The Infernal Engine

 

“ᛈᛚᛖᚨᛊᛖ ᚲᛟᛗᛖ ᚹᛁᛏᚺ ᛗᛖ.”

Agnete jerked her head at the voice. The background thrum of the Anvil hammered away, clacking and clanging and whirring and grinding. It had been overwhelming in the first few moments. Agnete wasn’t sure if she had adjusted to it or if her magic was at work, but it felt like a mere distant noise now.

But that voice had not.

As a living human who, on occasion, interacted with others, Agnete had heard voices before. In her time with the inquisitors, she hadn’t often been called upon to speak, but she still heard. Lords and serfs, priests and traders, all had slightly different ways of speaking. There was a difference between a bombastic baron throwing his authority around with every word and a humble toymaker speaking excitedly over a newly fashioned doll.

Each word in the voice that now addressed her, coming from the large orb hanging from the gantry, was not natural. Not born of flesh and breath. It had a cold, metallic timbre. Each word was sharp and clear, she could tell that even without understanding the words, yet the precision was too much. It was unfeeling to the point where it sent shivers down her spine.

“ᚲᛟᛗᛖ ᚹᛁᛏᚺ ᛗᛖ,” it said again. There was a strange crackling behind the crisp words that only served to make them more apparent, further drowning out the background voices. Like the hiss and pop of a fire but more erratic. “ᚲᛟᛗᛖ ᚹᛁᛏᚺ ᛗᛖ.”

The metal eye swung away from Agnete. As it did so, the entire landscape began rearranging itself. Panels swung down on large mechanical arms, forming steps. The walls of a nearby building peeled back as if made from mobile bricks. One of the moving pathways, perpendicular to the steps, slid into place. The gantry moved the metal eye directly over the moving pathway.

Agnete flicked her gaze upward. A half dozen of those flying serpents were lazily drifting about overhead. They weren’t attacking. Rather, they looked calm. The lightning bolts hopping between the nodes on their backs even felt subdued. They were just watching.

She turned back to the large metal eye with a small frown.

Its words were unintelligible but the meaning was anything but. It wanted her to follow.

Agnete looked back. The portal wasn’t working. Even though she was far from a capable spellcaster, the reason was obvious. A mechanical arm had removed the keystone, depositing it into a bank of similar rune-covered crystalline stones. She could try to get it operational again. She didn’t know which of those crystals was the right one, but it wouldn’t be hard to test them one at a time. All she had to do was get her escorts off her back. From what she saw of those flying serpents, she doubted they would be able to withstand her flames. The lightning could be dangerous, but with nothing else here that she had to care about, she could go all out.

Arkk’s lesser servant coiled around her boot. Agnete frowned, looking down at it. Was it trying to say something? Was Arkk still controlling it or was it just latching on to her on its own?

“ᛇᛟᚢ ᚲᚨᚱᚱᛇ ᚨ ᛊᛚᛁᚹᛖᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚠᛚᚨᛗᛖᛊ ᛈᛟᚹᛖᚱ. ᚹᛖ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᛏᛖᛊᛏ ᛃᚢᚱ ᚹᛟᚱᚦᛁᚾᛖᛊᛊ.”

Agnete looked up to the eye again. It was trying to communicate with her in that deep, vibrating bass tone.

Agnete stepped forward, climbing the panels toward the moving pathway. A year ago, she likely wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from burning the entire place down to slag. She very well might have boiled away the crystalline archway in a blind fury. Were this anywhere else, she might have done so anyway.

But there was something about this place. A connection that resonated somewhere deep in her chest. It was like when she had first agreed to work with Arkk and found that connection to his fortress. Except this was on a whole other level.

Once she stepped on the moving platform, the stairs she had climbed moved back, pulled to their resting spots to make way for some kind of horseless carriage transporting a load of rocks in its back. A moment later, the moving platform began actually moving, ferrying her away from the portal fast enough to pull her hair back, whipping it around.

