Author: Tower Curator

 

“I know what I just said,” Ilya hissed into Arkk’s ear. Both her hands gripped Arkk’s arm, making him feel a little numb in the fingers. Every so often, her sharp eyes would flick to movement and move toward her bow, only to stop herself and return her hands to Arkk’s arm. “But isn’t this a bit much?”

Arkk tried not to look like he was at all bothered.

In truth, he wasn’t exactly at ease either.

The Necropolis was populated.

From the large cathedral-like building that housed the portal, Matar the grave keeper led them out to a wide road made from thick black bricks. Tall rectangular buildings lined the road, each pressed right up against the next. Occasional gaps between the buildings opened into more roads, all of which were angled seemingly at random. That led to some buildings being a mere thin blade while others were wide enough to stretch on for a thousand paces.

Every resident seemed able to afford glass in their windows. The green-tinged sky reflected off the glass, making it difficult to see inside any of them. He could, however, see movement.

There was nothing living here. Which meant whatever moved inside the buildings was likely undead.

Arkk did not shudder.

Ilya did, perhaps thinking the same things.

“Children,” she whispered.

Arkk followed her gaze to find someone else outside the buildings. Another skeleton. This one looked a bit less human and a bit more beastman, but it wasn’t possible to tell what kind of beastman. Only that its skull had a more pronounced snout-like shape to it. Three smaller, child-sized skeletons stood at its side. All stopped to watch the procession carry on.

“If Matar is right, they’re probably older than both of us combined.” The last living resident of the Necropolis became undead hundreds of years ago. Although they might look like children, they certainly weren’t any longer. “Maybe even older than your mother.”

Ilya shuddered again, forcing her gaze forward.

Zullie was ahead of them, chatting with Matar like it was the most usual thing in the world. Dakka and a quintet of orcs followed along, silent except for the noise of their boots on the tiles. Everyone else was back at Fortress Al-Mir or Elmshadow, keeping a watch on things. Yet, Arkk was starting to regret not taking everyone with him. As they continued through the city, more and more skeletons started appearing outside.

All just staring.

“My experiments have shown that magic in bones tends to go stale,” Zullie said, speaking quite loudly. “I first raised a horse and, while it used to work perfectly, it has been a bit stiff lately and it is only a few months old. Does the ambient magic here help with your animation or is your advanced age with little reduction in mobility a product of more advanced necromancy?”

“A quandary I haven’t given much thought toward,” Matar answered back in his surprisingly smooth voice. “I know of what effect thy means. When one grows restless in their crypt and wishes to walk once more, they often suffer from rigor. But that tends to fade after moving about for a few weeks.”

Zullie hummed, rubbing at her chin with her thumb and forefinger. “Is simple movement a way to reduce—”

“The graveyards I’m used to are either pits in the ground with small markers denoting the… resident or large mounds serving as mass graves, generally for a single-family or lineage,” Arkk cut in as Zullie started mumbling to herself. “Are graveyards different here? I haven’t seen anything that looks like the place you said you take care of.”

Matar’s skull swiveled backward, making eye contact with Arkk.

Arkk didn’t shudder.

Ilya did.

“The resting are honored here. Each resident of the crypt hath a vault to call their own. A wide and grandiose plot of land, though far lower to the ground than the buildings around us, maintained by myself and a small… skeleton crew.” Matar paused to chuckle before continuing. “But our path now carries us in the opposite direction.”

Arkk glanced back, wondering if he could see it, but realized he couldn’t even see that grand cathedral anymore. The smaller buildings blocked it completely.

They had left the remainder of Dakka’s squad guarding the portal on this side—he didn’t want to come back to find that the locals had disabled the portal, trapping him here like Agnete was trapped in the Anvil—so he could still use the employee links to both see it and tell where it was in relation to him. There was little chance of getting lost here, even if the streets did cross at random.

Though, perhaps it would have been wise to recall Priscilla to keep watch of them from above. Or Nora, since she had functioning eyes without needing someone riding on her back. But the harpy would be in far more danger on her own than a dragonoid. Either way, too late now.

“How far is… King Yoho?”

“King?” Matar shook his head, making a slight grinding noise in his bones as he moved. “No. Necropolis has no king. The First and Last Primeval Lord, Yoho. The Eternal Sovereign of the Risen Dead. The Chief Bone-Juggler. The Indomitable Necromancer. Yoho, the Undying Blight.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, nodding slightly. All those titles sounded like fancier ways of saying King, but who was he to disagree?

“Bone-Juggler?” Ilya asked with a confused frown on her face.

“Laughing Prince,” Arkk whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Verily!” Matar said, turning his skeletal grin on Ilya. She immediately flinched back, her fingers once again starting toward her bow before stopping abruptly. “Lord Yoho is a masterful virtuoso in all manner of merriment, from capering a lively jig to warbling a delicate tune.”

“He can dance and sing,” Arkk said in a flat tone.

“And juggle,” Ilya whispered.

Arkk slowly looked around at the silent undead watching them walk through the city. Enough had gathered that they lined the sides of the road with practically no gaps. It seemed as if word had spread through the entire city in a flash. Nobody had yet to approach them, however. There was a clear barrier that none of the undead were willing to cross.

“The Sable Citadel,” Matar said, sweeping an arm in a grandiose gesture as they turned down a new street.

Towering spires wrought from obsidian, adorned with intricate skeletal gargoyles, surrounded a truly massive building. The walls of the citadel were a labyrinth of arches and buttresses. The green-stained windows depicted revelry and fanciful dance in the way they were patterned while the iron gates looked far more macabre with their reliefs of skeletal figures guarding the entrance.

Ancient trees that looked more like stone than wood dotted a wide courtyard, the center of which held a tall fountain of glowing green liquid. The cobblestones underfoot had been worn smooth by the passage of countless undead feet, far more than any of the rest of the streets Arkk had crossed to reach this place.

At the center of the citadel, one tall spire stretched high enough to pierce the clouds. A swirling mist cascaded down the obsidian stone, spreading out over the roof of the building in long, curling streams.

“Arkk,” Ilya whispered, her voice sounding tense.

Arkk just patted her hand, not taking his eyes off the tall structure. “For a person with such modest titles, he certainly lives in a grandiose home.”

“Home?” Matar said. Arkk could imagine the skeleton cocking an eyebrow with the way he tilted his head. “No, no. Thou art mistaken. The Sable Citadel is merely the festival court! Lord Yoho doth reside just over yonder.”

Following the bony finger of the skeleton, Arkk found himself looking at a small cottage just outside the citadel’s walls. Practically no bigger than the home Arkk had lived in back in Langleey Village. It had a small stone garden with smooth lines drawn in fine gravel and a fence gate low enough that even the most unathletic noble could have hopped over.

“I see,” Arkk said as he and his companions stepped up to the Sable Citadel’s courtyard gate.

The blackened metal gates swung open of their own accord as soon as Matar stepped close enough. The hinges groaned like a dying beast, making Ilya wince and rub at her ears, only to stop with a heavy thud as they fully opened.

Following the thud, a brief moment of silence descended upon the group.

Across the courtyard, beyond the fountain, the tall doors of the citadel swung open. Music flowed forth, some kind of reed instrument played in a merry jig as a tall skeleton practically leaped from the citadel’s entrance. He was dressed in robes of deep purple and gold, adorned with ribbons and bells that jingled with every movement. A dozen more skeletons pranced out, weaving their ribbons in the air around them as they flooded into the courtyard.

The lead skeleton, eyes aglow with red light that didn’t do any favors for the permanent grin of his skeletal face, jumped high into the air, and landed into a tumbling cartwheel, before coming to a stop on the near side of the fountain. With a flourish, he extended his arms, as if beckoning old friends to a grand celebration.

“Welcome! Visitors!” he bellowed into the air.

The sounds of horns and flutes and drums filled the air along with a dozen other instruments that Arkk couldn’t pick out individually. Loud bangs that sounded like the Cliff defensive cannons blasted off sparkling balls of flames high into the skies. They exploded, raining down thin bits of colored papers all around the assembled skeletons as they began a macabre dance.

More and more skeletons were flooding into the courtyard, moving around Arkk and his company from the rest of the city. They seamlessly merged with the others already present, joining in on the dance.

One broke away in a lavish orange dress, waving around a long staff with a cloth sheet trailing after it. The sheet momentarily blocked Arkk’s view of the skeleton. By the time it passed, the skeleton was wearing a smaller yellow dress. With a wide sweeping motion, the skeleton hid behind the sheet once again only to emerge with a blue dress, then a green, then a red.

A quartet of skeletons stood atop tall poles made from the same petrified wood as the tree in the center, standing twice as tall as any orc. Ruffled clothes shimmered and swayed as they balanced on the poles, hopping from one to another. All four were in the air at the same time and all four landed on the next pillar at the same time. If even one was a second too slow, they would have crashed into each other.

High overhead, a long rope shot out from one side of the courtyard to the other. Far more limber skeletons rushed out, hopping and skipping as they scampered across the taut rope.

A pair of skeletons held smaller rods. One in each hand and another balanced on their foreheads. Spinning plates precariously balanced at the tops of the rods. Now and again, the skeletons would jolt their rods, sending the plates up into the air. Sometimes the same skeleton would catch their plate, sometimes they swapped, catching each other’s plates.

Throughout it all, Arkk, Ilya, Dakka, and even Zullie just stared. Arkk had no words for the sudden revelry. Judging by the silence around him, no one else did either. The only skeleton in his line of sight who wasn’t dancing and performing was Matar, and even he clapped his hands together completely out of timing with the rest of the music.

Arkk didn’t count how long the dancing went on. The skeletons never seemed to tire. Which, he supposed, was expected of them. None of the undead he had raised ever tired either. At some point, a few of his guards got drawn in by some of the skeletons. It was a bit strange seeing fully armored orcs trying to dance. Not that the skeletons seemed to care about the awkwardness. They just laughed and cheered.

“Not enjoying thyself?”

Arkk yelped, half barreling over Ilya as he jolted away from the sudden voice in his ear.

The central figure of the festival, the one Arkk presumed was Yoho, stood with a wide grin. Not that he could make any other expression without lips. For a skeleton covered in flamboyant clothing and jingling bells, he had certainly managed to sneak up on Arkk without any difficulty.

Arkk quickly composed himself. “It isn’t that I’m not enjoying myself,” he said, not wanting to offend the First and Last Primeval Lord. “I just wasn’t expecting… this.”

“And what, pray tell, fell within thine expectations?”

“A meeting of some kind? Honestly, not sure.”

“It was a bit sudden,” Zullie said, frowning. “We only opened the portal an hour ago. How did you manage to prepare all this?”

“Prepare?” Yoho slid to the side, wrapping a skeletal arm around Zullie’s shoulders as he spun her to face the courtyard once again. He ended up in front of her, down on one knee with her hand pressed to his bare teeth as if he were kissing her knuckles. “My lady, this realm is the land of festivities! We are always prepared!”

Zullie slowly pulled her hand back to herself. Arkk wasn’t sure what, if anything, she could see. He could see the irritation welling in her face. She turned her head toward him.

“I have confirmed the safety of this realm, environmentally and magically speaking,” Zullie said with a terse tone in her voice. “If you’ve got nothing better to do than this, I’ll be returning now. Perhaps research into possible access to the Permafrost’s domain will be more interesting. The new statue in the temple must mean something, right? I wonder… If I scrape off…”

Zullie continued muttering to herself even as she turned and wandered off, heading back the way they had come. Even with the crowd of skeletons behind them, both observing the courtyard and dancing themselves, Zullie managed to weave between them without any issue.

The skeleton’s jaw clicked shut. Despite being unable to change his expression, Yoho managed to look disappointed. “I suppose a quieter meeting will have to suffice for now,” he finally said.

“I apologize for her behavior,” Arkk said, still not wanting to offend their hosts. “She has something of a one-track mind. If it isn’t related to exploring new magics, she isn’t interested.”

“Ah, but thine interest in the festivities wanes as well, does it not?”

Arkk took a quick look around. The skeletal festival was continuing in full swing. It didn’t seem as if anyone had noticed their guests or their king weren’t participating. Or, if they had noticed, they didn’t care.

“I suppose a calmer setting is in order then,” Yoho said with a small sigh. As he stood from his one knee, some magic shimmered over his attire. Rather than looking like a rejected jester, he almost looked dignified in a long, flowing robe of black and green. However, it still had jingling bells hanging from its collar. “Come, follow me,” he said.

Instead of heading toward the Sable Citadel, he instead started walking toward the small cottage just outside the walls. The crowd around parted, flowing more like water than bones, allowing him and Arkk access.

“Do not worry about troubling the performance,” Yoho said, gesturing toward the courtyard. “Now that is hath commenced, the festivities will continue for weeks should joining be on thy mind.”

“I’ll… remember that.” Though he didn’t want to offend, he didn’t have much desire to dance around. Zullie was right. There was a lot of work to be done.

The cottage, although it couldn’t keep out all the noises of the festival, did manage to at least muffle it. There wasn’t much to its insides. No bed or kitchen. Just a small sitting room. Skeletons probably didn’t need much sleep or food. Yoho dragged out a few chairs for Arkk, Ilya, and Dakka. He didn’t take one for himself, choosing to stand.

“Visitors,” Yoho said. “To what do I owe the honor of such a meeting?”

“Well,” Arkk said, looking from Ilya to Dakka and back. “A war, I suppose.”

“War?” The skeleton’s countenance took on a darker look as the red in his eyes started to brighten. “Necropolis hasn’t seen war in my reign.”

“Perhaps I should start at the beginning… Several months ago, I discovered a fortress Heart belonging to Xel’atriss, Lock and Key…”

“I understand. Quite the dire situation.”

Arkk nodded his head.

“And you wish to drag the good people of Necrovale into your affairs?”

Arkk snapped his head up. “No. Not at all. Truth be told, we didn’t expect to find people here. None of the other realms we visited had… many living beings. As I said, the Underworld suffered a similar fate to your world, except without undeath allowing them to continue. The Silence was… silent, as far as we could tell during our short visit. And the Anvil… is locked away for the time being. When the Laughing Prince bestowed the boon of a portal keystone to me, all I hoped for were perhaps some magical artifacts, books of ancient magic, or, hopefully, more fortress hearts. Especially for walking fortresses.”

Also, potentially, hordes of undead able to utterly bury his enemies. But he hadn’t counted on intelligent undead, just mindless beings like what he had raised in the past.

“Mine people are a happy, peaceful people,” Yoho said. Though he lacked eyelids, the light in his sockets dimmed like he was closing his eyes. “I will not sacrifice them in the name of a distant war.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t expect that of anyone.”

“But if the object of thine search is knowledge, artifacts, or wealth… Necrovale has little need of such material possessions. There is a vault deep within the Citadel. I might be willing to part with such possessions.”

“Might?”

Yoho clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing between the chairs. “Once, life and undeath flourished as one. Now, however, life in the Necropolis has ceased to be.”

“Matar mentioned something about that on our way over from the portal. Magic in the air poisoned the crops, or something?”

“Matar spoke true. My people have stagnated. No new life, no new undeath, no new ideas or options. Certainly, my people are not the slothful sort. They engage and learn and grow on their own. But that has its limits. Without new minds, growth is slow.”

“So you want people? Living people?”

“And supplies,” Yoho said, dipping his head in a confirming nod. “For their survival. A long-term solution for the magic problem would be welcome, though I know not if such lies within thine power.”

