fact that she had been knocked out entirely for days…

Agnete walked the short distance between the tunnel exit and the burg walls. There was little need to hide. While Priscilla attacked the north-west side of the burg, most eyes would be on her. The few that weren’t wouldn’t be able to react before…

Breathing deep, Agnete let her magic go. Like the bellows of a forge breathing fresh air over a few simmering embers, she let her breath out.

Flames erupted around her. She hadn’t bothered wearing clothes, knowing they would be burned off the moment she acted. All around her, weeds and plants that had survived dormant through the winter turned to ash. A wooden shack, built up against the wall, collapsed in on itself as flames surged forward. The shack didn’t provide even a moment of pause.

The wall itself exploded into the burg as her flames took hold. Bits of burning stone flew into the air, sailing outward. The flames on the normally inflammable bricks and rock only intensified, turning the stone molten and white-hot before they crashed into more buildings inside the burg. Each stone exploded on impact. Fire rippled out from the crash sites, exploding outward as they sent more bits of burning stone through the air.

A wide grin lit up Agnete’s face as she strode further into the burg.

“That flame witch started early too.”

Arkk sighed. “Protector, if you would be so kind as to signal the battlecasters and the bombardment team.”

“Understood.”

“The golden barrier has gone up!”

“Stop casting!”

Morvin removed his hands from the ritual array, complying with Gretchen’s command. Using the hem of his tunic, he wiped away a good deal of sweat from his forehead. The Prismatic Firestorm ritual had a bit of magical leakage somewhere in its array. Morvin wasn’t knowledgeable enough in ritual construction to identify the faults, but he could feel the effects.

Prismatic Firestorm was a specialty bombardment ritual developed by the Duke’s Grand Guard at the tail end of the last war. It called down a storm of magical fire in a spectrum of colors, each with its own unique property. Red flames burned as normal but blue flames splashed out into a flood of water, white flames froze, green flames corroded, and yellow flames created intense gusts of wind that typically agitated the other colors. It was a chaotic spell that wasn’t particularly discriminatory.

He wasn’t sure if the fault was in their version of the ritual or if it existed in the original, but every time the ritual produced a different color, some slight effect leaked out into the air around the ritual instead of the target location. Luckily, it was a problem they had known about beforehand.

Being surprised by a sudden flame igniting in the middle of the attack would have gone poorly.

“They’re on their way.”

“What?” Morvin glanced up to find Gretchen nervously biting at her lip. “Who?”

Instead of an answer, Gretchen just pointed, handing over a spyglass as she did so.

They were set up in the rocky hills north of Elmshadow Burg, just barely within range of the spell. The rituals weren’t meant to be dismantled and moved like this. The tower was supposed to have been their permanent home. Nevertheless, the new plan called for them to be moved, and, being one of the bombardment engineers, Morvin had to follow.

He felt… undefended. It was just him, Gretchen, and the looming presence of the Protector out here at the mouth of a tunnel that led back to the tower. The ritual required direct access to the sky, so they couldn’t just cast from underground. He understood that much. Still, would it have killed them to send a few guards as backup?

And now, raising the spyglass to his eye, he just about wet himself.

Elmshadow Burg stood in the distance, obviously scarred from the battles it had seen. Both from older battles and the current conflict that was just breaking out. Mostly the ice dragonoid laying on the… ice. Flames erupted in the distance on the other side of the burg. Although some ice and fire had gotten around the edges, the majority of the burg now sported a semi-transparent dome of gold, protecting it from further bombardment.

Although an imposing sight, that was the good news. The golden dome meant no golden rays. Arkk had specifically directed everyone into small groups to make each group less appealing of a target. The golden dome was what they had hoped for.

Horse riders by the dozen were charging forth from the walls of Elmshadow Burg. Absolutely the opposite of what Morvin had hoped for. 

“They figured out where we were this fast?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t sure that he succeeded. “What was the point in setting up behind these trees?”

He turned to find Gretchen crouched over the ritual array. The metal rings, linked in on themselves, turned slightly as she recalibrated the circle.

“Distance?” she called out.

“You’re recalibrating now? We need to get out of here!” They had the tunnel. They could escape. Arkk could teleport them directly in an emergency—and this was sure feeling like an emergency. He could even teleport the ritual circle and glowstones. That was how they got them out here.

“Distance!” Gretchen shouted, not looking up.

Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Morvin turned back to the burg. He brought up the spyglass and tried to measure. “T… three thousand paces. Maybe?” They were charging. Hard. And they had already been moving before he first spotted them, maybe before the golden dome had even gone up. How fast would it be before they reached them at that rate? Three minutes? One per thousand paces?

Behind him, he heard the grinding of the targeting gears as Gretchen readjusted the ritual circle. It wasn’t meant for such close distances.

“Shout when they’re at a thousand paces.”

“A thousand? If you’re going to attack, do it now! Don’t wait… Oh Light…”

Reaching deep within himself, he felt for that link that connected him to Company Al-Mir. The one that had sprung up when he first joined. Arkk had told them all to tug on that if they were in trouble and this was trouble.

Wrapping a metaphorical hand around it like it was the reins of a horse, he yanked and then braced himself, fully expecting that disorientation that came with a sudden relocation.

None came.

He stood on the hill, near a lone tree, still watching those horses approach. Was Arkk busy? Focused on something else? “Oh Light! We need to—”

“How far?”

“A thousand five hundred… four hundred… three—”

“Close enough!” Gretchen shouted, slamming her hand down on the activation sigil.

The air around them turned humid and then plunged into a sudden chill, followed quickly by a heavy breeze blowing outward from the circle, a sweltering heat, and a rise in humidity. The sensation leaking from the ritual circle swapped back and forth, accompanied by brief flashes from the glowstones powering the array, randomly altering the environment.

Like falling stars, columns of flame crashed down from the sky on the hills ahead of Morvin. The spell couldn’t be targeted precisely. Just focused on a general area about the size of a village marketplace.

The first dozen horse riders charged straight through, clearing the area of effect well in advance of the first column striking the ground. Those behind weren’t so lucky.

A small tide of water covered the ground just before a sheet of ice spread out from the white flames. That alone sent five horses skidding about as they lost their traction. Two more erupted into short-lived flames before the wind threw them from their startled mounts. A third wasn’t so lucky as to have the flames extinguished.

But it wasn’t enough. The riders started evading the falling flames with the majority simply swinging wide around the area of effect to avoid it entirely. Barely a third fell to the siege spell.

It was made for buildings and burgs, not riders.

“Gretchen, we…” He paused, remembering one other thing Arkk mentioned. “Electro Deus!” he shouted, swinging a hand forward.

Blinding blue lightning crackled forward, soaring through the air until it slammed into the leader of the group. Morvin thought he had been aiming for the rider, but at the last moment, it veered down and struck the horse straight in its flat face. The hair burned and the skin blackened in an instant. It took two more steps forward before its knees buckled, skinning itself against the rocky ground as it ejected its rider.

Morvin sagged in sudden exhaustion but forced himself upright. He had been told that he had more magical potential than most, but also that that wasn’t saying much. Still, during training with Zullie before her incident, he had managed a full three lightning bolts before the exhaustion was too much to overcome.