This was the Anvil of All Worlds. The home of her supposed patron. It was time to see just what it had in store for her.

“Can’t make heads or tails of them. Sorry about that.”

“Thank you for trying, Perr’ok.”

The orc blacksmith dipped his head in an apologetic nod. If he were being completely honest with himself, he hadn’t expected much. The blacksmiths working for him were skilled in arms and armor. Even more mundane things like door hinges and locks weren’t beyond them. But a door hinge was a far cry from those mechanical serpents. They were akin to living beings, albeit made from metal and lightning.

Arkk pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Agnete was still over in the Anvil. She was the only one who would have been able to… dissect those creatures with a chance at understanding them. At least she was safe. Thus far, nothing over there had tried attacking her. Arkk wasn’t quite sure what the denizens of that land intended, but they had brought her to one of the largest structures and then effectively shoved her into a room.

It wasn’t a prison. Arkk thought it might have been at first, given how minimalistic it was. There was a simple iron bed, raised off the floor, and a similar chair built into one of the walls. But a whole side of the room was a kind of workshop, one filled with equipment and yet more machines whose purposes eluded Arkk. Agnete, on the other hand, seemed to have an idea of how to work them. For the last full day, she had sat in front of one of them, constantly moving back and forth between various tools at the station as she worked on… something.

Arkk wasn’t sure what it was. It was based around some dark cube that had been sitting on the workbench when Agnete arrived. A black box with a multitude of gears jutting off it at odd angles, pipes strewn across its surface that occasionally emitted puffs of steam, and even sparking nodes of electricity. Its gears whirred on their own, somehow powered from within the box that was no bigger than Arkk’s torso.

Inside each of the flying serpents, they had found similar black boxes. With the serpents broken apart and damaged as they were, the boxes were the only parts still moving.

He almost wondered if she was being ordered to replace the serpents that he had killed.

It was somewhat strange that she seemed to be complying with everything around her. There might have been some communication going on that Arkk couldn’t hear through the employee link that had convinced Agnete to cooperate. Either that or she was doing so willingly in the hopes of learning more about the Burning Forge and her powers.

Whatever it was, Arkk was stressing over the fear that the cooperation wouldn’t last. Those serpents had attacked Olatt’an’s team, killing two and injuring more. Agnete was powerful. Her flames could deflect the golden rays of the Heart of Gold’s avatar. But if she were caught unawares by one of those serpents who suddenly took a dislike to her…

There was nothing he could do about it for the moment. Zullie, despite her best efforts, had been unable to connect the portal to the Anvil portal that they had opened before. The scrying teams could see the anvil, although they could only see it through a static haze that indicated an overabundance of magic, but they had yet to locate any additional portal structures to try to connect to.

A heavy clearing of a throat had Arkk opening his eyes.

Perr’ok was still here, standing in front of his desk. “Was there something else?” Arkk asked, already dreading what problems might have arisen.

Was Agnete’s absence causing problems in the smithy? He knew that she was a common fixture down there, one very much appreciated by all the blacksmiths even if she wasn’t contributing to their work. Or had the Shadow Forge suffered problems in her absence? She was the one who taught everyone else how to work it. If something unexpected came up…

“Those metal hulks we dragged over from the Underworld were simpler to understand.”

Arkk blinked, taking a moment to remember. With his mind occupied by Agnete and those serpents, it took a second. A quick glimpse into the foundry confirmed his thoughts.

They had salvaged a few items from the orc homelands before Zullie reset the portals to how they normally were while she worked on how to get back to Agnete. One of those pieces of salvage were the large metal… hulks. Arkk wasn’t sure how else to describe them. They were large, standing at least three times as tall as an orc with boxy metal torsos and a pair of somewhat stubby legs. Unlike the serpents, they were at least as old as the rest of the ruins in the area. The wear and rust were evidence of that.

“You understood their construction? Or what they were for?”