“It is something Zullie has been working on, but no results just yet. Supplies are doable as well—” Especially if Yoho had a vast wealth he was willing to part with. Arkk could turn a portion of that into crops and livestock. “But people could pose a problem.”

“People are the most important part.”

“I know,” Arkk said. “It’s just that necromancy has a poor reputation where I’m from.” He gave a small nod toward Ilya. “She’s normally much more talkative than this. Dakka as well. And I imagine anyone with me is going to be much more accepting of… unusual occurrences than a general population.”

Yoho turned his red eyes from Dakka, who shifted in her seat, to Ilya, who didn’t move at all. As if coming to a realization, he looked up at the ceiling. He stared at the petrified wooden roof for a short moment before coming to a decision. “Speak with the old and the infirm. Those who fear the swift approach of the Eternal Silence. They who might be open to alternatives. Unless they convince their families to join, they won’t sustain anything, but they will be a start to welcoming others into our realm. Speak also with the young who have no others they can rely upon; the Laughing Prince has always been a friend to the innocent.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Arkk noted Ilya stiffen ever so slightly. Her thoughts probably drifted toward Nyala, Yavin, and several other refugees who were in or had been in the fortress as refugees from the war. “I won’t force anyone,” he said quickly. “I’ll ask for volunteers. But just as you won’t force your people into a war, I’m not going to force anyone uncomfortable with it to come here.”

Yoho must have expected that. He dipped his head without hesitation. “Acceptable. Perhaps I, and some of my fellows, might act as envoys…”

Arkk winced. “I don’t have any problems bringing you over to my world, but anyone you speak with is more likely to try to kill an animated skeleton rather than engage in a conversation.”

“A problem to be worked out later. As a gesture of goodwill, if thy taketh myself through the portal to see the other realm for myself, I will bequeath upon you some small amount of items from the vault in advance. That should assist with thine immediate problems, should it not?”

Arkk put on a bright smile. “I’d be more than happy to.”

 

 

As had become standard when opening a portal to a new locale, Arkk performed all the usual tests. Guards stood around the portal, ready to fend off any hostile beings that might come through. Lesser servants went in and out. Some even carried Zullie-developed measuring devices to check ambient magic levels, air quality, and various other things necessary to survival.

The Underworld was the closest plane to Arkk’s world. It was oversaturated with magic to the point where ritual circles would spontaneously activate. The Silence was somewhat distant, according to Vezta, and lacked a significantly increased level of ambient magic. They had unfortunately not been able to take readings of the Anvil before the portal closed on Agnete, but based on a few minor experiments that Arkk had the lesser servant perform, it had elevated magic but something was constantly draining it out of the atmosphere.

Zullie posited that whatever those mechanical beings were, they either required moderate amounts of magic to function or massive amounts to create.

The Necropolis was, again according to Vezta, the next step away from the Underworld. Magic levels within were high enough to, once again, activate ritual circles spontaneously. So they would have to be cautious regarding that.

But other than that, there wasn’t anything apparently hostile. Not in the environment, nor more tangible threats. No hordes of undead had stormed through the portal and overwhelmed the defenders. No skeletal dragons dive-bombed the portal. Not even a little undead rat.

“Are you ready?” Zullie looked at him, frowning slightly. “We performed more tests here than ever before. Everything appears safe. We even had your servants construct some minor fortifications just in case. I’m not sure why you’re dallying.”

“You aren’t sure? Did you forget what happened to Agnete?”

“An anomaly,” Zullie dismissed. “No one here is an avatar of this Laughing Prince.”

“While that’s true—”

“Fine. You don’t want to order someone through who might get stuck? I’ll do it myself.”

Zullie turned away, pushing past the line of shadow-armored orcs defending the portal. Arkk reached out, about to stop her, only to pause. For the briefest moment, in the back of his head, he thought it would be better to send someone else through. Someone less valuable. For all her eccentricity, Zullie was one of the most important people in his service. Her magical knowledge was unparalleled, by anyone, even Savren, and whatever happened between her and Xel’atriss only increased that.

Not to mention whatever ritual she had conducted that she now refused to discuss.

But just because she was valuable, did that make it right to order someone else through? She was volunteering, after all…

No. He had other options…

Just as Zullie reached the portal threshold, Arkk teleported her straight back to his side. She stumbled once then slowly looked at him with mild irritation lining her features.

“Are we going to do this all day?” she asked.

Arkk shook his head. “Just a moment,” he said. “Don’t go through. I’ll be right back.”

With that said, Arkk teleported himself out of the portal room and down into the lower levels of Fortress Al-Mir. He stood in the center of a circular room atop an elevated pedestal. The floor below him and the floor above him had been hollowed out, leaving a large, cavernous chamber. Pockets had been dug into the walls at regular intervals, all of which had been fitted with thick metal bars.

“Sir? Is there a problem?”

Arkk turned with a polite smile as his one and only dryad employee stood from her desk. Her bark-like skin was looking much better than it had after Elmshadow’s recapture, but it still bore heavy scars that Hale hadn’t been able to heal. Because of that, she had to be relocated to a safer job while she mended herself.

It even had a small skylight. A narrow tunnel to the surface that allowed some amount of light to fall on her leaves.

“Not at all, Cray. I just need one of the more cooperative prisoners.”

“Cooperative? Hm.” Cray looked around the large chamber before pointing up to the highest level. “4C and… 7A,” she said, dropping her hand to the lower level. She turned around once more, brushing a leaf out of her face in the process, before finally ending on one of the cells in the middle row. “3B. I would say those three have been the most cooperative. They’ve all helped translate commands, directions, and questions for those who don’t know our language.”

Although they weren’t employees, prisoners under his control and within his territory could be teleported just as well as anything else he held ownership over. So, with a bare thought, all three of the indicated prisoners were in front of him on the pedestal. He made sure he stood between them and the narrow bridge leading out—the only real way to access or escape from the dungeon.

All three looked somewhat thinner than soldiers should, but none looked so thin that Arkk thought they were going without meals. It was probably just the environment, the stress of the situation, and perhaps defiance toward their captors.

“I need one of you to assist me with a small task. Accomplish the task, and you will be set free. Company Al-Mir will not track you, recapture you, or harm you afterward. You’ll even be free to return to your homelands if you wish. Though, you’ll have to make your way there on your own.” He clasped his hands together behind his back and smiled at the three. “Well? Any volunteers?”

The three shifted, glancing at each other. The manacles around their wrists jingled lightly in the ensuing silence.

“How do we know you won’t kill us?” the man on the left asked. The other two shot glances at him, almost as if they were upset he had spoken up.

“You don’t,” Arkk said before giving a pointed look at the man’s chains. “But, if I wanted you dead, there isn’t much you could do about it now, is there?”

All three grumbled under their breaths at that.

The center man frowned behind his scraggly beard for a moment before looking up. “The task is dangerous?”

“It probably won’t kill you, if that is what you’re asking. There is a small chance you may end up trapped inside an environment from which you won’t be able to escape.”

“Not much different than now, is it?”

Arkk just shrugged. “I won’t say anything more about the task until one of you has accepted. There is minor danger, but also freedom. Any takers?”

He waited a long moment, making eye contact with each. When his eyes fell on the shortest of the three, the younger man spoke up.

“I… I’ll do it.”

“Very good,” Arkk said. He immediately teleported the other two back to their cells, not allowing them to put any pressure on the young man. “Keep up the good work, Cray.”

With that, he teleported himself and 4C straight back to the portal room, directly in front of the crystalline archway.

4C shirked away, all but screaming when he saw the row of shadow-armored knights.

Arkk paid him little mind, instead gesturing toward the portal. “All you must do is step through there, walk around for about fifteen minutes, then return and report anything you found, felt, or otherwise experienced. If any kind of danger presents itself, you are encouraged to return early.”

With a firm snap of his fingers, Arkk teleported the manacles off the man’s arms. The snap was unnecessary but, when acting intimidating, he felt theatrics were important.

“If you try to escape, well, I won’t stop you. But you might not like what you find out there on your own.” Arkk leaned in, using his height as an intimidating advantage. “Do you understand?”

4C swung his head back to Arkk, only to finally stare out to the portal. “W… What is this place?”

“That is a secret. All you need to know is how to walk around. You can do that, can’t you?” He gave a firm pat on 4C’s back, shoving him lightly toward the portal.

With a hesitant look over his shoulder, 4C took a step forward.

Beyond the portal, all Arkk could see of the Necropolis was the interior of a massive structure. Made from black stone, it looked like a grand cathedral. The ribbed vaults running across the ceiling certainly gave it the air of a skeleton. Green-hued glass windows let in a small bit of light, but not enough to see the full majesty of the cathedral. There was nobody around. Nothing around. No bodies, no undead, no people. Despite that, the cathedral had avoided falling to ruin as much of the Underworld had. Whether that was because of magic preserving the place, stronger construction in general, or that there were some unseen caretakers elsewhere was something Arkk hoped to find out.

The prisoner stepped onto a blackened flagstone floor. He stood there for a long moment, just on the other side. He shivered slightly but, when nothing unfortunate happened, he took a step forward. Then another. Slowly, he made his way to the oversized doors at the far end of the cathedral. With one look back at the portal, he pushed open the door and stepped through.

“You should have told him to remain in view of the portal,” Zullie said, stepping up to Arkk’s side.

Arkk just shrugged. “If he runs off, then I’ll just say we gave him his reward early.”

Zullie scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “Freedom? In exchange for being a test subject? Using prisoners now, are we?”

“You have a problem with that?”

“Not at all. I’d like to request a few test subjects for some of my projects.”

Arkk just sighed.

Seven minutes later, the prisoner came sprinting back at full speed. Arms flailing about and legs off the ground more than they were on, he looked like a wild animal desperately fleeing from a ferocious predator. He charged straight through the portal, ran past Arkk, and collapsed on the ground in front of the line of knights guarding the room.

“H… H… Help! Undead!”

Arkk would have said that a ripple of tension ran through the assembled guards, but that would have been a lie. Everyone had been fully briefed on the nature of the realm they were opening. Expecting undead in a place under the dominion of a god of undeath that was called the Necropolis was just common sense.

Because of that, nobody was surprised. Nobody except 4C, that was.

“Get ready to shut down the portal,” Arkk said. “But keep it open for the moment.”

He wanted to see. If it was just one or two undead, his guards could handle them easily. If it was a massive horde that would fill the entire interior of the cathedral and beyond, he might have to call the expedition into the Necropolis a failure.

4C, despite his panicked flight back to the portal, had taken the time to push the cathedral doors shut. When the doors didn’t open right away, Arkk wondered if mindless undead could open doors. For a long moment, he considered sending someone else to open them back up. Or at least try to peer through the tinted windows to see how many undead were outside the cathedral.

The door silently glided open before he could give any orders. A bony hand devoid of flesh curled around the door, grasping hold of it. It pushed just a hint more before withdrawing. A moment after, a skull, held in that same hand, appeared from the gap.

Empty eye sockets stared out. Its jaw unhinged ever so slightly, almost like a regular person finding something surprising. The skull disappeared as quickly as it came and, after a brief delay, a full skeleton stepped through into the cathedral, leaning heavily on a tall walking staff. It looked around once before slowly dragging itself toward the portal.

“Shut it down?” Morvin asked.

“Wait,” Arkk said.

It was just one skeleton. No hordes. From the way it had looked around and the way it now approached, using the staff as a proper tool, Arkk had the feeling that it was a bit more intelligent than the undead he had raised. If it could talk…

If it was hostile, hopefully his army could handle a single skeleton.

The skeleton stopped at the portal’s threshold. With no flesh on its face, it was hard to tell what it was thinking, but its body language gave off an air of uncertainty. Arkk stepped forward, keeping well out of striking distance but moving enough to ensure the skeleton focused on him. Now the center of attention, Arkk gave a welcoming beckon to the skeleton.

The skeleton was somewhat wary, poking at the portal with its staff. Finding nothing wrong, it eventually dragged itself through. It stopped just on his side of the rippling portal membrane, sweeping its head around to take in the room.

“Greetings,” Arkk said, hoping he wasn’t being foolish in trying to talk to a skeleton.

His words brought the skeleton’s attention back to him. The jaw opened with a grinding noise.

Arkk wasn’t quite sure what he expected. No sound at all, perhaps, given the skeleton’s lack of a proper mouth and lungs. Maybe a quiet rasp or harsh shriek if it could make noise.

Arkk did not expect the smooth, deep voice.

“Oh? I trow I hathn’t beheld such a plentitude of flesh in… centuries?” it said with a low chuckle. “The portal hath opened once more. Thou are accountable?”

Arkk, taken aback by an actual talking skeleton and one he could mostly understand no less, didn’t give a prompt response. It took Zullie nudging him in the side to finally clear his throat and say, “Yes. Yes, I did. That isn’t a problem, is it?”

“No skin off my hide,” the skeleton said with another chuckle. He paused, looked around at the silent audience, and added, “For I hath no skin.” Although his skeletal features didn’t change in the slightest, Arkk got the impression that he would have been smiling something fierce if he could have managed it.

Arkk didn’t quite know what to say in response to that. He looked to Zullie, then to the cowering 4C, and finally to Gretchen who had her hand firmly pressed to her forehead.

“That is… good,” Arkk eventually said.

“Indeed. Yet I do marvel at how thou hast accomplished it. Our most esteemed scholars did abandon the quandary of the portals long ago. Ah! How rude of me. I am Matar, grave keeper,” the skeleton said, tapping a hand on his ribcage.

“Arkk,” Arkk said, miming the skeleton’s movements in gesturing to himself. “I managed to garner a boon from the Laughing Prince in the form of a portal keystone. That keystone opened this portal. As for how we breached the Calamity,” he said, glancing at Zullie for a brief look. “I think Xel’atriss did something to puncture it, allowing us to visit other realms. Are there… others like you over there?”

“Like I?”

“Undead? Or even living beings?”

“Ah. I am no scholar myself, merely a humble caretaker of the graveyard, yet even I am aware that no living souls have dwelt within the Necropolis for hundreds of years. Shortly after the portals did falter, ambient magic did surge, and whilst most beings remained unscathed, the same could not be said for crops and livestock.” The skeleton looked almost sad for a moment before turning his head back up to Arkk. “But all is not so sorrowful. The Smiling Crown, perceiving the future as it was, did bestow upon all within His realm His divine gift.”

“Gift meaning the Laughing Prince raised everyone from the dead?”

“Then why need a graveyard?” Zullie asked, butting into the conversation.

“A great many hath elected to slumber away the years. They require a place of repose. Mine task is considered a matter of… grave import.”

Somewhere in the background, Gretchen let out a long, withering sigh.

“Why were there living beings in the necropolis at all?” Zullie asked, completely ignoring everything else.

“Undead cannot reproduce,” Matar said. “The living are honored guests until their more permanent state of being comes around.”

“But can the living even… live there? Obviously not anymore with the crop problem but… It is a place for undead, is it not?”

“Hardly. Once upon a time, it was a paradise for all. Imagine seeking the wisdom of thine ancient ancestors in times of trial or strife, visiting with thine departed lover, knowing that pain and fear of death are merely temporary states. The living and the dead are united in the Necropolis. Or they were. No living anymore…” he said with a despondent sigh. “But if the portals are opened once more, perhaps that fate can change?”

Arkk shifted slightly, shaking his head. “We… aren’t really looking for a new place to live at the moment.”

“And there still aren’t any crops,” Zullie cut in. “So that problem hasn’t been solved.”

“We were looking for… well, anything that would help in a war, first of all, and secondly, a way to fix the Calamity—the cause of the portals failing in the first place—more permanently.”