“Electro Deus!” Gretchen shouted at his side, flinging forward a bolt of her own. Her bolt caught the shield of one of the armored riders. The crackling electricity jumped from the shield to the armor of the man who held it but, if it affected him, he sure didn’t show it. The horse felt it, though it didn’t fry, it did buck, throwing its rider.

“Electro Deus!” Morvin shouted again. This time, he made sure to aim for the horse. If the riders had some kind of magical protection in their armor, getting rid of their horses was their best bet for surviving just a little longer.

It was too late to run. Far too late. He had to hope that Arkk would notice them and help.

Morvin launched another bolt, then one more. Maybe it was the adrenaline or simply knowing that if he didn’t stop the riders, he was a dead man, but he managed a fifth bolt after that. Gretchen managed four before she sagged, panting and sweating.

The Protector moved. Morvin had almost forgotten about it. It normally just stood there, looming and staring without blinking—the creepy thing. But now, with Morvin and Gretchen barely able to move, it used its long legs to step directly over them. Just in time to meet the first rider that made it to them.

The rider leveled his pike at the Protector. The speartip glanced off the hardened carapace.

Morvin could hear the startled shriek as the Protector grasped the rider by the head in one of its four hands, kicking the horse out from under him. The horse crashed into another, sending it and its rider to the ground. All while the Protector swung the man it had grasped at a third rider. The sound of bones breaking filled the air.

Morvin didn’t get to watch the fight any further.

He almost threw up from the sudden relocation. The air changed. It was the comfortably warm air of the Walking Fortress. Gretchen landed on the ground beside him, too exhausted to prop herself up. She did vomit, spilling her last meal on the ground.

“Sorry about the delay,” Arkk said. He looked… angry. Thunderously so. His eyes blazed brighter than Morvin had ever seen. “There were complications.” Morvin waited for more but that was the only explanation he was getting. “You did well. Rest for now,” he said.

Again, the world around Morvin shifted as he popped into the barracks. Everything within was piled up on one side of the room for some reason but Morvin didn’t get a chance to consider why.

The second teleport was too much for him. Exhausted, nerves strained from the attack, and feeling sick from the smell of Gretchen’s vomit, he couldn’t help himself. He emptied his stomach on the floor of the barracks.

 

 

Estimates put the number of Evestani forces within Elmshadow Burg upward of seven thousand soldiers. Hawkwood had seven hundred under his command. Arkk had three hundred. They were outnumbered, but that wasn’t a problem.

Everything hinged on the avatar. Without the avatar, Arkk would be able to launch bombardment magic with impunity and the tower could walk right up to the burg’s walls, forcing a surrender. Or, failing to get their surrender, simply bombard them to dust.

For that reason, Lexa stole through the burg’s streets. There was no wind in the air, yet the shadowy cloak Arkk had gifted her billowed around her, fluttering against the stillness. It moved as if it had a mind of its own, melding with the shadows of the buildings she neared and drawing her toward spots that would hide her presence. Combined with her own magics that kept others from noticing her, it was enough to make Lexa burst out laughing. Or, it would have been enough if laughing wouldn’t have ruined the effect.

She felt utterly invisible. Completely undetectable. Not just the kind of unnoticeable that someone not paying all that much attention would ignore.

The crunch of boots against a worn road made Lexa freeze. Caught out between buildings, she had nothing to hide behind but the dilapidated remnants of a market stall. It had been broken and trashed, leaving little more than a few planks of wood standing upright with some torn and ripped cloth limply dangling from where the canopy had been. Even a gremlin of her stature wouldn’t be able to hide behind it.

A patrol of a dozen guards, one of many that she had slipped past so far, marched right past the market stall. A few of the guards even looked directly at her as she stood frozen, only half behind the stall.

Close enough to watch their eyes, Lexa held her breath as they focused on one thing to one side of her then immediately slid their eyes to the other side of her. They didn’t so much as blink. In a moment, the patrol was gone down another street, leaving Lexa stifling laughter.

This thing was amazing.

Arkk had warned her not to test it against the avatar, if at all possible. She could certainly see the reasoning in that. They knew that the avatar could detect some level of planar magic, given that it had attacked Arkk while he had been teleporting people out of Gleeful Burg. They didn’t know if it could detect this shadow magic too.

But right now? Lexa felt she could single-handedly end this war here and now. The avatar might be a worthy foe, but what good would the avatar be if Lexa slit the throats of every single soldier in the burg?

It was a bit difficult to keep a realistic outlook on things with this cloak on. There was no way she would kill more than a hundred before Evestani’s spellcasters or the avatar found some way of detecting her. She had a mission. It had specific parameters. Risking that mission was not acceptable.

Lexa moved on, letting the cloak guide her from spot to spot as she advanced further into Elmshadow Burg.

“Careful with that!” Hakk’ar hissed as clay met stone a little harder than expected.

He ducked down, running his fingers along the outside of the clay pot. Not feeling any cracks or leaking, he let out a small sigh before turning a harsh glare on Livva.

“If the boss didn’t want them broken, he would have made them stronger,” she said, turning aside without the barest hint of shame.

“You fool. You weren’t at Gleeful. You didn’t see what these things can do. If these things go off, we’re dead. Even that little girl’s healing magic won’t be enough to save us.”

Livva huffed but she sent a wary glance at the tall clay pot anyway.

It stood at roughly waist height with two handles on either side of a circular lid. The lid had notches on its surface. Although three large clamps kept the lid from being removed, they did not stop its ability to rotate. Twisting the lid to a certain point would activate some small magical array deep within. Hakk’ar didn’t pretend to understand it.

He just knew not to be anywhere nearby when that magical array started up.

“He’s right,” Joanne said. The human stepped up behind them, carrying her own clay pot along with another human that Hakk’ar didn’t recognize. Company Al-Mir had grown quite a bit since the war’s start and he hadn’t bothered keeping up with every single person who signed on. “If you weren’t listening during the briefing, I don’t need you on my team. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Livva said with a slight curl of her lip. Just enough to show off a little extra tooth.

If Joanne saw that as the threat it was, she didn’t make any outward show of it. She brushed by with the other human and set their pot down near the other one.

Both looked relieved to be done with the job, but Joanne didn’t double over panting like the other human. She straightened her back, kept her breathing steady, and glared around the tight corridor.

If Hakk’ar was being honest, he was surprised that a little human woman could carry one of the pots. Joanne was a little over half his size and yet, she had to be hiding some muscle under her gear.

Hakk’ar idly wondered what it would take to get a look under her cloak. Humans were often a little too prudish about that kind of thing. Ask an orc and they would either be happy to go for a toss or simply shut the idea down. No further complications. Humans, Hakk’ar thought, think too much.

Lexa dropped down, cloak billowing about her as it drew the shadows close. She stared into the defaced church with a frown on her face.

On the outside edge of the keep’s inner wall stood a tall church. It had seen better days. Most churches had white-washed walls, keeping them gleaming, and several golden symbols overlaid on top of the bell tower. Today, soot marred more of the walls than not. It wasn’t an intentional thing, just a consequence of Elmshadow having experienced a few fires.