“What they were for is obvious,” Perr’ok said. “Nothing gets that much armor if it isn’t intended for battle. Their arms were like swords with little teeth on them that could move about, ripping and tearing at whatever they hit. As for understanding… I wouldn’t be able to build one from nothing, but if it is recreating the rusted-over parts and copying the designs exactly? I think we could do that. Nothing like those black gearboxes the serpents had.”

Arkk clasped his fingers together on his desk, staring at Perr’ok while using Fortress Al-Mir to stare at the hulking machine that was strung up by chains down in the depths. “You want to recreate one? What of our other projects? This will take away from them.”

Perr’ok scratched at his chin. “With the Shadow Forge providing armor, we actually have something of a surplus. At least for orc-sized gear. We haven’t made any new orc armor in the regular forge since we started using the Shadow Forge. That’s left it partially unused. Manpower is a problem, as we still have to staff both forges, but if you can hire… five good smiths to take over regular armor production? I think I could get a small team to reconstruct one of these things in a week or two.”

Arkk tapped his fingers against his desk. Two weeks would be just in time for the first of his planned encounters with Evestani’s renewed force that was marching across Mystakeen. Any later than that and it would be too late. At least for this battle.

Was it worth it?

Gold was relatively thin at the moment, but he could hire a hundred if he wanted. The real limitation to his gold reserves came in the form of creating new walking fortresses or other large projects like that. “Would ten new hires complete the project faster? Or would you start tripping over each other’s feet?”

“These hulks are big enough that we could set everyone on different components. Might need to expand the smithy to make room. Otherwise, yes. It should be faster.”

“I’ll see what I can do, then. Draw up a routine and plans for ten people to work on this project.”

A single war machine, unless it was far more capable than he thought it would be, wouldn’t be worth it, but he was already reconfiguring some of his plans. Specifically his plans for Leda’s fortress. Staffing it with soldiers wasn’t something he could easily do without taking away from elsewhere. That was why he had sent his letter to the Prince, requesting aid in dealing with Evestani’s army. He needed men here so that he could send his own men to Leda.

But if one of these war machines was worth even ten men…

Perr’ok flashed his tusks, not in anger or rage, but in pride. He offered a shallow bow before he turned and left Arkk’s office.

One was a prototype. A test. If that one turned out to be worth the time and manpower, not to mention whatever gold he had to spend on it, he could redirect more manpower toward manufacturing more of them. There were plenty of displaced people from the war. Plenty of local smiths that now lacked a forge. He could recruit. A quarter of a gold coin a month would be a windfall for many, not to mention guaranteed food and housing.

Arkk closed his eyes again, focusing on Agnete. If only she were present. Her mere existence generally made things run smoother down in the smithy.

But… Of all the Pantheon, the Burning Forge was the one god he thought would be the most willing to assist them. He had thought that long before they opened the portal with Xel’atriss. That belief mostly came from the fact that Agnete was working with him. And she still was an employee of his, as evidenced by his ability to look in on her.

If she could convince the Burning Forge, or even the denizens of that realm, to lend their assistance…

Arkk wondered what answer the Golden Order would come up with to a swarm of those lightning serpents flying over the battlefield…

Agnete staggered back from the workbench, grasping a hand to her head. She felt dizzy. Weak. Her arms were shaking in a way that reminded her of the week she went without food or sleep while on a mission with the inquisitors. But it couldn’t have been that long. The moving pathway brought her here and just left her in the room. She had seen the workbench… All the ideas she hadn’t been able to bring to fruition with the Shadow Forge came surging back and…

And…

Agnete, leaning forward as she sat on the edge of the metal bed, looked up at the workbench. At what she had created.

At its core, the black box that had been sitting on the workbench, waiting for her arrival. The moment she laid eyes on that labyrinth of gears, pipes, and tubes, inspiration had struck. All the ideas she had, all the experience she had built up in Al-Mir’s forges, had come flooding out. She could see the efforts that had gone into building Katt’am new legs here as well, expanded upon to a fully formed human.

Or… not a human at all.