“A war?” Matar physically shied back. “We are a peaceful people. As the saying goes, no guts, no glory,” the skeleton said, looking down at his chest.

“Ah…”

“Huh…”

“Isn’t there anything that might help? Not necessarily your people, but magical tools, equipment? Any walking fortresses that we might borrow their Hearts?”

The old skeleton tapped the bottom of his jaw, eliciting loud clacking noises with each tap. “I am uncertain of such matters. Perchance it would be prudent to confer with the Great Yoho? The supreme authority over all undead.”

“Is this Yoho nearby? Within a day’s walk?” Arkk asked.

“Oh certainly. The portal hath a ceremonious station in Necrovale, a short jaunt from the Sable Citadel.”

“And Yoho will see us on such short notice?”

“Visitors from afar? I am but a humble graveyard keeper, but I envision an event of such import has already reached the Great Yoho’s ears. I would not find myself surprised if a grand banquet were already being prepared.”

“A grand banquet?” Zullie asked, crossing her arms over her chest with a small huff. “Without livestock or crops? What food would be there?”

“Bone broth? Crypt chips?”

Zullie grimaced. “Ehh…”

“We might pass on the food,” Arkk said, “but I can happily agree to a meeting with your leader. First, however,” Arkk half turned and pointed at the prisoner. “Franna, get 4C over to Savren. He isn’t to remember anything about his time with us. After that, give him a sack of food, a coat and shoes, and get him out of my fortress. Morvin, you are in charge of keeping the portal operational. Any problems, tug on the link immediately. Dakka, you’ll be with me and Zullie along with five others of your choice.”

Orders given, the silent room quickly erupted into a flurry of activity. Arkk looked back to the skeleton before him, but paused, flicking his mental image over to Ilya, who was still in her chambers.

He pursed his lips into a frown. “There are a few more preparations we need to make,” he said, ignoring the questioning look from Zullie. “I’d like to offer you some hospitality, but…”

“Quite alright. I shall grin and bear the wait.”

 

 

“Task list,” Arkk said, closing his eyes.

Ilya let out a small sigh. “Enemy army.”

“Securing an outpost west of Elmshadow,” Arkk said, using his clairvoyance to spy over Luthor’s shoulder as the chameleon beastman worked his crystal ball. “No sign of forward movement just yet beyond small scouting detachments. Fog is obscuring our scrying but what we can see implies some larger-scale construction project. Lexa volunteered for scouting, scouting hasn’t taken place yet. Next!”

“Shadow armor production,” Ilya said as she moved her finger down a small tablet of paper.

“Slowed because of the alterations to which portals go where but we should be able to equip every orc in my employ within two weeks.” Arkk scanned through his employees, unable to see outside Fortress Al-Mir or the area around the Walking Fortresses. He wanted to keep the highlands portal staffed with charged glowstones, ready in case Agnete found a way back—though it still wasn’t looking like she was actively trying to return, her focus was on construction projects over in the Anvil. Even still, he was somewhat impressed with their efficiency. “Maybe earlier. Next.”

Ilya hesitated as she stared at the next item on the list. “It says walking armor things?”

That one referred to the walking suits of armor the size of small carriages that Arkk had recovered from the orc homelands in the Underworld. Each was bulky and large with space inside for a single occupant. The shadow scythes could cut through them, but that was about it. Conventional arms and even most magics just dented the metal, if that. Some of the less traditionally capable members of Company Al-Mir volunteered to train inside them, allowing them to contribute to a fight without being dead weight. Or just regular dead.

“Ten have been produced. They require glowstones or capable spellcasters to power them, so more would be a waste. Unfortunately, there is something wrong mechanically with them that results in one leg locking up. Perr’ok is working on it. I do need to think of a better name but that isn’t a priority. Next!”

“The King’s army.”

“Happily sequestered away in the northern Elm mountain,” Arkk said as he skimmed his perspective through the corridors dug into its side. Like the rest of Elmshadow, it was under his control, allowing him to see the soldiers despite them not being under his control. Now two days after their arrival, most soldiers were still enjoying the reprieve from the long march, but even without being able to hear through his observations, he could see discontent among their ranks. Especially those in more elevated positions. “Happily is a loaded word, but they are currently irrelevant. Next.”

“Leda’s tower.”

“In motion,” Arkk said, quickly shifting his perspective to the darkened tower. Her tower was significantly more shadowy than Arkk’s was, presumably because Leda wasn’t directly contracted to Fortress Al-Mir.

Unfortunately, though he could see it moving, he couldn’t tell much of where it was just from a narrow top-down view of the walking building. He would have to use one of the crystal balls to scry on it. However, unless her tower was significantly faster than Arkk’s—or slower—they estimated it would arrive at a staging point south of Moonshine Burg in about nine days.

“Leda still doesn’t seem like she has gotten the hang of using it. She needs Priscilla at her side almost constantly.”

Ilya cocked an eyebrow. “Should we be worried about the dragonoid who hates every other species having excessive influence over the operation of one of our greatest assets?”

“Maybe a little,” Arkk admitted. He shook his head with a small sigh. “Unless I wanted to kill Leda to end her contract—which is not something I would ever want—I don’t have a good solution for that. Priscilla, for better or worse, is experienced in operating these things. It can’t be helped for now. Next?”

“Next is Savren’s proj… Wait. What is this one? Gleeful Burg?”

Arkk opened his eyes, frowning at Ilya. She had a finger pressed against the list, frowning with narrowed eyes. “That wasn’t the next one,” Arkk said, tense. “Savren’s project is—”

“There isn’t anything left of Gleeful Burg,” Ilya interrupted. She planted a hand on her hip as she looked down at Arkk. “What project is going on there? I don’t remember any meeting about it. Not since we destroyed it…”

Arkk stood up from the command chair at the top of the Elmshadow tower. Nothing about Gleeful Burg should have been on this checklist. Yet, as he walked around behind Ilya and leaned over her shoulder, it was right there.

Who put that there? Rekk’ar? Zullie? Vezta? They were about the only three who knew about what Arkk was doing there. At least of the people who would have compiled the list.

“I… I’m not exactly sure how to answer that,” Arkk said slowly. He considered denying it outright. It wouldn’t be hard to claim that Gleeful’s presence on the list must have been a mistake. But…

He wasn’t going to be able to hide it forever.

“You know—”

“And barrows excavation?” Ilya turned, narrowing her silver eyes in suspicion. “What barrows?

“Why is that on the list?” Arkk asked as he scanned down a few items.

“That’s what I’m asking you. Do you not know what’s going on in your organization?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean… I just don’t know why it is on the list…”

“Arkk,” Ilya said in that tone of voice. “Why are you excavating a barrow? Is there some long-lost magical artifact?”

“I wish,” Arkk grumbled to himself as he ran his hand through his hair. It was getting to the point where he needed it trimmed once again. Of course, just thought that was a way for him to try to think of anything else to talk about. Or maybe a way to delay while he tried to think of what to say.

“The barrows I’m excavating are the same ones we collapsed on the orcs way back when. Not some random one.”

“I feel like we disturbed that place enough…”

“Yes, well,” Arkk started, walking a few steps away. He didn’t exactly want to be in punching distance. “I am trying to be careful, but I realized we buried almost two hundred goblins inside…”

“What? What would you want with…”

Arkk carefully watched the expression on Ilya’s face. He could see the confusion at his explanation stop as the moment of realization hit. The surprise turned to an angry set of narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “Are you… dabbling in more necromancy?”

“There are two hundred goblins out there doing nothing but feeding worms,” Arkk said with a small sigh. “They could be standing between an enemy’s sword and my living men.”

“Who put you up to this?” Ilya said through thin lips. “Was it Vezta? Or Zullie? I bet Zullie—”

“Do you want to see our friends and allies die, Ilya? I have a responsibility to nearly a thousand people to do my best to keep them alive. Why shouldn’t I use a bunch of dead goblins to help keep them that way?”

Ilya’s teeth snapped together with an audible clack. “And Gleeful?” she asked. “The only thing I can think of that you might be interested in there is more bodies.”

Arkk slowly nodded his head. “That’s right. There are more bodies to put between the enemy and my men. I can’t think of a reason why I would draw the line at goblins. And, for the record, I also have a team scouring Darkwood Forest for anything useful, whether that be dead bodies, living ghasts, or any other being that might join up with us. I don’t know how much is left after Agnete burned her way through that fortress, but I’ll take everything I can get if it means even one soldier gets to come back.”

Ilya planted her hands on the table, leaning against it for a long moment. She closed her silver eyes and simply breathed through her nose, slowly and steadily. Arkk remained where he was, tense and still, almost afraid to disturb her thoughts even as the minutes ran on.

Slowly, she pushed herself up. She kept her eyes closed for a long moment before she opened them. They were a bit hazy with a moist layer of tears. Without a word, Ilya stepped around the table, approaching Arkk.

He winced back, fully expecting a fist to the face. Yet he didn’t move. He remained where he was. He would accept a beating if it meant keeping his employees alive.

But Ilya didn’t lash out. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him toward her to the point where he had to lean his weight against her chest. Her lithe fingers ran up and down his back, just holding him.

“You must have been so stressed,” she whispered. Her breath tickled his ear.

Of all the things Arkk expected, that was not one of them. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just remained silent as she kept rubbing his back. After a long minute of silence, he eventually responded. “Not as stressed anymore,” he murmured.

Ilya pulled back and gave him a reproachful look. “Arkk…”

“Of course, I’ve thought that there must be better ways,” he said, closing his eyes as he rested his head against her arm. “Of course, I’ve found better ways. All the magical armor, the research Savren and Zullie have been doing, potential gains from other planes… all of it. But why not use those and a few skeletons? How can I forgive myself if I knew someone ended up feeding worms when someone already feeding worms could have protected them.”

“Please don’t say ‘feeding worms’ again,” Ilya said.

Arkk let out a small, sardonic chuckle.

“Can I talk you out of this?”

Arkk shook his head slowly. “I doubt it. You’d have to have something awfully convincing. Something worth several lives.”

Ilya drew in a hesitant, shaky breath. For a moment, Arkk thought she was going to try to say something anyway, but she eventually let that breath back out in a sorry, defeated sigh. “Alright. Then I have to help you use this… crime against life and death in the wisest way possible.”

“Really?” Arkk tried to pull away from Ilya only for her to keep her arms clamped around him. “You’re alright with it?”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Obviously not. But if it has to be done, then I have to be the level-headed one who helps mitigate problems. Problems like Sylvara, first and foremost. Does she know?”

“No.”

“And if you’re going to take everything you can to save lives, why shunt the King’s army off to the side?”

“It’s a numbers game. I hate myself for making this decision since it will probably cause more deaths, but if they do stab us in the back, it will kill a whole lot more. If a full war breaks out with the Kingdom, it will kill a whole lot more. So, I have to keep them away while keeping them observing, letting them see us crush Evestani despite our small numbers so that the thought of fighting against us would be a worse choice than desertion if the King orders them against us.”

Ilya let out another sigh. “I… I need a few minutes. Can you send me to my quarters?”

“Of cour—”

“Without looking at my face.”

Arkk hesitated. There was an almost instinctual reach for his employee link with Ilya. He barely managed to keep himself from looking. “Sure,” he said.

She gave him a slight squeeze and then she was gone.

Arkk stood alone in the tower’s command center. He spent a moment collecting himself. There were things to do. Things to check on. He couldn’t just sit around and think about himself or Ilya for any length of time. He had to walk around to the other side of the table, pick up the paper that Ilya left behind, and scan it over himself.

He wanted someone else present to act as a sounding board for various ideas, the status of projects, and assumptions of what the enemy might be doing. However, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see anyone else for the time being. So he simply sat down and ran his finger down the list until he got to where they had left off.

Arkk’s eyes ran over the words, but they didn’t quite make it to his mind. His thoughts were preoccupied with Ilya.

She decided to help him, right? That wasn’t his imagination? Arkk expected her to storm out, even up and leave Company Al-Mir altogether. At the very least, he had thought there would be more shouting. She was mad and upset, of that there was no doubt, but…

Closing his eyes, Arkk let out a long sigh. He should have trusted her earlier. Ilya was his closest friend. The one who had been with him since the start. Not just the start of his contract with Fortress Al-Mir, but the start of his life. Some of his earliest memories were of Ilya.

It felt like he had tarnished some of those memories by sneaking around behind her back all this while when he could have come forward.

Arkk dragged his fingers through his hair, sweeping it back over his head. He didn’t have time for this. He had preparations to make and…

And Zullie was calling for him. He could feel the tug over the link. It wasn’t an urgent tug, but it likely meant she had finished her task.

His eyes skipped down to the very last item on the list, Zullie’s keystone reconfiguration efforts.

Well, it was part of the list. If this proved as… useful as he hoped, the rest of the list could very well wait. He might have all the time in the world to go through it. Or it might not be necessary in the first place.

Arkk teleported himself across Fortress Al-Mir, reappearing in the portal chamber, near the back so he didn’t startle the assembled guards. A buzz of activity surrounded the portal frame. Zullie along with her research team and assistants, were swiftly modifying the crystalline structure to fit the keystone Arkk had received from the Laughing Prince.

“Is everyone out of the Underworld?” Arkk asked, already doing a mental scan on all of his employees to ensure nobody had been left behind.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zullie said from her spot perched on the top of the crystal archway. “Perr’ok wanted to stay to keep working on that shadow armor. Said he didn’t care that the portal would be down; said there was enough food and provisions to last until we got it connected again.”

Arkk immediately focused on Perr’ok, half fearing that the orc blacksmith was still in the Underworld, only to find him in one of the adjacent chambers in the fortress, fast asleep in a position that didn’t look particularly comfortable.

“Knocked him out with a spell and dragged him back,” Zullie finished.

“Thanks. I know we’ve disconnected and reconnected it several times but I still don’t want anyone getting trapped over there.” Arkk paused, then added, “Besides, he still has those walkers to fix.”

“Useless waste of time to force everyone back if you ask me. I say let him stay. If it worked ten times, it will work a thousand times.”

“Until the one time it doesn’t work. Then we’re screwed.”

Zullie hummed but, with a flourish of magic from her fingertips, the keystone slid into place and fused to the surrounding crystal. Giving it a firm nudge to ensure it was fully secured, Zullie smiled and nodded. She then stood, muttered an incantation under her breath, and then stepped forward, only to drift down to the floor slowly and safely.

Without even the slightest hesitation, Zullie turned and walked straight toward Arkk. All despite her lack of eyes behind her rectangular glasses. The accuracy with which she stopped in front of him and avoided her assistants made him wonder if she had performed another ritual on herself to better maintain awareness of her surroundings. More than that…

“How long have you been able to do that?” Arkk asked.

“What? The featherlight spell? I think I showed you the ritual version of it a long time ago, so not sure why it is surprising you now.”

“No,” Arkk said. “You used magic up there without an incantation.”

“Pretty sure I spoke the words for the featherlight—”

“Not that, before that. When you were affixing the keystone to the archway.”

Zullie frowned, turning away from Arkk to look up toward the arch. “I used an incantation… didn’t I? I think I did.”

“What were the words?”

“I… Well… Hmm…” She frowned to herself for a moment before shrugging. “The portal is ready to activate.”

Arkk raised an eyebrow. “You’re shrugging it off? Just like that? Who are you and where is the inquisitive, magic-obsessed Zullie that I know?” he asked, only half joking.