What was intentional was the bell tower’s golden symbols. Normally, there were three distinct symbols. The Luminous Mandala, a complex set of geometric symbols—normally simplified into a series of concentric circles—was said to represent the Light. The other two didn’t have specific names but were said to represent and honor fallen gods.

The Luminous Mandala and one of the other symbols had been blasted off the sides of the church. That left just one set of gold metal in the rough shape of a rectangular, angled spiral with long lines radiating out from the center, joining at the corners of the spiral.

She had never been a pious sort. Some among Katja’s crew were. How could the sun shine every day if not for the Light’s grace, and all that. The world would come to an end if not for the powers above, and so on. Imagine her surprise when Arkk claimed that the gods were real.

Of course, that was still second-hand information. But Arkk didn’t seem all that pious himself. He spoke of the gods more as things that simply existed and could be interacted with rather than almighty beings that existed in an intangible sort of way, passively influencing the world.

Regardless of the status of the gods, Lexa didn’t much care for the defacing of the church. She was much more interested in the interior.

The church had one large room with a high ceiling and rows of wooden pews. Religious iconography adorned practically every surface. Most, except for those geometric spirals, had been defaced along with the exterior.

Although the Abbey of the Light didn’t discuss the other gods all that often, Lexa had a feeling that she knew to whom those rectangular spirals belonged.

The pews had been arranged to make something of a central area. A dozen children sat within, huddled together with nothing but rough, woolen blankets to keep out the cold. Aged between ten and fifteen years of age—probably, Lexa wasn’t the best at judging human ages—not a single one looked happy. They looked downright miserable. Their faces were unwashed and covered in various levels of filth, which just made the tear streaks on their faces all the more obvious.

Every single one of them had their heads shaved with tattoos that were obviously fresh, leaving the skin still raw and red in places. They were… a week old? Give or take. They had probably been applied around the same time as the expanded fog around the city in the scrying balls. The tattoos were rectangular boxes that adorned the crowns of their heads. Now that she saw the symbols around the church, she could easily compare the similarity.

That was it. Lexa hadn’t found the avatar yet but she had more than one objective. This was one of the secondary things Arkk had asked her to look out for.

Guards stood at the doors of the church. They didn’t look like they were protecting the children so much as they were acting as their warden. Which wasn’t what Lexa had expected. These… hosts of the avatar were not volunteers. They weren’t enamored to be here, they weren’t honored for their sacrifice or gifted with lavish rewards for their service.

Lexa ran a gloved thumb against a blade beneath her cloak, biting her lip…

“Disgusting thing.”

“Quiet. What if it hears you?”

“I wouldn’t much care,” Abbess Hannah said, glowering.

A blob of black tar and slime dragged itself down the corridor. Its eyes, small and yellow like miniature stars, bubbled and popped, only to reform and repeat the process. A gap in its side opened up, revealing a row of razor-sharp teeth shaped like the tip of a blade. Tendrils dug into the wall of dirt and rock, breaking it apart with smaller maws before dragging the bulk of the mass down into the void in its side.

Once enough of the wall had been eaten, it slopped to the ground. Tendrils pulled it forward, dragging its mass over the top of itself. The maw that had eaten most of the wall ended up smashed against the floor as the rest of it oozed along the top. That opening sealed shut, returning to the formless mass of the rest of the creature until it came to a stop against the wall of rock. There, it broke down and consumed the wall.

A second of the creatures followed along behind the first, undulating and squirming in a foul dance that, through magics unknown, formed smooth tiles, glowstones, and brickwork in place of the raw earth.

Occasionally, more of the servants would arrive and start digging in a different direction, creating branching paths that seemed far too easy to get lost in.

Continuing in that manner, they carved out a long tunnel beneath the Elm mountains.

Abbess Hannah, despite her revulsion, continued following behind the pair of creatures. Vector and his squad of battlecasters walked alongside her with a large detachment of soldiers spread through the corridor around them.

Ever since following Richter in his idealistic goal of doing what was right rather than what was ordered, Hannah had been somewhat at odds with their leader. Not with what they were doing. Evestani and the heretics of the Golden Order were a blight on the Duchy. It was the methods through which they were accomplishing their goals that Hannah took umbrage with.

“It is quite a fascinating creature,” Vector said. The squat man with perpetually sleepy eyes barely blinked upon first seeing one of the monsters. Rather, it looked like he wanted to try poking it. “Makes you wonder what all exists in this world that you’ve never seen.”

“I don’t think it is a creature of this world at all. It is an invader. An abomination. It scurries in the dark of these tunnels to avoid the wrathful gaze of the Light.”

“No. I don’t think so,” Vector said with a shake of his head. “They were moving all around the tower as we exited it, up on the surface. Didn’t you see?”

Hannah grimaced. Despite having traveled inside it for the last several weeks, she tried her best not to think of that tower. Upon first laying eyes on it, she had urged Richter to abandon this Arkk heretic. But Richter was too blinded by his idealism and desire to be the hero of the Duchy. The one who fended off the Evestani army—or at least played a large part in it—and Company Al-Mir offered him exactly what he wanted to hear.

To be fair, it wasn’t like abandoning Company Al-Mir would have changed anything. That tower would have marched without them. Although sizable in a vacuum, those who followed Richter were too small to make a difference in the end.

Hannah had considered departing on her own. In the end, love for the soldiers she had grown close to during the war kept her where she was. They needed guidance. Especially in times like these, with company like this.

The Abbess closed her eyes as she waited for the creature to consume another section of the earth around them, devouring the very world they lived upon. She flipped through her mental library, seeking an appropriate passage for the situation she found herself in. In these dim corridors, with an approaching battle against heretics with heretics at their side, there had to be something she could say.

She was an abbess. It wasn’t a particularly high rank among the Abbey of the Light. Barely above that of an acolyte. A bishop, oracle, disciple, or adept would know how to bolster the spirits of those around them even while surrounded by monsters. It would come to them naturally, as if granted divine inspiration by the Light Itself. Hannah had studied the holy texts, the history of the Abbey, and the ways of the Light. She just lacked that spark of inspiration.

Then it hit her.

A passage in an old scroll she had discovered.

“Remember the words of the Prophetess Aeliana as she spoke in the Canticles of the Dawning Sun. ’Even in the company of shadows, the Light shall be your shield and your spear. It is not the nature of our ally, but the righteousness of our cause that sanctifies our coming battle.”

Hannah’s voice carried through the corridor. It carried far further than she had anticipated or wanted. She could feel the way the soldiers and battlecasters around her fell into silence, looking at her as if she were about to speak something utterly profound.

Her jaw locked up and nerves bolted her lips closed. She was no stranger to public speaking. She had offered plenty of sermons in the ten years she had served as an abbess. Yet here and now, she swallowed, feeling trapped by her sudden outburst.

These were men who were about to go to war. Not just war, but a battle with the odds stacked against them. She along with them, as their healer and support.

They waited in silence, staring, waiting for inspiration or words of comfort. A blessing for the battle ahead.