The silhouette it cast was disturbingly humanoid. Yet, in every other aspect, it was not. Limbs, if they could be called that, jutted out awkwardly and bent, jointed, at odd angles. Steam hissed from its joints and the occasional puff of acrid smoke seeped out from hidden valves, filling the air with the scent of burnt metal and oil.

The vague outline of its head was an utter abomination. An amalgamation of rotating cogs and the odd flickering lights, devoid of any facial features. Vezta was a beautiful woman in comparison. Even the lesser servants were more appealing to look at.

It sat on the workbench like a toymaker’s doll, head hanging to one side and arms limp, resting on the bench. But, as Agnete stared at her creation, the gears in the black box began to turn.

With a sudden creak and grind that quickly smoothed out, its limbs snapped forward. Fingers with far too many joints grasped the edge of the workbench and pushed it off. Its feet caught the ground and thumping pistons in its legs kept it upright.

Agnete got back to her feet. With the adrenaline flooding through her body, she could hardly feel the effects of hunger or fatigue. The temperature of the room started rising.

It slowly straightened its head, turning it in a full circle as if it were observing its surroundings with its eyeless face.

It could observe its surroundings, Agnete realized. Not in the way any human or beastman could, but that black box had feedback mechanisms. Mechanisms that she had hooked up in her hazy fugue of inspiration. As its head reached its second full revolution, it stopped on Agnete. She wasn’t sure how she could tell, but she knew it was staring at her.

With it standing like that, arms at its side, it almost looked more human. The many joints in its limbs and hands were invisible unless it actuated them.

Worse than looking human, some vague part of it made Agnete feel like she was looking into a mirror. Like she had designed the mechanical monstrosity after herself. It stood at equal height to her. If it kept its arms steady, the defined lines of Agnete’s muscles and shoulders matched with the creation, as did its legs and torso. If garbed in the inquisitorial uniform—and one avoided looking at its face—it might even fool Vrox.

“ᛏᚺᛖ ᛈᛟᚹᛖᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛒᚢᚱᚾᛁᚾᚷ ᛟᚾᛖ ᚱᛖᛊᛏᛊ ᛁᚾ ᛃᚢᚹ ᚺᛖᚨᚱᛏ, ᚺᛟᚾᛟᚱᛖᛞ ᚷᚢᛖᛊᛏ. ᚠᛟᛚᛚᛟᚹ, ᛈᛚᛖᚨᛊᛖ.”

Both Agnete and the creation jolted, snapping their heads toward the chamber’s door. A small glowing yellow eye, metal like the larger one on the gantry, sat embedded in the wall. Agnete still didn’t know what the words were. Without the changing platforms creating a stairway for her providing some context clues, she couldn’t even guess at this one.

The same did not appear to be true for her mechanical clone. It turned fully—first its head, then its torso swiveled, then its legs moved to follow—and approached the door. It slid open with a steam-emitting hiss without the machine even touching it, much like the doors in Fortress Al-Mir. It didn’t leave the room, however. It paused at the threshold, turned its head, and held out an arm with the palm of its hand facing upward.

“ᛇᛟᚢ ᛈᚨᛊᛊᛖᛞ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛏᛖᛊᛏ,” it said, emitting the words through steam-filled pipes deep within its chest. It didn’t sound as deep and reverberating as the metal eyes, but it still had that same tone to it. “ᛏᚺᛖ ᛖᚾᚷᛁᚾᛖ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚱᚨᛖᛏᛁᛟᚾ ᚨᚹᚨᛁᛏᛊ.”

This time, with its hand out, Agnete had enough context clues to know it was asking for her to follow. Agnete hesitated a moment, first looking around for the lesser servant. It was nowhere to be seen, but there was a small trail of black oil leading to a narrow vent near the bed. Taking a breath, she looked back to the humanoid construct.

“Fine.” She stepped forward. Although there were some hunger pangs in her stomach, her curiosity won out. “Lead the way.”