Zullie looked at him. For a brief instant, he almost imagined a spark of confusion in her eyes. Except… she didn’t have eyes. “Sorry? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

The mild curiosity Arkk had over the situation shifted to full-on alarm with that response. Which only doubled over as Zullie turned back to the portal and continued talking.

“Since we’re in Fortress Al-Mir instead of the highlands, we won’t be time-limited to only a few minutes. However… like with the Silence, I’m somewhat wary about spending extended periods inside a place called the Necropolis.”

“Zullie,” Arkk said, tone firm. “Did you do something to yourself again? Another Xel’atriss ritual?”

Zullie winced. “Maybe,” she mumbled. “It’s nothing to worry about. We have an avatar to slay and a war to end. Aren’t those more important?”

“More important than my employees being in trouble?”

“I’m not in trouble. I’m feeling better than ever.”

“But—”

Zullie cupped her hands to her mouth. “Activate the portal,” she called out.

Arkk didn’t even get a chance to protest before Morvin and Gretchen planted their hands next to the portal’s frame. A silvery liquid-like surface spread through the empty archway. After a series of rippling, a brand new world shimmered into view.

A world of living dead.

 

 

“So, what exactly is the plan here?”

“We tell the army that their services are no longer required.”

“And forgive me if I’m nagging, but could you remind me once again why we are sending away an army right before a battle in which we’re heavily outnumbered?”

Arkk pressed his lips into a tight frown as he looked at Kia. Despite the dark elf’s unsteady state, her tongue was as sharp as ever. “Is it really that bad of an idea?”

Drawing in a short breath, Kia rubbed at her forehead with several afterimages of her hands. “Let me answer your question with a question of my own. What did your circle of advisors have to say about this plan when you sat them down for one of your regular meetings?”

“I…”

“Didn’t have one of those meetings?” Kia scoffed. “Yeah, I could tell.”

Arkk looked out. He, along with Kia and Claire, stood on the rebuilt eastern wall of Elmshadow, watching the King’s army approach. At this distance, the army was just a meandering mass in the valley. Nothing distinct about any part of them, save for the obvious line of supply carts. About halfway between the army and Elmshadow’s wall, riding right along the river, a small group of far more distinct horses was riding ahead of the main group.

“There isn’t exactly time for a meeting,” Arkk said. “Those riders will be here in twenty minutes. Thirty if they decide to slow their pace. The rest of the army will be here mid-to-late afternoon.”

Kia narrowed her eyes. She lifted a spyglass and peered through it. “And you think one of those riders—or someone else in that army—is a demon? That’s why you want to reject them all?”

“I have Edvin, Katja, Inquisitrix Lui, and a handful of others keeping an eye on the Prince at Cliff. There has been no sign that he has summoned a demon.”

“Then what?”

Arkk shrugged. “I don’t know. I was told to watch my back around this army, that something in its ranks isn’t what it seems, and that they aren’t necessarily here to aid us. Worse, I don’t trust the source of this information.”

“Why not accept them? If the source isn’t trustworthy, aren’t they just trying to weaken us?”

“It is a possibility, but it feels—”

“Why not…” Claire started, speaking up for the first time since arriving at the wall. She trailed off, however, looking uncertain of herself. Slowly, a smile spread across her face. “Let’s just find the one who isn’t what they seem and peel them apart. Then you can use the rest of the army all you want.”

“Good point,” Kia said. “If the problem is only one of them, just kill whoever it is. Easy solution.”

“If we can find that person. And that still doesn’t solve the problem of the army as a whole stabbing us in the back. If the Prince gave them orders to do so, it wouldn’t matter who we take out, whether that be leaders, field commanders, or some individual member of the rank and file. Killing someone well-liked by the rest of the army might only inflame their anger with us.” Arkk let out a breath, closing his eyes. “Which is why I want to go with this plan. Send them off somewhere that they won’t be able to attack us easily but close enough to let them watch what happens to our enemies. As long as we are perceived as a slightly above-average free company, we are an opponent that can be fought. But shift that status to that of an overwhelming force that cannot be stopped…”

“And no army would fight against you,” Kia finished, nodding her head. With a laugh and a small shrug, she looked up to Arkk. “All well and good, if you can pull it off. That fact that you’re entertaining our ideas means you aren’t sure if you can.”

Arkk shifted, moving in mild discomfort. Kia and Claire were two of the very few who knew about the final delay tactic Arkk had implemented against Evestani, so he felt he could tell them some of his plans.

“I currently have a team of servants excavating Gleeful Burg,” he admitted. “Along with a few other sites where battles took place between Evestani and the Duke’s Grand Guard, various free companies, and even a few destroyed villages and towns. The undead were extremely effective against Evestani. A normal necromancer can raise a hundred undead if they’re particularly powerful. Me?” Arkk chuckled. “I can raise them all.

“It isn’t just that. Zullie is working to gain safe access to the Festival, the plane overseen by the god of undeath, the Laughing Prince. I don’t know if it will be in time, or if there will be anything useful there, but the Silence gave us our weapon against the avatar and the Underworld increased our might tenfold, so it stands to reason that another realm might just boost our combat ability even more.

“Then there are all those obstacles we threw at Evestani. A lot of them didn’t work. That was fine. We learned what did and didn’t work. Zullie, Savren, and everyone else involved worked hard to modify their plans and work on better countermeasures.

“I am nervous. I won’t lie. But I think we can destroy Evestani and the Eternal Empire.”

Claire shuddered. The soft-spoken dark elf looked at him with a wide grin. “Talk a little more like that and I might admit envy toward your elf.”

Arkk didn’t even get a chance to say how much that horrified him before an afterimage of Kia’s elbow slammed into Claire’s ribs. Or it would have were it not for a hazy ghost of Claire’s hands blocking the attack. Two more left elbows shimmered through the air at the same time, only for Claire to split her hands into four separate copies, each lifting to block the elbow strikes. A fifth hand split off from the rest, reaching over to poke Kia between her ribs and her hips.

The ghostly manifestations of the two warped back into their bodies. Neither had actually moved. That didn’t stop Kia from clutching her side with a light yelp as Claire put on a victorious smirk.

“I’ve been at this much longer than you, dear,” Claire said, speaking in a sing-song voice. “Remember that before picking a fight.”

“You better remember that you’re mine. All the experience in the worlds isn’t going to save you if you try to ditch me for the commander.”

“Ditch you? Never… But if Arkk keeps sweet-talking me like that, I might invite him along with us—”

Arkk cleared his throat, loudly and obviously. Awkwardly as well. The way they both turned to him with a grin did little to set him at ease. It was almost like they plotted out their little fight specifically to put on a show. Which, given what he knew of the two of them, wasn’t all that far-fetched.

Why, oh why had he not listened to Rekk’ar when the orc said that giving these two more power was a bad idea?

“Talking is well and good,” Arkk said, shifting a step away from the two dark elves, “but why don’t we see if I can pull this off before we start… uh… anything.”

“So you’re saying we should wait until after the war?” Kia asked without a trace of animosity in her voice. “Claire?”

“I think that’s waiting too—”

“Oh look,” Arkk said, pointing vaguely. “The horses must have picked up the pace. They’re almost here. Better go greet them.”

“And kill them?” Kia asked.

Arkk hesitated, then slowly nodded his head. “If we can figure out which isn’t what they seem,” he said, glad to be on the much more comfortable topic of assassination compared to… whatever Kia and Claire wanted with him in private. “Though, preferably, we make it look like an accident. Too soon or too obvious and we’ll end up sieged on both sides of the burg.”

“What’s wrong?” Kia asked. “Can’t handle two sides?”

“This is the kind of talk I expect from Lexa,” Arkk said with a frown, “not the two of you. Are you alright?”

The two looked at each other. Icy blue eyes locked onto dark brown. They both nodded their heads, turned to Arkk, and said in unison, “Fine.” “Fine.”

“Just try to act normal, then.”

“Sure.” “Okay.”

Arkk slowly shook his head, reconsidering whether bringing these two to something akin to a diplomatic meeting was really his best idea.

“Magatherion Goth, at your service,” the portly man said with a shallow bow. “Feel free to call me Mags.”

The man before Arkk looked like someone fresh out of one of the old Duke’s parties. Despite having traveled across half of Mystakeen, he wore an immaculate and extravagant costume, covered in dangling medals, colored strands of braided rope, and a hemming that made his wide figure look almost majestic. The honor guard accompanying him was equally resplendent, with armor that looked freshly painted in the blues and yellows of Chernlock, representing the sun high in a cloudless sky. Two of them carried large and unwieldy banners, holding them high over the rest of the quintet.

Arkk stood along with Kia and Claire. He had considered bringing along several others, meeting the newcomers with a full retinue. However, having seen the small number of individuals in the forward group, Arkk decided to meet with them with a smaller number. Just to make sure they didn’t feel threatened. He didn’t want to spark conflict if he could avoid it.

The two groups met in the rebuilt gatehouse. Much like Fortress Al-Mir and his walking tower, it had been rebuilt with reinforced stone tiles that bore a faint maze-like pattern embedded on their surface. Every so often, violet glowstones dotted the tiles. All the land in and around Elmshadow was under his full control. Buried tunnels, the small size of a compressed lesser servant, wove throughout the burg to ensure that the tower remained in contact with the rest of the land no matter what kind of destruction the surface ended up facing.

“Greetings,” Arkk said slowly, returning his focus to the central figure. “Arkk. Commander of Company Al-Mir. These are two of my aides, Kia and Claire.”

They were doing a remarkable job of holding in their afterimages. It helped that they weren’t moving, even after being introduced, but the faint shimmering glow that surrounded them was barely visible and he knew what to look for. Neither Mags nor his retinue made any show of noticing.

Mags, however, did curl a lip in a slight sneer. “Dark elves,” he said in a tone of voice that Arkk didn’t find agreeable.

“Is there a problem?”

Mags quickly smiled. “Of course not,” he said after a moment of hesitance.

Arkk pursed his lips but refrained from saying anything. Two minutes after meeting the man and Arkk already didn’t like him. “You are the commander of the King’s army, correct?” he asked, holding out a slight hope that this Mags wasn’t in charge.

“I am but a humble seneschal to my lord, the Prince Cedric Valorian Lafoar. My lord has granted me charge of this army to see to the defeat of the barbarians that encroach upon our territory.”

Arkk held in his sigh. “I see,” he said. “I appreciate that you’ve come all this way to aid—”

“Think nothing of it, my lad,” Mags said with a wide smile. “Anything for a fellow countryman. And the country, of course.”

“Of course,” Arkk slowly repeated. “However, the services of you and your men are no longer required.”

The wide smile on the portly man’s face remained in place for a moment too long. It slowly shrank down until his trim beard and mustache obscured his lips entirely. “Excuse me?” he finally said. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

“We have been observing and, in some cases, prodding the Evestani army as they made their way back across the land. In doing so, we have discovered their increased aptitude for destructive magics. Especially those brought by their new allies, the Eternal Empire.” Arkk shook his head slowly. “In light of this, we have reevaluated the situation. A conventional army such as yours will only be a hindrance in a battle. Or, more accurately, your army will be dead within minutes of engaging.

“So you see, your aid is not going to be… well, aid.”

“Then what is your plan? Retreat? Fall back from the greatest bastion we have in this territory outside Cliff itself?” Mags asked. A bit of red color flushed through his cheeks. “You can’t possibly expect Prince Cedric’s men to spend weeks marching here only to march back.”

“We are not retreating,” Arkk said, keeping his voice firm and full of conviction. “We will handle Evestani. As for your men, we have procured and converted old mining tunnels in the mountains for lodging. We have enough food and beds for every man. You are welcome to stay until you receive new orders.”

“Latest reports put the Evestani army at ten thousand and then another seven to eight thousand Eternal Empire soldiers with them. Your force, unless the reports were grossly inaccurate, numbered less than a thousand. I don’t care what kind of magic you’ve got, the disparity in manpower alone is enough to lose this battle.”

“That’s where we’ll have to disagree.”

“You—”

“If you truly wish to get your men killed, order them to fall on their own swords. I’m sure it will be a kinder death than what awaits them if they try to fight.”

The red in Mags’ face was swiftly turning to a purple hue, darkening as the man clenched his fists. The slight tremble in his arms stopped abruptly. A smile crossed his face. “It seems my lord was most wise. I have been granted authority to act as I see fit to ensure the security of the Greater Kingdom. I will be taking command of Elmshadow’s defense. You may serve me, you may flee, but interfere and you will be charged with high treason. Turn your tower, your magics, and your men over to me. Immediately.”

Arkk slowly crossed his arms, shaking his head. As he did so, he glanced at Kia and Claire. They both had smiles on. Far too wide of smiles.

He let out a small sigh.

“I urge you to reconsider. For your men’s sake.”

“My men are well and prepared to die for the country’s sake if that is what it takes to see these intruders repelled.”

“Is that true,” Arkk asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked over the four soldiers that stood with Mags. “These four are well trained, I presume?”

“The best,” Mags confirmed.

“Really?” Arkk half turned. As he did so, he teleported Dakka into one of the gatehouse’s side rooms. “Dakka,” he called out.

The orc pushed through a door, fully armored. Kia and Claire were here just in case there was something surprising amid this group, but they weren’t the only ones he had prepared. Dakka’s full squad was ready and waiting to be teleported anywhere at a moment’s notice. As were gorgon, battlecasters, and Lexa.

“This is my lead field commander. An orc,” Arkk said, smiling a little as the soldiers fought to keep their footing. In her shadowy black armor and spiked helm, carrying that black scythe, Dakka looked like a monster from old legends. “All four of your best men against her. If you manage to scratch her and draw blood, I’ll believe your army can contribute to this fight.”

Mags seemed to pull over the challenge for a moment, glaring at Dakka. “And if we win?”

“I’ll capitulate. You lead the defense. I’ll follow without complaint and ensure that my men do as well.”

Mags showed off his teeth. It wasn’t exactly a smile. More like the expression a feral animal might use to frighten off a bigger predator. “You won’t cry when we kill the demi.”

Arkk scoffed. “Dakka, you aren’t allowed to kill them. In fact, you can’t hurt them more than what Hale can fix.”

Though her face was hidden behind her helmet, Arkk could sense her amusement in her posture. “What, you want me to hand over my weapon too?”

“Actually? Yes,” Arkk said, holding out his hand. “Might as well give them a sporting chance, huh?”

“Ugh. Me and my big mouth…”

Despite her commentary, Dakka whipped her hand to the side, dropping off the haft in Arkk’s waiting hand. Unlike Dakka, the soldiers of the King’s army wore their visors lifted, letting Arkk see the growing confidence in their faces now that Dakka lacked her scythe.

“Now, shall we take this outside?”

“Don’t forget the terms of this contract,” Mags said, looking absolutely gleeful. He even rubbed his hands together like this was already decided in his favor. “You’ll bow to me when this is over.”

 

 

“They’re here.”

Arkk looked up from the library desk to find Ilya standing at the door. For a long moment, he just stared, smiling softly at the tall elf. Until Ilya cocked an eyebrow in the way she did when mildly irritated.

“Sorry,” Arkk said, clearing his throat. “I’ll head over in a minute. Just finishing things up here.”

Ilya didn’t turn to leave. Hands on her hips, she stepped closer, all but glaring around the room. She narrowed her eyes at Zullie, not that the blind witch could tell, then turned a deep scowl on the other person present. Or, rather, other thing present.

With a grimace, Arkk wrapped an arm around Ilya’s waist and tried to lead her toward the exit. “Actually, let’s head over now. Wouldn’t want to keep the King’s army wai—”

“Arkk,” Ilya said, her voice harsh and firm. Her feet remained firmly planted on the floor despite Arkk’s efforts. “Why is there a skeleton in the library?”