Hannah drew in a breath. “We stand on the precipice of a battle that may well decide the fate of our lands. Among us…” She pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes in the direction of the corridor’s end. Her eyes then flicked over the mass of soldiers to another creature. One creature too tall to fit in the large corridor upright, had all six of its arms spread out. “Creatures of ancient might and magic beyond our ken. Our alliance with these beings, born of necessity, does not tarnish our souls. Nor does it sway our commitment.

“Our enemy is deplorable in the extreme. I have read reports of their so-called Avatar of the Golden Good. A heretic who mutilates children to further their goals…” Hannah suppressed a shudder. If what that scout had said was true, the Golden Order was even worse than the Abbey typically preached. It was possible to be a heretic and still a good man. Even those who didn’t believe in the Light would share their porridge with their neighbor in trying times. But mutilating children to use as disposable bodies? “In this trying time, our faith is tested. But it is also proven! The Light does not abandon its faithful. It will not abandon us! Let your courage be as your shield, your faith as your sword, and your spirit as an unbreakable bond that unites us all in singular purpose—to vanquish the heretics and liberate our people in the name of the Light!”

Hannah let her words hang in the air. Her heart pounded in her chest, nervous and yet… exhilarated. She wasn’t sure that she had said anything coherent at all. If not, it didn’t seem to matter. The soldiers in the corridor pumped their fists, cheering out.

Vector just raised an eyebrow. Of course, he wasn’t one to fall for a ramble of rhetoric. Still, the corner of his lip curled upward.

This… was a good feeling. It was why Hannah stuck around despite the monsters and anathema. She wasn’t some powerful pontiff, she was just an abbess. Her duty was one of guidance and comfort.

Just as she allowed herself a small smile, a sudden hush surged through the crowd of soldiers.

It wasn’t hard to see why.

That creature at the rear of the group crawled forward. It didn’t try to push past the soldiers or battlecasters. Rather, it avoided them entirely by clamping its many limbs into the ceiling, skittering above the soldiers’ heads. Hannah locked up, freezing solid as it came to a stop directly over her. Its head, upside-down and backward, twisted and bent until that false face it wore was at her level.

“I have a question,” it spoke, its voice sending tremors through Hannah’s heart.

Hannah didn’t know what to say in response. It wasn’t supposed to speak to her. It was here to provide information, using its foul magics to communicate instantly with other groups in the tower and the city.

“Oh?” Vector asked. “Regarding the Light? Abbess Hannah is well-versed in such matters. I’m sure she would be most pleased to discuss theology.”

Hannah’s eyes widened, flicking over to Vector. He wasn’t implying that she could try to convert this thing to proper worship of the Light, was he?

“But perhaps now isn’t the best time,” Vector finished.

“A simple question.” It looked away from Vector, turning those wide, eerie eyes on Hannah. “You spoke of a prophetess. The words used ‘in the company of shadows’. To what does that phrase refer?”

Hannah opened her mouth. Her throat, dry and parched, forced her to swallow rather than speak. Vector lightly nudged her in the side, which was just enough encouragement. “I don’t know,” Hannah admitted. Now that the first few words were out, the next came easily. “Prophetess Aeliana’s life is poorly chronicled. Many records of the time have been lost. Even the Canticles of the Dawning Sun are incomplete. She was involved in a war and had allies she obviously didn’t agree with, so the words just popped into my mind. Beyond that, I don’t know.”

“I see,” the creature said, accepting her words without doubt. Its hands, gripping the ceiling, started to pull it back where it had come from, only for it to pause and turn to Vector. “I am informed that you are almost in position. Preparations are still ongoing elsewhere. You will not engage immediately.”

Vector nodded his head. “Thank you for the notice.”

With that, the creature skittered back over the heads of the soldiers, much to their discomfort. Hannah could only sigh in relief at its vacancy.

“Looks like we have some time,” Vector said. “Perhaps you should speak more of this Aeliana. What little you know, anyway.”

Hannah drew in a breath and nodded, agreeing internally. Better to not leave silence in the air. That would only lead to festering thoughts. “I don’t know of those shadows,” she said, averting her eyes from the creature. “But the battle she was in is said to be one of legend…”

Lexa finished measuring out the distance from the keep to the final primary target. The keep, though ruined, still stood tall enough to poke out above the scrying fog. That meant that it could be used as a reference point to various targets throughout the burg.

As long as her measurements were correct, anyway.

Arkk had dumped several brass items in her lap—courtesy of Hawkwood, apparently—and had given her brief instructions on how to use them to determine distances. It had been a short lesson but Lexa was pretty sure she got the gist of it.

Writing down the last few coordinates, this one pointed at an armory, on a small notebook marked the end of her mission. She had accomplished all her objectives. All except one. There had been no sign of the avatar. Just those poor children.

Night was on its way. Which meant she had to get back. Arkk needed her reconnaissance to finalize all the preparations.

Lexa found her eyes drifting back toward that ruined church.

After she delivered her report…

After…

 

 

 

Elmshadow Burg was nestled between two tall mountains. The mountains were somewhat distant from the burg itself, as the burg sat on relatively flat terrain with a river running through it. The surrounding land, mostly farmland, extended in all directions until the ground turned to rocky hills with steep drops and sheer hikes that only goats would enjoy. Even those rocky hills were still not quite at the mountains, though there was a gradual upward slope to their layout. At some point, where the tall trees began growing in force, the land spiked upward. Massive, jutting mounds of land towered over the valley. Those tall mountains and rough terrain stretched in either direction, practically slicing the Duchy in two.

The Walking Fortress could handle unsteady terrain. Each of its six legs was the size of a large house. Even if one leg failed to find a good place to plant down, it still had five others as backups. Arkk wasn’t willing to try climbing the Elm mountains in their entirety—not with the tower occupied and in danger of tipping over—but the hills? Those were doable.

For that reason, they weren’t coming to Elmshadow from the center of the valley. It had been Rekk’ar’s suggestion to come in from the north, climbing over the rocky hills while using the tall mountain as a shield against Evestani’s golden magic.

No need to take all the bombardment they would face if they approached in clear view from the horizon.

“Shame the warlock wasn’t able to increase the range of our bombardment magics,” Rekk’ar grumbled. His fingers drummed against the command table as he glared down at the map spread across its surface. “This spot would have been the perfect cover to unload everything we had without facing retaliation,” he said, jamming a finger into a small crook of the mountain.

“Wouldn’t work,” Hawkwood said with a shake of his head. “Arkk tried to repeat his feat at Gleeful here at Elmshadow. The golden dome fended off his spells without trouble. We would waste our supply of glowstones without accomplishing much.”

“Then why bring the bombardment magic at all?”

“Aside from it being yet another tool that will undoubtedly come in handy?” Arkk asked, raising an eyebrow at Rekk’ar. “I’m… I’m hoping we get hit by one of those rays of gold.”

“You think that witch’s idea will work?”

Arkk shrugged. Zullie…

Her reliability had dropped drastically in Arkk’s eyes. It had been just a single mistake. One error in her plans to call upon the power of Xel’atriss. To find that she, even after losing her eyes, hadn’t given up—in fact, she seemed more eager than ever—only filled Arkk with more unease. Yet… She wasn’t wrong. The Heart of Gold’s avatar had such versatility that it made Agnete’s power of flames look mundane in comparison. From what little Arkk had seen of Tybalt, the Jailor of the Void’s avatar, before his death, he doubted that Tybalt would have been any more versatile.