“Uh… That’s… Well, it’s like…”

“My fault,” Zullie said, casual and unbothered. “I required a test subject for an experiment that wasn’t likely survivable. We figured the dead wouldn’t mind.”

Silver eyes glared at Zullie, then glared at Arkk. “The horse was bad enough. And what’s that it has in its hands,” she said, peering down at the orange-yellow crystalline block it held. “Part of the portal archway?”

“A keystone,” Zullie said. “A new one. It will potentially allow us access to the domain of the Laughing Prince—a place Vezta called the Forlorn Festival or the Necropolis—though at the moment, we’re trying to decide on a way to scry on other planes without actually visiting them first. We don’t want a repeat of what happened to Agnete.”

At the mention of the purifier, Ilya’s anger diminished. She looked to Zullie with her lips pressed in a thin line, then to Arkk. Eventually, she looked over at the skeleton. “Fine,” she said, finally turning away from the library. Stopping at the door, she looked back. “That army is closing in. They’ll be here sometime today. Harvey spotted riders breaking away, heading toward Elmshadow. If you want to be there to greet them in person, better get over there soon.”

“I will. I’ll—”

Arkk didn’t get to finish before Ilya stalked out of the library. The doors in Fortress Al-Mir opened and closed automatically for his employees. She still somehow managed to slam it. He cringed at the noise but sighed in relief. She was mad. But not mad mad.

“Good thing she didn’t find out you had a whole army of skeletons.”

“Shush,” Arkk said, shooting a glare at the witch. There was no heat in his eyes, however. “Thanks for taking the blame.”

Zullie shrugged. “I don’t care if she’s upset with me. I work for you, not her.”

“Still,” Arkk said, retaking his seat at the desk. “About the project… Do you think it is feasible?”

“If we had one more portal structure, one we could dismantle for the crystalline material, we might be able to figure out how to make keystones for all the planes based on the examples we have. But we don’t have one. Not unless you’re willing to take apart the highlands portal.”

“No. If we could relocate the entire thing, that would be for the best. But not to use as parts. I want it ready to connect to the Anvil at any moment. Our portal will be used for the Underworld, Silence, Necropolis, or any other plane we gain access to. We can reevaluate which portals go where after Agnete is back. Not before.”

Zullie sighed but nodded her head, knowing Arkk wasn’t going to budge on that. “Is Agnete even… I mean, how is she doing over there?”

“She’s still alive,” Arkk said with a frown. Closing his eyes, he focused on Agnete. “They seem to have put her to work. She’s been building a whole variety of things, every day, all day long.”

“Slave labor?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, I would say that she is quite happy and willing.”

“Does she even want to come back?”

That was a question that Arkk didn’t have the answer to. The only thing he could say was that, “She’s over there because of me, so I’ve got to leave a way back for her no matter what.”

Zullie hummed. “It’s a shame neither of the walking fortresses in the Underworld had archways. Having our portal connected to realms other than the Underworld is causing delays in revitalizing glowstones for siege and ritual magics.”

“I know. If you have a better solution, I’m all ears.”

“Actually… Now that you brought it up…”

Arkk wasn’t exactly sure why, but he felt a sudden weight. Like he had just stepped in a bog. “Is this more Xel’atriss magic?”

“Maybe.”

“You’ve been somewhat hit or miss lately. Mostly miss. Did you finish outfitting the soldiers stationed at Leda’s tower?”

“Ugh. Those were hardly worth the effort. They’re weaker than Kia and Claire, weaker even than the shadow armor. It’s because they can’t see the reality layers like Kia and Claire can. Should have just put Leda’s soldiers through Project Liminal.”

“Not everyone wants to be permanently splintered across infinite versions of reality,” Arkk said, wondering if anyone had ever said something like that before. He doubted it. “Their gear will let them do what they need to do. Once we neutralize the avatar…”

“In any case, yes, I finished,” she said with a begrudging look on her face. Zullie quickly perked up, dragging out a notebook from somewhere else in the library. “And this new project is nothing like those failures we suffered while trying to deal with Evestani’s army. You recall the planar magic in the Duke’s ballroom?”

“He stole the light from—”

“The realm of the Holy Light, I believe.”

“Yes, I recall,” Arkk said, looking down at the open page. He wasn’t quite sure how Zullie found the page with her lack of eyes, but he figured he was looking at the right thing.

Crystalline Infusion Nexus was scrawled across the top of the page. An elegantly drawn device, roughly half the size of a person based on the comparison sketch. At its core, a series of intricate, interlocking crystalline conduits formed a lattice that, according to a descriptive scrawl, would pulse with vibrant colors, drawing raw magic from alternate planes of existence. Mostly the Underworld. Uncharged glowstones would go into the central chamber where they would be bathed in a steady stream of magic.

A way to charge glowstone crystals here, instead of having to cart them back and forth to the Underworld.

There was one small problem. “It says most of the device is made out of the portal structure.”

“Which is why we need to locate another one,” Zullie said. “Maybe shave off some of the crystalline material—I doubt they need to be as thick as they are. Or dismantle one of the ones we have access to. Could I propose sending Priscilla, and perhaps a few other fliers, through to the orc homelands? They’ll then break apart that portal and carry the pieces back through the regular Underworld portal. It’ll even be much faster than the initial expedition because we can send them straight there.”

“Then both Agnete and Priscilla are out of commission. My two best options for actually getting the Binding Agent in contact with the avatar.”

“Bah,” Zullie said, scoffing with a dismissive wave of her hand. “My dark elves are just as good as any dragonoid or purifier. Better, even. If we could get more volunteers for Project Liminal—”

“Stop, stop. We’ve cycled through these discussion points a dozen times. I’ll think about it, but it might not be until after the avatar is dealt with.”

“By then, we probably won’t need the Infusion Nexus.”

Arkk wasn’t so sure about that. Not if what the Holy Light’s avatar had to say had any truth to it. He still didn’t trust a word of it, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t listened.

Standing, Arkk said, “Keep up with your other projects for now. And find out if the Necropolis can actually help us, and whether it is worth visiting. I’ve got an army to meet.”

“Fine, fine,” Zullie said, slumping back in her chair just as Arkk teleported out of the room.

He went straight to the ritual chamber, went through the hops, and emerged at Elmshadow’s currently stationary Walking Fortress. Another teleport and he found himself at the highest point of Al-Lavik. The roof.

He looked out to the east, easily spotting the columns of the approaching army. They weren’t far off at all now.

A certain tension welled in the pit of his stomach. Just seeing them approach like that. If what the Holy Light’s avatar said was true…

And here he was, about to invite them straight to the heart of his secondary base of operations.

Who to trust? Who to believe? Everyone had an angle that they were going for, their own plots and plans. The Holy Light’s avatar said that he was doing her a favor and she simply wanted to repay that debt, but that sounded like a steaming cowpie to Arkk. Not only would she not say what that favor was but the information she had given him wasn’t all that helpful.

Then she said she wanted Agnete back. Arkk was fairly sure she didn’t mean from the Anvil, if she even knew Agnete was there, but back in the chains of the Inquisition.

Prince Cedric was aiming for total subjugation of all factions in Mystakeen. He was being more cautious than during the Vaales rebellion, but that was only because of the relative strengths of his opponents. Namely Arkk and Evestani. Both were factions far beyond the rebelling nobles in Vaales. Behind his serious demeanor and firm handshakes, he was plotting Arkk’s demise.

That was the warning. An… addendum to the prophecy of the oracles that Sylvara and Inquisitrix Lui had delivered.

Arkk narrowed his eyes at the columns of soldiers. They were here as allies today. They weren’t in any kind of battle formation, nor did they haul siege equipment and magics. He had already fully investigated every cart they had through scrying. They weren’t here to fight.

Not today. But tomorrow? The day after?

Rekk’ar’s words drifted through the back of Arkk’s mind. It would be easy to maneuver them into a position where they would suffer great losses against Evestani. With this army out of the way, he could easily lay claim to the entirety of Mystakeen. Possibly Vaales too, if he wanted. Leda’s tower would move and that would free up his Walking Fortress for relocation to wherever it might be needed to ensure his dominion…

All it would take was sending ten thousand soldiers to their deaths.

Arkk closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh.

They were just people. Regular people. They didn’t have the power to slice through reality or bend shadows to their whims. They didn’t have the backing of a god’s avatar nor fanciful flying ships as reinforcements. They had marched and marched and marched. They were exhausted and tired and still had battles to fight. They probably didn’t even know what kind of game they had gotten caught up in.

What then? Should he put some thought into having the Prince assassinated? He would never be left alone if that happened. Not that he would be left alone if he seized the lands for himself, but if he crushed this army to do so, he would buy himself enough time to fully secure his borders while the King cobbled together another fighting force. If he killed the Prince, it might cause some disarray among the army, but they would end up taking orders from the King eventually.

There was another option.

He could reject the King’s army’s help. Keep them at a distance. Close enough that they could watch the battle, but far enough that they couldn’t stab him in the back. He needed to demonstrate sheer overwhelming might. Enough to vanquish any thought of their ability to fight him from the rank-and-file’s minds. Crush their spirit so thoroughly that, no matter who commanded them or what their orders were, they would fear the thought of incurring his wrath so that they might favor the consequences of insubordination or even desertion over facing him.

The question was… could he manage that?

Hands clasped behind his back, Arkk walked around the roof of the tower. Even from the highest point around, not including the peaks of the Elm mountains, he couldn’t see the Evestani staging area. They were too far off. Yet he knew what they looked like. He had studied them, watching as they built up their encampments and bivouacs. They often used that fog to protect from scrying, but they hadn’t used it while on the move. He knew their force, their equipment, their supplies. He knew how they fought thanks to previous encounters. He knew how the avatar acted.

Company Al-Mir numbered approximately one thousand strong. Not all were fighters, however. The actual number was closer to eight hundred. But even if he added in everyone, even the blacksmiths and Larry the Butcher, Evestani outnumbered him by a factor of ten. At least.

There was a reason he hadn’t taken the fight to them. There was a reason he wanted the King’s army.

Yet, with all the advancements Company Al-Mir had made, all the magical equipment, the experimental weaponry, the magical rituals and power granted by the [HEART], the training and the effort everyone had put in… Arkk thought he could, perhaps, fight off Evestani. As long as their countermeasure against the avatar worked, a thousand could beat fifteen thousand without trouble.

The problem was that it wasn’t just Evestani. The Eternal Empire was a problem. They possessed magic and weapons that he didn’t yet know the full breadth of yet. He had poked and prodded them on their journey here to try to learn their capabilities, but he still didn’t have the full picture. They numbered fewer than Evestani did, possessing only about eight thousand soldiers, but even that practically doubled the number of soldiers in the enemy encampment. With those invisible flying ships they possessed, it was hard to tell how many more soldiers they might have hidden out of sight.

And they were starting some kind of construction projects around the Evestani staging area, also hidden from view. More airships? Or something else entirely?

Could Arkk beat Evestani and the Eternal Empire?

That, he was less certain of.

Dakka alone was worth twenty regular soldiers. But he didn’t have a thousand Dakkas. Only a hundred and fifty orcs had been outfitted with the shadow armor and scythes. Not all of them were as good as Dakka was. Even assuming they were, it wasn’t enough.

Gorgon were a force multiplier, able to spew caustic venom and petrify key targets, rapidly changing the state of any battle they participated in. But there were only seven of them. They couldn’t be everywhere at once.

Kia and Claire… Kia was still getting used to the changes that came from Project Liminal. If she recovered in roughly the same time as Claire had, both of them were…

Well, Arkk didn’t exactly know how effective they would be against an army. They might rip through it. They might get killed because of unforeseen complications. The abilities granted to them through Project Liminal were strange and powerful, but not without limit. Claire, even now, couldn’t fight forever without feeling like she was splitting apart, falling outside reality—whatever that meant. So, while they were strong, Arkk had no way of estimating how much damage they could actually do.

Richter’s battlecasters, augmented with the power from the [HEART], were ten times that of regular spellcasters. But they numbered less than fifty. Arkk’s spellcasters, with charged glowstones backing them up, could act as a full army’s worth of bombardment specialists. Unless the avatar was dealt with, Arkk doubted bombardment magic would so much as scar his opponent.

He could march the Walking Fortress to the army, crushing them underfoot. But again, not until he dealt with the avatar. This time, there wasn’t a mountain in the way to take the brunt of the attack.

Agnete and Priscilla each were worth five hundred regular soldiers, at least. But Agnete was gone. Priscilla might be able to freeze over large swaths of the enemy, but he needed her to engage with the avatar.

Vezta and Lexa could slip in, assassinating key individuals. Potentially even spare bodies for the avatar, though Arkk doubted the avatar would be so foolish as to keep them all in one spot a second time. But they couldn’t fight an army on their own.

Arkk walked the perimeter of the tower, cycling from the east side to the west side and back again as he thought. More things kept popping up in the back of his mind. Extra aids in the battle. From the war machines recovered from the orc homelands—currently inoperable due to engineering issues—to potential inquisitor and purifier assistance, from another undead army—the first had proved remarkably effective—to esoteric magics that he had warned Zullie against using.

Could he do it? Could he handle Evestani and the Eternal Empire while keeping an eye on the King’s army?

Not just could he do it.

Could he crush them? It wasn’t enough to limp away with uncountable losses, claiming victory by a frayed thread. He had to win, decisively and completely. Or else he might as well surrender his head to the King right now.

Arkk closed his eyes, scanning over every single employee he had, evaluating every option he had, every possibility.

When he opened his eyes again, a bright red glow suffused throughout everything he could see even despite the bright sun. He took a breath and teleported to one of the lower levels of the tower. The specialist quarters.

Kia sat in bed, eyes closed as she leaned up against one of the walls. Claire sat beside her, hand-in-hand, gently rubbing her thumb against the back of Kia’s hand. When Arkk appeared in the room, Claire stiffened. The dark elf moved to stand, only to pause as Arkk waved her down.

Kia didn’t move, keeping her head against the wall. She opened her eyes barely enough to see him before she squeezed them shut once again.

“Commander,” she murmured.

“Sorry to disturb you while you’re recovering. You can stay here as long as you need. But Claire, I have a job for you.”

The quieter of the two dark elves stared through messy brown locks of hair with her icy eyes. When he had first met her, Arkk thought she was glaring at him. But that was just how she looked at people. A curious lifting of one of her eyebrows was enough to show that she wasn’t angry with him.

“I need you at my side when I meet with the riders approaching from the King’s army. I have it on authority that someone in the King’s army might not be what they seem, so I need you to be ready to act.”

“A demon?” Claire asked, completely calm despite the implications of what she might be fighting.

“Not sure, actually. I don’t think so, but it is something. Something that your unique talents might be optimal for dealing with.”

“Understood,” she said, entirely unbothered. “Now?”

“They should be here within the hour.”

Translucent shades of herself started nodding before her head caught up. She moved to stand again.

This time, Kia moved to follow.

“Stay,” Claire said, planting her hands on Kia’s shoulders.

“Not letting you fight a demon on your own,” Kia said, shoving aside Claire’s hands.

“You can’t even stand.”

Kia didn’t respond. Like Claire, a series of ghostly afterimages both trailed after her body and moved before she moved. Some wobbled, some even fell. The latter vanished into nothingness. But Kia made it to her feet, standing beside the bed. After waiting a moment, making sure that she wasn’t going to fall over, Kia shot Claire a grin. “Not true.”

“Kia is welcome to join if she can hold herself together,” Arkk said. “Hopefully, nothing more interesting than a casual chat will happen. You two are going to be there just in case.”

Nobody handled rejection well.

 

 

“Lady Shadows,” Arkk said, kneeling in front of the statue of the Cloak of Shadows. “In times past, your followers laid many offerings at your altars.”

Arkk produced a small bowl of fruit. Dried preserves left over from the long winter. It was a strange offering, in his eyes. He expected an obsidian dagger, one of those bolts of shadowy cloth, or even something made in the Shadow Forge. But, after a consultation with the Protector, Arkk had settled on a few more mundane items. Fruit, back in the day, was commonly thought of as the favorite food of the Cloak of Shadows. Those who made proper pious offerings of fresh fruit were often seen experiencing fortune and good luck in their day-to-day lives.

The Cloak of Shadows wasn’t the god of luck. That concept belonged to the Fickle Wheel. Nonetheless, Arkk decided fruit was as good a start as any to his attempts this evening. Even if he wasn’t quite sure how a god would eat a bowl of fruit. Xel’atriss had been so massive that an apple would have been akin to a grain of sand on her tongue.

“Today, I offer you this bowl of fruit.” Because of the recent winter, it wasn’t fresh. Hopefully, that wouldn’t matter. “And I offer my appreciation for allowing me the use of your tools, your Shadow Forge, and the Protector.”

Unlike many of his other planned attempts, Arkk wouldn’t ask anything of the Lady Shadows. He felt like he had gotten enough out of the Underworld. If the Cloak of Shadows wanted to give him more as additional thanks for this offering, he wasn’t going to refuse, but he wasn’t expecting that. He mostly just wanted to see what would happen, if anything.

So far, kneeling in front of the wispy dark cloak wrapped around the vaguely feminine form that was the statue, nothing had happened. And it wasn’t looking like anything would.

Arkk stood, bowl of fruit in hand, and approached the edge of the silvery pool closest to the Cloak of Shadows. He then upended the bowl, dumping it all in. Vezta had said that the pool was a direct connection to the realm of the gods, so hopefully the Cloak of Shadows could pluck them out of the aether and have a nice snack. Or whatever a god did with favored food.

The bits of fruit simply slid underneath the surface. There were no ripples, no disturbances to the liquid. Just like when he threw in that gold coin all those months ago, it made him uneasy. Like some part of the back of his mind knew that this was wrong. It wasn’t how the world worked.

Arkk took a few hasty steps back and waited a moment.

When nothing continued to happen, he nodded his thanks one last time to the Cloak of Shadows before moving on to the next experiment.

Arkk approached the statue of the Eternal Silence with a sense of trepidation. The god of death, stillness, and sleep was not one to be invoked lightly. The statue was a serene, masculine figure, resting in a chair with his head slumped against his shoulder. A polished skull sat on his lap.

Arkk knelt, his knees pressing into the cold tiles of the floor, and placed a small vial of nightshade extract at the base of the statue. From the alchemical books Morford had sold him, along with a few other books he had acquired outside Darkwood Burg, he had seen one plant associated with both sleep and death over and over again. If anything might be an appropriate offering, it would be nightshade.

Either that or the flowery plant he had taken from the Silence. But that felt more like returning something he had stolen.

“Eternal Silence,” Arkk said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I come to you seeking your boon. I don’t know what your followers might have done in your honor. As far as I can tell, your name has effectively been wiped from the surface of this world. Perhaps you prefer it that way… But today, I offer you this vial of nightshade, a symbol of your dominion. In return, all I ask is a fitting response.”

Arkk placed the vial down at the base of the statue and waited, bowing his head.

Unlike the Cloak of Shadows, Arkk waited long minutes for any possible answer. Yet still, nothing happened. Just silence. Silence might have been a positive response, were it not the default for any given moment. He expected the silence to deepen, to deafen with its absence.

Yet it was just regular silence.

Looking up at the statue, noting the unchanged serene face, Arkk sighed and stood. There was no indication of approval or disapproval.

Taking the nightshade, he approached the edge of the pool. This time, he knelt, said the same thing he had just spoken, and dumped the vial into the silvery liquid.

“Hello, Xel’atriss. Remember me?” Arkk knelt at the woman with the outstretched arms.

“Cloak of Shadows. I have another gift for you. A cloak that I made myself using the dark fabric of your dagger…”

“Jailer of the Void, I’d like to start off by apologizing for… uh.. killing your avatar…”

Twelve hours after locking himself inside the temple and Arkk had to wonder how anyone figured out how magic worked.

Arkk paced back and forth in front of a large board pinned with notes. Everything he knew about the gods, both those whose statues stood around the room and those still missing, was listed out on long rolls of vellum. From the way Xel’atriss, Lock and Key communicated by shifting the boundaries of what he knew and didn’t know to every observed magical effect the avatar of the Heart of Gold had demonstrated. From the effects of the Silence to the factory of the Anvil. From the Laughing Prince’s domains over undeath, festivals, and children to the Holy Light’s dominion over light, the sun, and knowledge.

The Holy Light’s segment was a great deal longer than any other. He had paid attention to the Suun sermons. There were entire tomes of holy texts that he didn’t even know about, let alone know the contents of, but what he did know was still more than any of the other gods. Even Xel’atriss, the one he likely knew the second most about.

Unfortunately, the Holy Light was also one of the gods he didn’t want to accidentally contact, if at all possible. Regardless of what that letter said, he was still ill at ease with the idea of consorting with the traitor gods. Vezta would probably be… displeased if she found out, which was also a contributing factor to his reluctance. If all else failed…

The board next to the details of the gods was a listing of everything he knew about the temple room itself. It wasn’t a very long list. He knew that acquiring boons was possible, he knew that human sacrifice was likely a way to do so, though it wasn’t the only way. He knew they had already used a ritual within the temple room to directly entreat with Xel’atriss. That option was off the table, obviously, but he still had it up on the board for completeness.

The final board was a list of everything he had tried so far. Mostly, it consisted of throwing things into the pool, setting things at the bases of the statues, or otherwise asking for assistance and hoping for a response. He had also gone around to each of the statues, asking each in turn for even just a small sign that he was on the right track. None had answered.

Naturally, he avoided the statues of the traitor gods.

In addition to everything he tried, there was also a list of things he suspected or wanted to test, but couldn’t at the moment. For example, did he need to try this at a certain time of day? Or a certain time of year? Did the moon phases matter? What of the constellations in the sky?

This would be easier with Vezta present. But there were two problems with that. The first was that she had never been present during her former master’s rituals. Arkk didn’t know if there was a correlation there but it seemed like changing that now would just add extra possibilities to test for and he didn’t have that much time to work on this. The second problem…

Arkk’s eyes drifted to the statue shrouded in light. The Holy Light and Xel’atriss were the only two to have communicated with him. And the latter only during a complex and powerful ritual.

If any of the statues were going to do anything, Arkk had a feeling it would be the Holy Light. He admitted he was curious about that letter too. It said to simply speak out, asking for an ally, and he would have one.

Arkk kept his mouth firmly shut.

His curiosity wasn’t going to stop him from exhausting every other possibility first.

Turning away from the Holy Light, Arkk approached the grinning statue of the Laughing Prince. Arkk teleported a clattering skeleton directly at his side. One of a very small number that hadn’t fought the Evestani army. This skeleton had been his first test with necromancy, raising it from the dead under Zullie’s instructions. Unlike all the others, it had not come from the dead at Elmshadow.

Arkk had taken it from the graves behind Langleey Village’s church.

His father. Rickkton. A man Arkk barely knew and barely had any memories of. He had died when Arkk was only five years old, far too soon to form any real memories. There might be one or two vague feelings rattling around in the back of Arkk’s mind, but nothing clear.

Arkk had chosen his father for one reason and one reason alone.

If something went wrong and his necromancy went out of control, if there was even a slim scrap of his father left behind, Arkk figured his father would be the least likely person to cause him harm.

Nothing had gone wrong and, now, Arkk was well and truly convinced that there wasn’t anything left of his father. It still seemed a bit too sad to send his own father into a fight with his enemies, lost among a few thousand other bodies. Arkk intended to return his father to his grave, but…

He hadn’t ever gotten around to it.

And now, he had another test that his father could assist with.

“Well, Smiling Prince. You like necromancy enough to show up on your own. So let’s see if I can’t get a few more reactions out of you, hmm?”

Arkk let out a long yawn. He wasn’t able to stop himself. How long had he been in here?

With a shake of his head, Arkk focused. He wasn’t done yet.

Arkk plucked up a dried bit of apple and popped it into his mouth. It wasn’t the best meal but he had forgotten to eat for most of the last day. He could have teleported anything from the kitchens straight to him, but at this hour of the day, there wasn’t much already made and he didn’t want to waste time making something.

“You want some of this?” Arkk asked, leaning back.

He sat up against the pedestal holding the Cloak of Shadows. The wispy, ethereal drape of shadows over the actual figure underneath didn’t move. Neither did the figure. With a small sigh, he looked around the rest of the room.

“How about the rest of you? Dried fruit, anyone?”

Nothing but silence greeted him.

As much as he expected it, the silence still made him shift in discomfort. Once again, he was glad Vezta wasn’t around.

This was a bit embarrassing.

A marble made from the coldest ice hovered just above Arkk’s palm. He walked around the temple room, stopping at each of the empty pedestals.

He closed his eyes, humming lightly as he felt the magic in the room.

“Not this pedestal,” Arkk said before continuing to the next. “Nor this one… Then, it must be…”

As he approached the final unoccupied pedestal, a chill ran down Arkk’s spine. A sudden rush of cold came from the ice marble, but it wasn’t anything he had done. It acted on its own.

Shivering, feeling a little numb, Arkk nonetheless put on a smile. “Now isn’t that interesting?”

Stepping right up to the pedestal, he held out his hand over its smooth surface. Taking a breath and letting out a cloud of icy mist, he pulled his hand back.

The marble dropped through the air. It landed on the stone with the sound of glass shattering. A blast of icy air shot out.

Arkk teleported himself to the opposite side of the room the second he felt that cold. He hadn’t forgotten the last time the marble had fallen to the ground. He ended up frozen to the floor along with the inquisitors and half his team.

The marble bounced after the first hit, landing with another crack of glass. Another wave of cold rippled out, turning the moisture in the air into icy crystals. The entire half of the room started to fill with opaque white fog, making the temperature plummet.

Arkk waited, rubbing his arms with his gloved hands, glad he had thought to fetch a coat from his chambers before trying this out.

The sound of shattering glass that accompanied each bounce of the marble stopped abruptly. It didn’t sound like the energy of the marble had just petered out. Each bounce had a good second between. But it just stopped.

He slowly approached, wafting his hands back and forth as he neared the curtain of fog in an attempt to clear it away. Deciding that wasn’t working, Arkk pulled some hot coals straight from the forge and teleported them around that side of the room. That helped and, soon enough, the fog started to clear away.

The pedestal was no longer empty. A part of Arkk expected nothing more than a random mass of jagged ice.

He had not expected a finely sculpted ice statue. It looked like a dragon. A full dragon, the kind depicted in myths and legends, not the humanoid dragonoid that Priscilla was. It stood, tall and majestic. Four legs, perched like a cat, with its long and scaled tail coiled around the base of the pedestal. Its wings were neatly folded behind its back while its head, with a narrow snout, slit eyes, and curled horns, was poised in a regal, proud posture.

Legends said that real dragons were massive, able to crush an entire village without even noticing what they were stepping upon. A dragon god was probably even larger than that. The statue, however, was scaled to fit upon the pedestal, hardly any larger than the other statues around the room.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Arkk murmured.

The skeletal figure of his father at his side didn’t respond.

Stepping closer, Arkk gave the statue a closer look. Was it as real as the rest of them? Or would it melt away? It certainly looked as if it were made out of ice. And the ice marble…

Arkk frowned, unable to find it. It wasn’t on the pedestal or anywhere nearby. Even with Fortress Al-Mir and his ability to teleport anything he owned within its walls, he couldn’t feel the marble. It was just… gone.

“I hope I didn’t need that,” he murmured, looking up at the dragon’s snout. If the marble was somewhere inside the statue, he might be able to retrieve it by destroying it… but that seemed like a good way to piss off a dragon god. He really did not wish to make more gods his enemies at the moment.

“I don’t suppose you might be willing to grant me any boons?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The dragon statue didn’t move.

Of course, it didn’t.

With a sigh, Arkk focused on Priscilla. The dragonoid was currently with Hale. Again. They had been spending a lot of time together as of late. Unfortunately, both were out at Elmshadow. He made a note to ask Priscilla about how the Permafrost’s followers worshipped another time.

For now, he looked around the room. “Ten statues. Six empty spots…”

He frowned. “And no boons.”

Arkk stared, eyes wide and palms sweaty.

The skeleton of Rickkton sat leaned over the pool of silvery liquid. Both arms were below the surface, neither causing ripples. Arkk, mentally connected to the skeleton through his necromancy, could feel something there. Something that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The skeleton grasped at the something, bony hands wrapped tightly around whatever it was. Large and somewhat angular, it felt like a carved stone. Arkk didn’t dare have the skeleton dip its head below the surface—he couldn’t see through its empty eye sockets anyway—which left hauling the stone up the only option to find out what it was.

But the skeleton was stuck. Arkk couldn’t tell if the stone was too heavy or if the skeleton was too weak. He certainly wasn’t going to reach into the pool himself.

A rope. Would a rope work? The skeleton could feel something like an underside to the stone. Strangely enough, there wasn’t anything beneath the stone. Just empty… whatever.

Holding out his hand, Arkk teleported a rope from elsewhere in the fortress. He passed it to the skeleton, keeping one end up and out of the pool. With some precise mental commands, he directed the skeleton to loop it beneath the stone, making a cross pattern underneath, and then tie it up at the top end. He used a knot he had learned down in the smithy, hoping it would be enough.

He tried hauling it straight up. It budged a little, but he lacked the leverage or general strength required to lift it.

Frowning to himself, he scanned through the currently awake employees in Fortress Al-Mir.

A disoriented Dakka appeared at his side. She opened her mouth, only to freeze upon seeing the state of the room. Her head slowly turned around, looking at all the random items Arkk still had lying about. She finally looked down at the skeleton, cocking an eyebrow in the process.

“Don’t ask,” Arkk said, handing her the rope. “I just need you to lift. Take care not to touch the liquid yourself.”

“Uh… sure,” she said, wrapping the rope around her hand. Bracing herself, she strained a moment before the stone came loose. She hauled it up and out of the liquid with relative ease after that.

It was a crystal. Larger than the keystone Sylvara had brought but made from the same yellow-iridescent material. The rune on its surface was a new one, a vague depiction of a skull.

Arkk glanced first at the skeleton pulling itself out of the pool, then at the statue of the Smiling Prince. Was this a boon? Or had he just found it randomly while searching? Both?

“So…”

“Thank you, Dakka,” Arkk said, looking back to the orc. “I’ll send you back to the kitchens.”

She vanished before she had a chance to respond. Arkk crouched down, frowning at the large keystone.

“Alright.” Arkk stood in front of the Holy Light, frowning up at his heroic visage. “Alright,” he said again. “You gave me a letter that said to ask for help. So here I am, wondering what kind of help you can give.”

The Holy Light didn’t move, didn’t react, and didn’t say a word.

As expected.