It had to be the status of the [PANTHEON]. The Burning Forge and the Jailer of the Void—though the latter had a statue in the temple—were disconnected from the world in a way that the Heart of Gold and the other traitor gods were not.

Zullie had come up with a solution to those rays of gold. It was planar magic. Magic derived from a combination of the lighting spell she had seen in the Duke’s manor and information she had… Stolen? Gleaned? Been granted? Arkk wasn’t sure. He didn’t know that Zullie was sure. Whatever the case, she now had information following the incident where she lost her eyes that she had lacked before.

From that, she had derived a few new spells.

“Even if our new protections don’t work, the tower is large. Far larger than any instance of those rays. From what we’ve observed, the avatar of gold can and does wear out. Especially after casting those wide rays of gold. It had to resort to casting far narrower beams after the first large one. Thus, we take a hit. The tower is large and the servants are standing by to repair damage. Then, while it is weakened, we can bombard with impunity.”

Richter cleared his throat, looking over the group with a small frown. “Not that I find fault with your grand plan,” he started, looking a little nervous. “Is there an option that does not require us to get hit? I haven’t seen one of these ‘rays of gold’ in person but I have heard of their effects. They don’t sound… pleasant.”

“I’m with the human,” Rekk’ar grunted.

The entire tower lurched as its forward momentum came to a halt. All six legs planted into the ground with a mental command from Arkk. The jolt wasn’t much. It probably should have felt like a minor earthquake. The magic of the mobile [HEART] kept things steady most of the time.

Still, it knocked an empty mug that had been sitting on the edge of the table to the floor where it clattered as wood struck stone.

“Alright. Suggestions,” Arkk said. It felt like this was the thirtieth time he had said those words in the last week. It seemed like they changed their plans for this assault every ten minutes. Sometimes it was because of additions to equipment such as the shadow scythes, other times, it was because new tactics opened up with the addition of magical elements provided by Savren or Zullie. Most times, it felt like nobody was sure how to handle the situation.

Granted, not many treatises on battle tactics had been written with regards to massive walking fortresses stomping around nor regarding avatars of gods. Not even Priscilla’s… experience with walking fortresses could quite apply to the operations of today. Times then, magic then, were far different than that of today. As were the leagues of dragonoids and other now-extinct species that she had had at hand to send into combat. Her tactics had been of the overwhelming firepower variety which, bombardment magic and supply of charged glowstones aside, Arkk lacked.

The discussion at the table carried on long into the night. Elmshadow was a mere half a day’s march away—for the tower. If they had been approaching straight up the valley, they would have been able to see it with the naked eye. Were it not for the change in route to take them alongside the mountain, they likely would have been hit by one of those rays of gold by now.

As it was, Arkk was a little nervous just sitting about. It would be relatively simple for the avatar of gold to take a horse out, charging around the rocky hills and unpleasant terrain. The scrying teams were keeping an eye out but it would be easy to miss a single horse rider at night.

If the avatar did leave the burg, the burg wouldn’t have that golden dome defending them. The tower needed to be in range to strike back if that happened.

So all this sitting around, talking, arguing, and back-and-forth over details that had been discussed to death over the last weeks was grating, to say the least.

Rekk’ar favored a cautious strategy. An attempt to draw the defenders out of their magically defended stronghold.

Hawkwood, were he in charge of the enemy force, would never leave their stronghold. As long as the avatar of gold could keep bombardment magic off their backs, they could hold out indefinitely. Especially now that the strike teams against Evestani’s supply lines were on hold.

Richter wanted to rush in. Send the tower through whatever attacks it could weather up to the walls of the burg. Stomp down any magical defenses with the tower itself, bombard the city once the magic was down, and send in the combined might of White Company, Richter’s men, and the specialists that Company Al-Mir could provide to overwhelm whoever was left after that.

Olatt’an, sitting at the table with his eyes closed, didn’t speak much. The older orc had a thoughtful expression on his face but… Arkk privately thought that he had fallen asleep.

Priscilla sat in her chair, tipped back to the point where two legs were completely off the ground. Her wings, planted on the floor behind the chair, kept her from falling. She was present because of her aforementioned expertise in utilizing mobile towers in combat. Most of the time, she didn’t contribute much to any discussion. The few times she did open her mouth, she tended to favor Richter’s aggressive plans. Much to the chagrin of the more cautious members of the table.

During a lull in the argument, Olatt’an opened his eyes. He swept his eyes over the map once before looking up, sweeping his eyes over each of the others at the table. “Why are we not playing to our strengths?”

“Exactly,” Arkk said. “Magical bombardment from afar—”

“Not that. While you possess great personal magic and the glowstones allow far more castings than should be expected, it isn’t a match for the avatar.”

Arkk pressed his lips together. He didn’t exactly have a way to refute that, so he kept silent and gestured for Olatt’an to proceed.

“Now, I don’t know the way the Duke’s Guard or White Company typically handle things, but Company Al-Mir is at its strongest when we do something unexpected and catch our opponents off guard, that they couldn’t plan for. This tower is something I doubt many could plan for. I’m not quite willing to extend that suspicion to the avatar just yet.

“They know we’re coming, as evidenced by the expanded fog over the entirety of the burg. They’ll have a plan. Maybe it works. Maybe it won’t. But charging in and allowing them to enact their plan is the height of foolishness.”

Arkk let out a small breath, nodding his head. “Yes. I’m aware. I just thought— Never mind. You have an alternative, I presume?”

Olatt’an lightly tapped the map on the table. He pointed to the same spot Rekk’ar had indicated earlier. A little spot nestled in the northern Elm mountain that was close to Elmshadow while still keeping the mountain between them and the burg.

“It is too far away,” Arkk said, shaking his head. They had discussed that spot. Several times. “The range of our bombardment magic is limited. Savren’s new ritual might have worked if we were able to get a direct line of sight but all the spells that don’t require line of sight are too limited.”

“Forget the magic, Arkk,” Olatt’an said, voice turning gruff. “We’re in a massive magical fortress that moves. More importantly, it counts as your territory, does it not?”

“It does.”

Olatt’an curled his lips into a tusk-less smile. “Then it should be simple to begin a battle on our terms. Not theirs.”

Walking Fortress Al-Lavik came to a stop. Six massive legs clamped into the ground, locking into place, before lowering the bulk of the tower. The flat underside sent up a cloud of dirt and dust as it came to a partial rest on the rocky hill. With one final adjustment of the legs to compensate for the uneven terrain, the tower went still.

Lexa watched the tower’s actions from one of the lower levels, peering out from a thin slit in the tower’s walls that was meant for unleashing arrows or spells upon anyone who would dare to approach. Before the dust could settle, dozens of formless figures slithered from the tower’s legs. Horrible slug-like monstrosities with far too many eyes and mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth. They scurried around, dragging their pulsating, bulbous masses along with them. The lesser servants of Fortress Al-Mir got to work.