Arkk turned away, shaking his head. He had made a mess of the temple. Most of it could be cleared away with a simple wave of his hand, teleporting everything back to where he had gotten it, but the sight of it still wore him down. It was all evidence that he had wasted the past day. He had only one thing to show for the time spent and he still wasn’t sure if it was a result of his actions or if that keystone had always been under the surface of the pool—the skeleton was going around the edges of the temple pool, searching for more, but no luck so far.

“Well, I—”

“Are you finished playing around?”

Arkk teleported immediately, completely vacating the temple. Safely within his private quarters, he peered into the temple.

The statue of the Holy Light had moved once again. This time, it looked frozen mid-laughter. It remained like that for a few moments before, without passing any of the intervening space, it was back in its default heroic pose. Arkk waited another long few minutes.

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He got a response from one of the statues. Granted, it wasn’t one of the statues he wanted a response from, but it was a response.

Now he had run away from it.

Was it dangerous? If it wanted to kill him, it surely would have just stabbed him in the back, not spoken with him. And it had been the one to send that letter in the first place.

Mustering his courage, Arkk drew a breath and teleported back into the temple. He ended up well away from the statue of the Holy Light.

“Hello?” he called out from across the room. “Are you there?”

A light, flittering laughter cascaded throughout the chamber as the statue shifted back into an open-mouthed laugh. It didn’t move to that position. It just was in that position—had always been in that position. The laughter was full of amusement and, oddly enough for the very masculine statue, it was quite feminine sounding.

Then again, perhaps it wasn’t that odd. Surely a god could do whatever they wanted.

“Hello,” he said again. “I, uh… received your letter.”

The Holy Light shifted again, standing in a more neutral pose as it looked down at Arkk. “I noticed. Good to see that Vrox was right. You did just require a more explicit message.”

Arkk narrowed his eyes, frowning.

Vrox? Why mention Vrox? The only Vrox Arkk knew was Darius Vrox, the inquisitor. Was he speaking with gods these days too?

“Well, Arkk? What are you doing all the way over there?” The statue flickered into a gesturing pose, unmoving yet somehow welcoming. “Come closer, come closer. Don’t be afraid. I can’t attack you like this… or I’m sure you would have died at the hands of my… contemporaries already.”

“Is that really true?” Arkk asked, turning his head and noting the still statues of the Heart of Gold and the Almighty Glory. Neither had moved.

“You think I would lie to you?”

“Yes,” Arkk said. “You sliced off Vezta’s arm.”

“That is that, this is this,” the statue said with a shrug. Notably, it didn’t perform the action of shrugging. One moment, it had always been shrugging, the next, it returned to a neutral position.

“I think I’m good here,” he called back, not wanting his back to any of the statues, though with them at all four sides of the room, he didn’t have much choice. At least Xel’atriss at his back wasn’t likely to turn out poorly.

Probably.

“Suit yourself,” the statue of the Holy Light said, looking eminently disappointed. “But we have a lot to discuss… Best get comfortable.”

Arkk crossed his arms, frowning.

“I’ll skip to the end to get you thinking before returning to the start to explain. The long and short of it is that I wish for direct, physical access to this temple room.”

Arkk looked around slowly, somewhat confused. “Aren’t you… Don’t you already have access to it?” he asked, gesturing toward the statue. “I wasn’t aware that I could stop a god—”

That light, feminine laughter spilled out of the statue once again, though the statue didn’t move this time. “Oh. Oh my. You believe I am The Holy Light. No, no. No. Certainly not. Were I, I imagine things would be far, far different. No, Arkk. I am merely what you call the avatar.”

Arkk blinked. Then blinked again. All of a sudden, he felt the tension in the back of his neck drain away. He was not speaking with another god. That…

Made a lot of sense. Between today and his earlier encounter with Xel’atriss, members of the Pantheon didn’t speak. Especially not so… normally.

The statue laughed again before leaning forward, towering over Arkk with the added height. “Yes, Arkk. Let’s start at the beginning.”

 

 

Arkk leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers over a sheet of parchment that sat atop his desk.

“The temple room is a conduit to the Pantheon,” Arkk said, looking up to Vezta. “You said that before, right? Your former master was able to use it to gain boons?”

“That is correct,” Vezta said with a half-bow. “Though I do not know the proper rituals as my former master considered it a rather private affair, I do know he frequently ventured into the temple, sealed all doors, and emerged after with magical items, minions, gold, and a plethora of other welcome additions to our war efforts.”

“Did he ever enter with any equipment that he might have used? Or did the temple already contain any kind of ritual equipment?”

Vezta paused, gaining a vacant look in her eyes for a brief moment. Notably, the expression only applied to the eyes on her head. The multitude of glowing yellow-in-black eyes dotted around the rest of her body maintained their constant vigil over her surroundings. Eventually, her journey through her memories came to an end as she refocused on Arkk.

“You… may not wish to hear this,” she said, hedging her voice. Arkk simply waved her on with a quick gesture. “It didn’t happen every time, but my former master would frequently take prisoners into the temple. They didn’t often return or, when they did, they came back changed and fully allied with us.”

“Ah.”

Sacrifice. From Zullie, Arkk knew that sacrifice wasn’t used in modern magic anymore. The Abbey ranked it among the highest anathema and even outside the Abbey’s sphere of influence, it wasn’t a very popular method of enacting magic. Modern magic and rituals were often convenient enough. Rituals could be increased in power simply by adding more spellcasters, negating the need to kill people to work them.

The orc chieftain had been planning on using sacrifice to bypass magical requirements for her demon summoning before Arkk interrupted it. The black book mentioned that sacrifice was simply easier than trying to gather together upwards of a dozen competent spellcasters to perform the same ritual. It did mention that demon summoning was possible without sacrifice, but Arkk doubted most people willing to summon demons cared all that much about killing a few people for an easier time.

He wondered if the Prince had sacrificed a bunch of people to summon a demon during his subjugation of Vaales. Someone willing to summon a demon might not care. At the same time, he doubted a Prince would have difficulty gathering together enough spellcasters to perform the ritual properly. Yet again, that would mean a great number of people were involved in it and the more people, the higher the likelihood that someone talks.

“He didn’t bring people in every time,” Arkk said, trying to keep focused on the task at hand. “I presume those times resulted in lesser boons?”

“Sometimes. Not always. What are you thinking, if I may ask, Master?”

Arkk clasped his hands together, rubbing his chin against his knuckles. “We’ve been exploring the other planes for power, magic, resources, and weapons. But it is a long and time-consuming process. We can’t even spend more than a few minutes in the Silence without succumbing to sleep and the Anvil is completely cut off from us at the moment.”

“I see. You wish to bypass manual searching by going to the gods directly.”

“When we first constructed the temple room, there were only five statues in place, three of whom belonged to the traitors,” Arkk said with a nod of his head. “I was a bit wary of using it because of that. Our encounter with Xel’atriss only further discouraged interacting with the Pantheon. Now, over half the pedestals have statues and the traitor gods are outnumbered…

“But what boons to ask for,” Arkk said, turning his explanation into muttering as he thought aloud. “Wouldn’t want to offend them by asking for anything too grandiose. Nor anything that might come from the traitor gods. More weapons to fight in the war? Something to completely nullify the threat of a demon? Honestly, we seem to be doing rather well on both those fronts on our own. Granted, we haven’t faced a demon and there is about to be another big battle unless Evestani finally gives up after their losses to the undead—”

“Master, if I may interject.”

Arkk looked up to Vezta. “You have an idea?”

“Nine of the sixteen pedestals are occupied with statues. Each additional statue beyond the initial five came about when we connected the portal to another plane. With the exception of the Laughing Prince. Regardless, finding ways to fill the other pedestals is likely a positive sign towards our ability to repair the damage the Calamity wrought.”

Arkk drummed his fingers against the sheet of parchment once again. He still wasn’t sure that undoing the Calamity was the best path forward. Not if, as Zullie had theorized, all the magic in the Underworld would come flooding here, wreaking havoc across the whole world. Zullie’s analysis of the Silence, brief as it had been, indicated a higher concentration of magic there as well, though not quite to the extent of the Underworld. Directed by Zullie, he had carved out a small testing ritual with the servant in the Anvil to check there and found almost no magic at all. Savren put forward the idea that the Burning Forge had somehow found a solution to the magic buildup problem by creating that massive factory, which hadn’t been there in Vezta’s memories, constantly producing everything to consume excess magic.

At the same time, Vezta’s idea did warrant consideration. Especially if they could get magic and other boons from additional gods. The Silence had given them a potential weapon against the Heart of Gold’s avatar and the Underworld had equipped his troops with weapons and armor far beyond what they could produce here. Other boons on similar levels would see his troubles with both the Kingdom and Evestani diminished to the point where he could put his full efforts toward finding a proper solution to the Calamity.

Closing his eyes, he looked into the temple room. He swept his gaze over each of the statues. The Almighty Glory, the Burning Forge, the Cloak of Shadows, the Eternal Silence, the Heart of Gold, the Holy Light, the Jailer of the Void, the Laughing Prince, and Xel’atriss, Lock and Key.

Seven pedestals were vacant.

“Who are we missing?” Arkk asked. He had discussed the Pantheon with Vezta before, but a reminder couldn’t hurt.

“The Fickle Wheel—god of luck, random chance, and patron to gamblers everywhere. The Red Horse—god of war, physical strength, and animals. The Veiled Dancer—god of sensuality, celebration, and flow in all forms, from rivers to air to words in a bard’s song. The Whispering Gale—god of winds, travel, exploration, and messengers. The Permafrost—god of ice, winter, and stagnation. The Bloated Mother—god of fertility, disease, and life… and…” Vezta pursed her lips like she licked a sour lemon. “Unknown, the Enigma.”

Arkk waited a moment. When Vezta didn’t elaborate, he prompted, “God of…”

“Nobody knows. Presumably mysteries, the unknown, or something along those lines. I would recommend against entering Unknown, the Enigma’s realm, if at all possible. A single step into the Maze and you may never find your way out again.”

“A single step. You can’t just take a step back?”

“The action itself is possible. Whether or not it takes you back to where you started is another question entirely.”

“I see…” Arkk said, frowning. One of Zullie’s failed projects for dealing with the Evestani army involved a maze of shifting barriers and boundaries. He wondered if that would have succeeded if she had called upon Unknown instead of Xel’atriss. “Well, we’ll avoid that one for now. The god of war, on the other hand, sounds like a useful ally to have at present.”

The expression on Vezta’s face didn’t fill Arkk with confidence.

“Wrong choice?” he asked.

“The Red Horse is a god that extols the virtues of physical strength and loathes magic in all forms. Followers of the war god made up the vast majority of my former master’s enemies prior to the Calamity.”

“It wouldn’t support us even though it isn’t one of the traitor gods?”

“Hard to say.”

Arkk hummed a note of disappointment. Probably best to avoid that one for now too then. What else? The Permafrost, perhaps? Priscilla was a devout of the Permafrost so getting that god on their side could only further ingrain Priscilla’s loyalty to him.

“Speaking of potential allies,” Vezta said before Arkk could put forward that idea. “What of the letter?”

Arkk’s pursed his lips as he looked back down to the parchment. The flowery words written across its surface did not fill him with confidence.

Before you stand not one but two in might, their shadows cast upon your lofty height. Yet from behind, a foe does stealthy creep, To strike your back while you in battle weep. If aid you seek, just voice your earnest plea, An Ally’s hand will then be yours to see.

It was like that prophecy that the inquisitors had given Arkk. Except slightly more straightforward. Assuming the letter wasn’t somehow intended for another and misdelivered, the two standing before were the Evestani and the Eternal Empire. The lofty height was probably the Walking Fortress at Elmshadow. The enemy behind was a little less clear.

There were only a few possibilities. This war now involved three factions, not including Arkk. His two opponents and the King’s army, the latter of which was set to arrive at Elmshadow in a few days.

It was something he hadn’t put much thought toward. They were allies coming at his request to reinforce the Duchy and end this war once and for all. But…

The Kingdom was the home to the Abbey of the Light. If the Heart of Gold’s avatar was directing the Evestani army, there was a chance that the other traitor gods also had avatars who might have their own feelings about his existence. Probably feelings of ill intent. The King’s army could easily show up, stab him in the back in the name of the Light, and then shake hands on a job well done with Evestani.

Except…

This letter had been delivered via a statue of the Holy Light.

“I’m confused,” Arkk said eventually, looking up to Vezta. “Is the Holy Light trying to aid us? Sow distrust between us and the King’s army? Or… was this accidentally delivered to the wrong statue of the Holy Light?”

It could refer instead to Evestani having two enemies in Arkk and the King’s army, warning them of a saboteur at their back. Seeing the letter as having been erroneously delivered made the last bit of it make a little more sense.

Ask for an ally and get an ally.

If it wasn’t referring to the Abbey wanting to re-vitalize their alliance with Evestani, and the letter had reached its intended reader, then it almost sounded like an offer to join him.

“I can’t say with absolute certainty, Master, but the thought of a letter being accidentally delivered to the wrong recipient in this manner seems… egregious.”

“Right? But that would mean that the Holy Light supports us?” Arkk paused, frowning to himself. It hadn’t been so long ago that Zullie put forward her suspicions that Vezta didn’t actually know all she said she knew. That nobody would be able to tell if she got something incorrect.

There had been frequent wars between Evestani and the Kingdom throughout history. Never with such overt magic that it might have directly involved avatars—or their involvements had been wiped from the annals of history—but enough to suggest that the Abbey of the Light and the Golden Order had rarely, if ever, been friendly toward one another.

“Is it possible that the Holy Light isn’t a traitor?” Arkk mused, mostly to himself. “Perhaps they escaped the effects of the Calamity through some other method…”

“Absolutely not,” Vezta said, eyes firm. “There is no doubt about the identities of the traitor gods.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, staring at Vezta for a moment. He nodded his head, deciding not to argue with her for the time being. Instead, he looked down at the letter once again, tapping his finger against it.

“Is there anything on my schedule for the remainder of the evening?”

Vezta shook her head, completely unbothered by the sudden change in subject. “You have a meeting with your magical researchers in the morning. Aside from that, you are mostly clear until the arrival of the King’s army. Barring any emergencies, of course.”

“Of course,” Arkk said, pressing his lips together. “In that case, I’ll think more about this letter. And likely involve my other advisors before making any real decisions.”

“Seeking counsel is a wise decision, though I do not know that any of your other advisors have any expertise in this domain.”

“Be that as it may…” Arkk stood, carefully placing the letter among his important files. “For the time being, it would be best if we carried on as usual. Head to Elmshadow and ensure we’re ready to receive the King’s Army. They haven’t stabbed us in the back yet and I’ll be damned if I’m the first to wield that blade.”

“Understood,” Vezta said with a deep bow. As soon as she righted herself, she turned and departed.

Arkk, left alone in his office, paced back and forth. He checked in every few moments, watching Vezta’s progress through Fortress Al-Mir’s corridors. She encountered seemingly half the notable employees on her way, all of whom stopped her and spoke with her for varying amounts of time. Everyone knew her and it appeared as if most everyone liked her.

Which Arkk did find a little interesting. He could still remember his fear upon first meeting her, the unease among Langleey Village after successfully defending it from the horde of goblins, and the utter terror the soldiers in the Duke’s manor had of her after the assassinations at the party. Although a monster far beyond beastmen and demihumans, she was accepted here.

Unfortunately, her popularity delayed her by almost an hour. It was far later than he wanted by the time she finally made it to the teleportation chamber and vanished from Fortress Al-Mir. Given what he planned for the rest of the evening, he might have to delay the meeting with Zullie in the morning.

Zullie always hated disruptions to her schedule.