Their maws gaped, swallowing swaths of dirt and rock here. Over there, they… excreted material. It wasn’t the same rock and stone. It was more of a slurry of gravel and mud. Other lesser servants moved over the top and began a hypnotic gyration. It was an abomination, revolting and disgusting to the point of making her stomach churn. Yet, despite that, Lexa found herself unable to look away.

Tiles, like those within the tower or Fortress Al-Mir, formed underneath the dancing servants. However, here, the tiles were more like those within the tower. They possessed a shadowy, smoke-like quality lacking in the maze-like designs that permeated the entirety of Fortress Al-Mir. The only true unification was the violet gemstones that blossomed from the center of each tile.

Lexa wasn’t sure where Arkk had found those creatures. Or Vezta, for that matter. Possessing a sense of self-preservation, she felt it best to not make too many inquiries. They created livable spaces, cleaned up messes, and performed minor maintenance on damaged parts of the fortresses. That was enough for her.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what they were up to out there. This stop and construction work hadn’t been in the latest plans she had heard. Having memorized the local map and from observing a little with the scrying teams, she recognized the area they had stopped in. They were about ten minutes of walking out from the burg—for the tower, not for a normal person. The tower wasn’t exactly fast, but it wasn’t slow either. When a single step could carry it half the distance of a village, it ended up able to make quite the pace. Especially once it got going.

It had been something of a shame to leave Katja’s warm bed for the relatively cold halls of Fortress Al-Mir. Gold lured her. It was just a bit more appealing than flesh. Her pockets had been filled, but there was so much more here. True power. Wealth was a way to power for many. Lexa had certainly followed that idea for the majority of her life. But now…

Look at Katja. She might be able to call herself a Lady or a Duchess or whatever she wanted, but when Arkk came knocking, she had to stop and listen.

Lexa was fairly certain she was in a better position than Katja. True, she also had to listen to Arkk when he came around, but that Arkk came around at all was a sign of how good she had it. Not everyone got personal attention from the guy in charge.

If only his attentions were a little more… attentive to her needs.

With a small sigh, Lexa turned from the slit window to find someone who knew what was going on. Only, before she could take a step, she felt that familiar pull. Like someone grabbed hold of her by her shoulders with a massive hand, whisked her through space, and then let her drop down into an entirely new place.

Well, well, well. Speaking of personal attention. After a brief stumble, Lexa found herself looking up to find Arkk glowering at a large window. His eyes, bright red and glowing, flicked back and forth as he started. She had once thought his eyes glowed when he was angry. Which was true, but also wasn’t. It was more like keeping the glow down took concentration. If he was deep in thought—even about mundane ideas—distracted by pressing issues, or just generally not paying attention, his eyes would light up.

Even though the red glared back against the window’s glass, Lexa wasn’t sure that he even noticed.

This was much higher up in the tower. The command room. Olatt’an was back at a large table and the scrying teams were in their little cubby holes, staring into crystal balls. Lexa had been inside a few times but this was the first time she had been invited.

“Sir?”

“I… have a mission for you, Lexa. It will be dangerous.”

Lexa quirked her lips. “Danger is just a spice to enhance a relationship.”

“Good in moderation but bad if it is overwhelming?”

“Everyone has a different taste for spice.” Lexa leaned against him, injecting a little extra breath into her voice. “I like it on the spicy side.”

Arkk drew in a breath, nodding. “This might be of the overwhelming variety,” he said without the slightest acknowledgment of her actions.

He was always like that. She knew he liked taller women—he had said so himself—yet she felt something should get through to him. It was starting to make her feel inadequate.

“We can’t scry directly on Elmshadow,” he continued as if nothing happened. “But we need information from within, to put the final pins in our plan.”

“And I’ve got the skills you need to get some eyes in the city? I understand.”

“I don’t know that you can get in undetected. Normally, I would assume you could without a doubt. But they are expecting us. The avatar has powers we’re not fully aware of. And Evestani in general does things quite a bit differently than around the Duchy. I don’t want to put you in unnecessary danger, on your own, with no support… but knowing is half the battle.”

“Relax. If there is anything I value more than gold, it is my own life. If I think I can’t do it, it might be embarrassing, but I’ll come back and admit failure.”

Arkk looked at her, glowing eyes flicking back and forth. After a moment, he nodded. Some of the tension in his shoulders lessened. He must have been worried. Actually worried.

How sweet.

Lexa grinned. “I suppose I should gather my things. You’ll want me out of here immediately, right?”

“First, I have a gift for you.”

“Oh? You shouldn’t have… Which is not a rejection. I’m a woman who loves men who give me gifts.”

Arkk didn’t react once again, save to hold his hand out.

A flowing black cloak of pure shadow appeared in the air, draping over his extended arm.

“Oh,” Lexa said. “You’ve got my interest…”

 

 

The logistics of the Walking Fortress weren’t exactly simple to operate.

A giant mobile fortress wasn’t easy to access while it was on the move. Theoretically, it didn’t need to be accessed. It possessed the same food production and living quarters magic that Fortress Al-Mir had. Yet there were still certain personnel and equipment that needed to move between the fortresses.

The teleportation circles didn’t work with a mobile target and walking up to the legs of the tower to access the interior while it was on the move was utterly impossible. Since he could freely teleport to his territory, and the Walking Fortress was his territory, that left Arkk to do most of the work himself.

It was a bit of a strange feeling.

Arkk was the leader of a free company. He commanded hundreds of men and was seen as an equal to a longstanding company commander. He could cast magic unseen in the world for thousands of years. He worked with an ancient monster, a dragonoid, and some kind of strange hive-mind collective. He dethroned a duke and put a puppet in its place. He had entreated with a god.

And here he was, acting as a simple courier.

Arkk teleported from ritual circle to ritual circle, moving a heavy crate loaded with equipment. A pair of orcs helped him carry the box through the teleportation circles.

Once they got close enough to the tower, he simply teleported all of them onto one of its floors.

Without him, the whole tower would have had to come to a whole stop while everyone carried the boxes up its many, many stairs.

“Thank you, Tell’ir. Penna.” Arkk stretched his back, glad to be out of the somewhat cramped underground chambers where the teleportation circles were hidden. “You are dismissed. There is a canteen two floors below us,” he said, motioning to the door. “Or you can find bunks a floor below that.”

“We don’t get to see these things in action?” Penna asked.

Arkk paused, considered, and then shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with that. I don’t know that there is going to be much to watch, but… Sure.”

Penna grunted a laugh as she nudged her elbow into Tell’ir. “Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Arkk watched as they moved off to the side of the room. It was a large room, divided roughly in half. One side was open and empty of anything save for a few targets at a far wall, providing an opportunity for archers and crossbowmen to practice their aim. The other side of the room was further divided up into individual sparring areas. Posts in the ground could hold up wooden dummies that would allow melee weapon training without a live opponent.

There were several similar training rooms around Fortress Al-Mir. Besides the gambling dens and fighting pits, they were some of the more popular locales within the fortress. The ones here barely looked used, however.

He wasn’t sure why that was. At the moment, the Walking Fortress housed about six hundred soldiers from White Company, three hundred former soldiers of the Duke’s Grand Guard, and about seventy others. The latter of whom included Larry the butcher heading a few others from the kitchen staff, spellcasters trained to use the bombardment magics and charged glowstones, the scrying team, and Dakka’s specialist team.

Most everyone either stayed in their bunks or ate and drank at the various canteens.

Quickly locating Dakka and her team, Arkk found them lounging much higher in the tower, having taken over one of the upper floors meant for the senior commanders for their own purposes. Which wasn’t something Arkk had opposed. Dakka was a commander, even if her power was generally limited to the field. If she wanted to share the floor with the rest of her team, that was her prerogative.

In the blink of an eye, Arkk teleported Dakka and the ten members of her team directly to the training room. There was a brief moment of disorientation. Everyone had been sitting around, having what looked to have been a fairly serious discussion even as they sat relaxed in the various furniture of Dakka’s quarters. Since Arkk always knew when he was teleporting himself, he had never experienced it himself, but everyone else had to take a second to grapple with suddenly being in a new position, a new orientation, and a new room.

But all of Dakka’s team were experienced members of Company Al-Mir. This wasn’t the first time they had been teleported, nor would it be their last. Feet thumped together as the group reoriented toward Arkk.

“Sir! You’re earlier than you said you’d be,” Dakka said. Nobody in Company Al-Mir saluted save for some of the more recent hires from other mercenary companies or the Duke’s Grand Guard. Dakka nevertheless straightened her back in a show of respect.

It was a bit… much, Arkk felt. Dakka, Rekk’ar, and Olatt’an were easily the three orcs he knew best simply because they were the first three, along with Larry, who had come to him. Of them, he always felt a bit more of a connection with Dakka. Olatt’an was an old man with a lot of experience to share and Rekk’ar was younger and more brash—and clearly didn’t like almost any decision that Arkk made no matter the situation.

Dakka was still fairly casual with him when alone. It was just in front of others. She was setting an example. The others on her team mimed her show of respect. Still, while Arkk now thought of himself far more as a leader and commander, it just felt weird with Dakka and a few of the others he knew well.

“We made good time thanks to Tell’ir and Penna,” he said, gesturing to the side of the room where the two orcs had taken up their position.

With a curt nod of her head, Dakka slowly turned to the stack of crates at Arkk’s side. “So these are…”

“You wanted something to even the scales,” Arkk said, teleporting the lids off the crates.

As he did so, the light in the room seemed to dim ever so slightly. Thin slits in the walls provided fresh sunlight to complement the glowstones set into the ceiling. Yet a small portion of that light stopped bouncing around the room, absorbed into the darkness within the crates.

One of the crates held freshly forged scythes. The blades were wrapped in cloth made using the ceremonial blade. They had discovered that shadowy cloth to be one of the few things the shadow blades could not cut, which made them the perfect sheathes for when the scythes weren’t in use.

Arkk gripped the sturdy wooden haft of one of the weapons, pulling it from the crate.

“Oh no,” one of the orcs grumbled.

Arkk cocked an eyebrow. He wasn’t quite sure which orc had spoken but, looking over, none looked particularly happy. “Something wrong?”

A few of the orcs glanced at one another before one, Klepp’at, cleared his throat. “Just worried you’re going to have us reaping fields again.”

Arkk blinked. It took him a long second to think all the way back to when he had first strongarmed all the orcs into joining him. The very first task he had assigned them had been to help out with Langleey’s harvest. With a small chuckle, he shook his head. “I don’t doubt that these would be effective in a field. Maybe too effective. Tell’ir, Penna. As long as you’re here, grab one of those training dummies and slot it into the hole here.”

The two not of Dakka’s team looked surprised to be addressed. They got over it quickly enough, moving one of the dummies into place. As they did so, Arkk carefully removed the cloth sheath from the scythe.

Very carefully.

If he was being honest, these scythes frightened him a little. They were almost too dangerous.

“The blade will cut through anything cloaked in shadow,” Arkk said as he readied the weapon. “Since they absorb light around them, that basically means anything.”

With fairly casual ease—the scythes weighed only as much as the wooden staff that served as their hafts—Arkk sliced the wooden dummy clean in two.

Dakka let out a long, slow whistle.

“The only exceptions are other things forged with the Cloak of Shadows’ power and the magically reinforced stone of Fortress Al-Mir. Don’t know how they will fare against that golden armor. Can’t be worse than anything else we tried.”

“Do they have to be scythes?” Raff’el asked.

“For now, yes. Unfortunately, we don’t have the ability to make custom designs in the Shadow Forge yet. We had to make do with the molds already present. The Protector is sending other instances of itself to explore a few of the other temples for more molds but no word back on that just yet.” Arkk carefully placed the cloth back over the scythe’s head and replaced it in the crate before moving over to one of the other crates. “It’s also why the armor we made is something of a one-size-fits-all.”

Arkk lifted a thin slice of shadow from the crate. The front half of a breastplate. It wasn’t as all-encompassing as properly made plate armor, thus it would need to be augmented with regular armor to provide full protection, but it did weigh almost nothing and was practically impervious to normal weapons and most magics that he and Savren had thought to try.

Explaining that to the orcs, Arkk handed out a few of the pieces. They had greaves, cuisses, boots, and gauntlets. No helms, unfortunately. But Arkk had a plan for that.

“They just so happened to have orc-sized equipment in these forges?” Dakka asked as one of the others helped her equip some of the armor.

“You recall what Vezta said? Black Knights—not sure if they were a race or some kind of military order dedicated to the Cloak of Shadows—bore a resemblance to orcs. These Shadow Forges were likely created to serve them.”

“Ah.” Dakka accepted the explanation with a nod of her head.

Arkk wasn’t sure if that was the truth but it made the most sense to him. Humans and even elves would find the armor far too bulky to use. Perhaps someone hulking like Horrik could make use of it but Arkk wasn’t willing to ship this special equipment off to Katja before he had equipped every single one of his orcs. And even then, he wasn’t so sure.

With easy access to only one Shadow Forge near the portal, they were exceedingly limited in how quickly they could produce this equipment. As it was, what they had now was literally every piece that had been produced. The final gauntlet had been finished just this morning. Perr’ok would continue making more but a full set of equipment took over three days to manufacture.

Drastically less time than normal armor in a normal forge—which could take weeks for an average set of armor—but a normal forge could be expanded until every blacksmith was working at once, creating dozens of pieces a day.

As it was, he was just happy they had gotten this much before reaching Elmshadow.

“We don’t have much time to train with this. Keep the sheathes on until you’re sure you aren’t going to smack into each other or anything important. But I want you on this every day until we arrive.”

They had between seven and twelve days, depending on terrain, to get ready.

“Arkk, t-there’s a change in the situation at Elmshadow.”

Slowly, Arkk opened his eyes. He was trying to scrape together every bit of rest he could manage. Unfortunately, it felt like some new problem cropped up every few minutes. Sometimes it was things at the Walking Fortress, which were relatively easy to deal with as he was physically present.

When he felt tugs for his attention over at Fortress Al-Mir, things turned more harried. Ilya was in charge over there, assisted by Vezta. Sometimes, he was able to teleport one of them to the person who called for his attention. Sometimes, Ilya or Vezta was the one calling for him. Everything needed to be in order over there. At the moment, the Walking Fortress could drop a lesser servant to the ground below to dig out a new teleportation chamber to add to the chain, thus allowing him to rush back to deal with problems like Kia and Claire getting a little too vigorously engaged in interrogating some Evestani scout unit the tower had crossed over and subsequently captured. That wouldn’t last once they arrived.

Arkk needed to be fully focused on Elmshadow with no distractions.

He stood from the large chair positioned in the center of the command floor.

The room was one of the few with large, open windows. A balcony before the windows let them stretch both higher and lower than the floor itself, letting him look down at the ground ahead of the tower even from his chair. As one of the highest rooms in the tower, it provided a view that kings wished their castles could provide.

There was enough room to fit all the strategic staff. A large table in the center of the room held a drawn map of Elmshadow and its surrounding terrain. Little models marked out notable locations within, such as the keep and force concentrations. The scrying team updated the map nearly constantly, working in groups. Either side of the map had a lower level, divided by a few steps downward, where the scrying teams worked in groups around the clock. Both crystal balls were here in Al-Lavik, one in either pit.

There were four pits in total. Two were unused at the moment. One major goal was to figure out how to build scrying-capable crystal balls or locate other methods of distant vision. Arkk hadn’t had the time to properly investigate crafting methods or external builders of scrying equipment just yet.

Luthor, the chameleon beastman, stood in one of the pits. They were shallow enough pits that someone standing would be at chest height with the rest of the room. It was just enough to let them have a degree of separation while seated to concentrate on their duties while everyone else in the command room did their work.

“A change?” Arkk asked, fighting down a yawn.

Communication was still a problem. There were magical methods of mimicking an in-person conversation, but they were involved and ritualistic. Nothing that could be used in the heat of combat. Even outside combat, the Duchy’s official military detachments still preferred to use written letters delivered by Swiftwing harpies because the rituals were too complex.

At the moment, Arkk and Savren had devised a series of spells that would light up the exterior of the tower, with different colors warning anyone outside the building of predetermined changes in the situation that the scrying team noticed or simple tactic changes, should that be required. It wasn’t ideal. The tower was likely to be at the backs of their forces. But it was better than nothing.

The Protector—three of it—were in the tower and were willing to facilitate communications. But that was still limited to just those three. They couldn’t be everywhere at once.

Savren had ideas about the Protector’s mental link with its bodies and ways of possibly mimicking that link with an enchanted device. Thus far, that project was purely in the theoretical stage.

“S-Sir. The fog in the crystal balls is c-changing.”

With a slight shake of his head, Arkk refocused on the situation at hand. That fog Evestani used to obscure scrying was one of the bigger banes of his existence. It ranked right below the Heart of Gold’s magic. Any change was likely to be bad for him.

“What are they cooking up now?” Arkk hummed as he descended the few steps into the scrying pit.

Luthor, unnecessarily, waved him over to the crystal ball. Harvey, the flopkin member of the scrying team, sat at the ball itself, holding his hands up to its smooth surface. The scenes inside changed and shifted, roaming over what Arkk easily recognized as Elmshadow Burg.

Much of the burg was hidden in a thick layer of that fog. Much of the fog surrounded the central keep. It was nothing that Arkk hadn’t seen before. Ever since Evestani pulled back to the burg following Gleeful’s fall, they had been hard at work. Much of the burg had been destroyed in fire—some as a result of Hawkwood while the rest came from the after-effects of those rays of gold.

While the keep itself was still missing its top—that poked out of the fog surrounding it—he had been able to watch over the weeks as they rebuilt the rest of the burg. They hadn’t rebuilt it the way it had been. Much of the partially destroyed buildings had been cleared out entirely, the materials of their construction being relocated to form defensive arrangements around the exterior of the burg’s walls. Two large turrets had gone up on the Duchy side of the burg, each of which held a large golden statue that vaguely resembled the one of the Heart of Gold in Al-Mir’s temple. They had expanded the barracks, built and rebuilt storehouses, and took over a few workshops and smithies, the latter of which had been pouring smoke from their chimneys almost constantly. Other areas were marked out as possible ritual sites for bombardment or defensive magics.

“What’s changing?” Arkk asked, only to see it the moment he finished his question. “Ah.”

Harvey shifted the view in response, closing in on the edge of the fog just outside the keep.

The fog had been hovering right around the inner walls, obscuring what Arkk presumed was the center of Evestani’s military operations. Except, it was no longer stopped at the walls. The fog billowed outward, flowing through the streets and over the buildings. It wasn’t exactly fast, but it was spreading out through the rest of the burg all around the central keep.

If it kept up its pace, it would likely encompass the entire city by nightfall.

“I think they know we’re coming, Sir,” Harvey said.

Arkk nodded absently. That was true. They had the map with markers for everything important already. But, if Arkk were in Evestani’s position, he would be using every spare second rearranging the city under the assumption that current targets of interest were compromised. Of course, he had lesser servants to do such work quickly and efficiently. Thus far, he had seen no sign that Evestani used anything other than the labor of their army to rebuild Elmshadow Burg.

With that golden avatar in play, he couldn’t discount anything.

“Keep a constant watch on it anyway,” Arkk said to the scrying team. “Especially the exterior of the burg. I want to know if soldiers leave in any direction.”

“Given that w-we’re still over a week out,” Luthor said, “they might not be able to maintain the spell that long. A circular fog l-like that… if it doubles in size, it quadruples the area. I-I don’t know the c-calculations for how much magic that drains, but I imagine it is considerable. If they’re trying to cover the entire burg, that’s… far, far more than doubling its size. They would have to double its size at least four times.”

Arkk stared at Luthor for a long moment, not having expected that from the chameleon beastman. He wasn’t sure it was perfectly accurate—he would have to check with Savren—but the sentiment was correct. If covering the entire burg had been magically feasible, they would have done so from the start.

“If Evestani wants to wear out their spellcasters this far in advance, I’m not going to complain,” Arkk said. Not that he believed they would do that without a plan. Perhaps they had come up with something similar to the charged glowstones that would let them maintain it without draining their people.

Luthor smiled, nodding his head as his beady eyes shifted back to the crystal ball.

Good that he was in high spirits. Arkk had a feeling they would need all the morale they could get before long.

“Keep me informed. And make sure the other scrying teams are aware that I’ve been informed.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Arkk climbed out of the pit with a larger worry on his mind.

The tower needed to be on high alert from now on. It would be too easy for the avatar of gold to slip out of the city and fire off one of his rays of gold.

Arkk still didn’t know how the tower would handle getting hit by one of those.

Zullie…

Against his better judgment, he had not put a stop to Zullie’s investigation into the Lock and Key’s power. Even blind, now with Hale’s assistance, she was working around the clock. She claimed she wasn’t an avatar and certainly hadn’t demonstrated any abilities resembling that of Agnete or Tybalt. But the ideas she had for magic now…

Arkk teleported to the base of the tower, pausing its movements for just long enough to make his way to the nearest teleportation circle.