But for now, Arkk teleported himself out of his office, reappearing back in the center of the temple. Alone save for nine statues of gods and seven empty pedestals.

He turned slowly, sweeping his gaze around the chamber. He met the eyes of each of the statues. His eyes lingered the longest on Xel’atriss, but he didn’t stop on the thin woman surrounded by tendrils or the door she stood near. Arkk kept turning until he finally ended on the majestic pose of the Holy Light.

Narrowing his eyes, Arkk glared at the statue. It had returned to its usual pose, standing strong and tall. The outstretched hand that held the letter was back at its side. Now, if anything, the only difference from before was the amount of light concealing the statue’s face, acting as its clothing. It was bright. Almost blindingly so.

Arkk didn’t like it. The idea that one of these gods, especially one of the supposed traitors, had such control within his domain set him ill at ease. What if, instead of a letter, the statue had delivered an alchemical bomb capable of destroying the entire fortress? The temple chamber wasn’t adjacent to the [HEART], but it was a whole lot closer than some of the experimental chambers down below.

If the Holy Light could do that, what was stopping the Gold or the Almighty?

And, perhaps more importantly, could he send something through the statues? It was a bit dangerous without knowing who possible recipients might be, but if he could hand the armored figure of the Heart of Gold an alchemical bomb and have it show up at the avatar’s real body…

Planning was useless at this stage. There was no point unless he figured out how this room worked. And all he had to operate on were a few suggestions from Vezta, none of which sounded particularly reliable.

“So,” Arkk said, turning around once more to meet each of the statues. “Let’s chat.”

He waited a moment.

Then a moment more.

Nothing happened.

It was a good thing Vezta wasn’t around. He was embarrassed enough talking to himself as it was.

Spreading his arms wide and spinning around, an assortment of trinkets and items appeared around him. A small pile of gold, what little he could spare at the moment. A pig from the farms. A tome from the library, not unimportant but nothing he or Zullie couldn’t recreate if necessary. Rare ingredients from his personal alchemy laboratory. One of the shadow scythes, fresh from the Shadow Forge. Food and drink stolen straight from Larry’s meal for the evening.

While he did have a few Evestani prisoners, he wasn’t quite willing to leap to human sacrifice just yet. There were plenty of other things to try first.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

 

 

Hale was fairly certain that she knew a great deal more than she should know. Things that were supposed to be secrets. Things that would probably get her in at least a mild amount of trouble, if not a lot of trouble.

So she kept her mouth shut. She might be one of the youngest actual employees, but she wasn’t an idiot. Best to keep her mouth firmly sealed and herself out of trouble.

In fairness to her, it wasn’t like she was snooping about the place, seeking out the secrets of the fortress. It was just that Hale tended to spend a lot of time inside the library. A location she frequently shared with the likes of Zullie. Zullie had never been one to hide her work. As a former instructor, it was more like she wanted to spread what she knew far and wide. Since being afflicted with blindness, that lax attitude had only intensified. She left books open, research notes scattered everywhere, and odd magical artifacts that she had fashioned lying about.

Hale didn’t snoop, but if a book was left open, that was just an invitation to read, wasn’t it?

It helped that Hale was the quiet sort. She didn’t speak unless spoken to. That made it exceedingly easy to sit down in a corner of the library, put her nose into a book, and simply allow the world around her to carry on as it would. Zullie, Savren, their assistants, and even Arkk would all have short impromptu meetings on occasion. Arkk was always more aware of her than anyone else and even he would talk about things in her presence that she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to hear.

For example, how many others in the entirety of the fortress knew that Arkk was dabbling in necromancy? Zullie, Savren, Vezta… and Hale. She doubted Arkk had told Ilya. That wasn’t the kind of thing Ilya would stand for.

Which was stupid. It wasn’t like avoiding necromancy would bring the dead back and it could only spare the lives of the living. They were dead bodies. Meat and bone with nothing inside them. Might as well use them.

There were things Hale was keeping secret as well. Things she would rather not have spread around, at least not before she was ready. In her case, however, she was a little more careful about where and when she worked on her projects.

Today, for instance, Hale found herself with her hand clasped around the icy claw of Al-Mir’s resident dragonoid, dragging her down to one of the lower-level test chambers leftover from one of Zullie’s experiments. Priscilla was a hard person to find. She often was out of the fortress, off on various tasks for Arkk.

So, Hale had simply asked Arkk to let her know the next time Priscilla was around so that she could perform a little check-up on some older healing. An easy enough excuse.

“I take it you aren’t dragging me around for healing,” Priscilla said with a hint of a growl in the back of her throat.

“You know a lot about these fortresses, right?” Hale asked, not stopping. “I heard you used to have a place like this a long time ago?”

“Who told you that?”

“Leda. She mentioned it while I was tending to some bruises she got while on your back.”

Priscilla clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“Arkk says he can tell when someone is injured. It’s how he gets people out of bad situations and into the infirmary. I want to know if there is a way to avoid that.”

“It isn’t about injury. It’s about pain. The more the pain, the more he notices.”

“So if I muddle my sense of pain, I could chop off my hand and he wouldn’t notice?”

Priscilla stopped abruptly. Hale, hand around her wrist, had to stop as well. No amount of effort or straining would let her move the dragonoid against her will.

“Why are you going to chop off your hand?” Priscilla asked. She didn’t sound accusing or worried. It was a simple curiosity. As if the subject wasn’t any more interesting than what breakfast was going to be served today.

“Well, I was thinking I would have you do it, actually. I figured you wouldn’t have a problem with that.” Hale cocked her head to one side, looking up at the iced-over eyes of the dragonoid. “Was I wrong?”

Priscilla scoffed. “I’m normally all for mutilating humans… but I think Arkk would be displeased with me, regardless of the reasons. And I still need him.”

“Still?” Hale said, frowning for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t want him to know either.”

“You think he wouldn’t notice your hand missing?”

“I’d replace it, obviously,” Hale said as she rolled her eyes. “I’ve been testing the Flesh Weaving spell on myself, but for the drastic changes I want to make, it would be easier to start from scratch.”

“Why remove it if you’re just going to replace it?”

“I want to make it better. Something more like your hand. Get rid of this weak human meat and—”

“My hand?”

“I’m not taking your hand, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

Priscilla curled her lip in a daring smile. “Like you could.”

“But I would like to examine your hand a bit and then replicate it on my arm. Eventually, I’ll replace the whole arm. Legs. Body. And even my head, if I can figure out a way without killing myself.”

Priscilla looked down, staring with her icy eyes even though she was supposedly blind. “How would you manage that?”

Hale shrugged. “Still in the research phase. I asked Arkk if I could practice some unusual healing on prisoners but he doesn’t like causing unneeded distress…”

Priscilla hummed, folding her arms. The ice coating her fingertip clicked lightly as she tapped against the crook of her elbow. “I could get you practice subjects if you can get yourself reassigned to Leda’s tower.”

“Really?” Hale perked up. “You’ll help me.”

“So long as we keep your mutilations hidden from Arkk. How sure are you that you can replace your hand properly? And with a claw-like mine? He’ll notice.”

“Well… I…”

Priscilla leaned forward, putting her face right in Hale’s face as she widened a sharp-toothed grin. “Why don’t I rip off something less obvious? Like your leg?”

Hale didn’t move save to bring a finger to her chin as she gave the proposal serious consideration. It was probably just the dragonoid trying to frighten her off, but it wasn’t a bad idea. Legs were easier to hide underneath clothing than hands were. It would give her a proper target to practice on—herself—and she could retry as many times as she wanted.

Taking her gaze off the dragonoid’s face, she looked down. Priscilla didn’t wear clothing. Just jagged sheets of ice concentrated on her hands and feet. The rest of her was mostly humanoid, except covered in thick white scales. Hale followed the contours of her body down her legs where they terminated in three large toes in the front, tipped with sharp blades of ice, and a single talon in the back. Would feet like that fit into standard boots?

Perhaps she could make some small modifications. If all else failed, as long as she didn’t delay too long, she could always reattach her own leg.

“Very well. I accept.”

“What.”

“I accept. Come help me remove my leg. I’ve got a whole room set up already with medicinal potions, a clean place to work, and everything else I need.”

The grin slowly slipped from Priscilla’s lips as Hale grasped her hand once again. She tugged at the dragonoid’s arm. Priscilla didn’t protest this time, she allowed herself to be pulled away, muttering under her breath as she went.

“Not as fun when they aren’t scared…”

Vezta dipped forward at the waist, hands clasped together. She bowed, righted herself, and turned to carry out her newly assigned tasks.

No matter how many recruits Arkk scouted, no matter how many powerful beings like avatars and dragonoids came to his side, no matter how many spells he learned, Vezta was and always would remain one of only two people who could command the lesser servants. Others could direct them, but only if Arkk already gave commands to follow the orders of others, and only within the bounds of what he ordered them to do. That took foresight and planning. He could give them mental commands from afar, but he wouldn’t know to command them unless he was actively watching the goings on around them. As other matters occupied his attention, he frequently felt it necessary to delegate responsibility for the servants to Vezta.

It wasn’t that she was afraid of being replaced. No matter what, she would always have a role as caretaker of Fortress Al-Mir. But sometimes she did desire more what a simple lesser servant would tend to on its own.

It felt good to have a proper role, to be used, and to offer her services. Even if that role was simply to oversee construction projects. That was what Vezta was best at, after all. She never had considered herself much of a combatant. Leave the warring and the battles to others. Hers was a logistical duty.

Vezta walked through the halls of Fortress Al-Mir, languid and peaceful. Today’s task was to venture out to Elmshadow to construct barracks for the soon-to-be-arriving King’s army. There was no rush. Neither she nor lesser servants tired and they could work all night. Based on the projected arrival time of the army and her intimate knowledge of how fast servants could work, she estimated that the construction would finish three days before the army reached the burg’s walls. Those three days allowed leeway in both additional constructions, if necessary, and changes in the army’s marching pace.

It would go faster if they could build underground, but Arkk wanted above-ground dwellings for the army.

The farms below the burg, connected to the tower’s [HEART], had already been expanded to feed the prisoners they once held. Food supplies wouldn’t be a problem, though it would further strain their income. She would have to request her own scouting expedition, accompanied by a number of lesser servants, to locate additional gold, silver, or gemstone veins. Keeping the fortress funded was one of her self-imposed duties, after all.

Besides, it wouldn’t do for Arkk to find yet another [HEART] and be unable to utilize it because of a lack of wealth.

As Vezta continued down the corridors, trying to think back to how her former master had located the rich source of gold below Fortress Al-Mir, she had to pause as a stout human walked up to her. With his thick arms, hair coated in a dusting of soot, and the thick black apron he wore, it didn’t take long to recognize him as one of the fortress smiths. A refugee-turned-employee, if Vezta recalled correctly.

“David?” she said, plucking the name from the aether. “Was there something you needed?”

“Ah.” He flinched when she turned to face him despite having been the one to walk up to her. Possibly because of the way she had turned around, melding her body to the other side rather than simply rotating in place. “Sorry to bother you,” he said as he took a step back, having apparently decided he got too close for comfort. “But I’m glad I caught you. The raw iron in the stockroom is running low.”

“I see,” Vezta said, lips quirking into a frown. Fortress Al-Mir could consume gold to produce raw materials such as bolts of cloth, chunks of iron, and both crops and livestock. Arkk was burning through it all as of late. She mentally bumped up the priority of finding additional gold sources.

That fairy had a tower out in the middle of nowhere at the moment with servants that Vezta couldn’t direct, being minions of the shadow goddess rather than servants of the [STARS] pulled to this world by Xel’atriss. She would have to propose that Arkk speak to the fairy regarding the fairy’s idleness. She could frame it as getting the fairy experience in directing those minions about, scouring the land around that distant tower for any valuable resources.

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I will ensure you are restocked by morning.”

“Appreciate it,” David said before practically fleeing from her presence.

She watched him go with a mild smile before turning around to continue her trek.

Only to make it a mere five paces before being interrupted once again.

“Vezta! Vezta!”

A young elf slammed into her side hard enough to almost disturb her current form. Vezta manipulated the side of her dress to carefully push the child away from her. “Yavin,” she said, crossing her arms and giving a disappointed look. “What have I said about running in the corridors?”

The elf sheepishly scratched at his left ear, which had been clipped at some point before his initial arrival in Fortress Al-Mir. He was far more animated these days, even smiling. Vezta wasn’t sure what she had done to earn his adoration.

“I thought I heard your voice. I wanted to see you!”

Behind the young boy, another elf slowly approached. Nyala’s footsteps were completely silent and the way she moved was designed to disturb as little air as possible. In contrast to the young boy, the girl had drawn in on herself even more in her time at Fortress Al-Mir. Not that she had ever been open or happy, but she had somehow lost even that little part of herself. It was like Yavin had absorbed every scrap of elation the two could produce.

“Lexa back yet?” Nyala said, her voice surprisingly deep for her size. “The stupid gremlin promised to teach me some of her hiding spells two weeks ago and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Perhaps locating her is a challenge and you are unworthy until such time as you manage to catch her.”

The corners of Nyala’s lips twitched into a frown. “Is she even in the fortress?”

“No,” Vezta said simply, smiling at the deepening scowl on the small elf’s face. “Arkk has her out on a special assignment.”

The scowl vanished as a spark of interest crossed Nyala’s eyes. “Assassination?”

“I don’t believe the details of the operation need to be made available to those uninvolved.”

Nyala huffed, folding her arms. “She’ll tell me later, she always does.”

“That’s her prerogative.” Vezta gave a light pat to Yavin’s head, earning a bright smile from the young elf. “Run along now.”

“You said not to run!”

“And you well know what I mean,” Vezta said as she turned from the two elves. Their minder, John the carpenter, was nowhere in sight. They had probably slipped away from him while he was working on a project. They weren’t trouble. Yet, anyway.

Perhaps soon.

Nyala had been hanging around those two dark elves when Lexa wasn’t around. Something she was certain that Ilya, Arkk, and most reasonable beings would find objectionable. Vezta, frankly, did not care. If the child wanted to become a more effective combatant, it was something to be encouraged, so long as she was their combatant.

Leaving the two behind, and glad that Nyala was dragging Yavin away from her, Vezta continued toward the teleportation chambers. Along the way, she ended up stopped by no less than ten others, including Lyssa the werecat, Orjja the orc, Larry the butcher, Kia the dark elf—who was looking for Nyala—and Ivan the slime creature.

Vezta wasn’t honestly sure when or how that last one joined up with Arkk. It just oozed out of the walls one day, leaving a terrible mess behind, and continued leaving a mess everywhere it went. It was followed by a lesser servant who never left its side, having been assigned to keep the area around the slime tidy. Naturally, the slime had come to her to complain about its environment being too tidy.

She ignored it.

Let Arkk deal with it.

In the final corridor before the teleportation chamber, Vezta found herself slowing her pace once again.

This time, it was not because one of the myriad denizens of the fortress wanted something from her.

She felt something. A presence. One that shouldn’t be in the fortress.

Eyes surrounding her body narrowed as she slowly turned in place. Was the hallway brighter than normal? The glowstones in the walls and floor looked normal, but the maze-like pattern of the floor tiles gleamed. It only lasted a moment. A trick of the light in her eyes or…

Vezta turned away from the teleportation room. She hurried through the corridors, moving just under a run, as she made her way to the temple room. Arkk had barred the entrance following the failed ritual that inadvertently drew Xel’atriss’ gaze, but that couldn’t stop something like her. Vezta’s body oozed between the bars, flowing over and around them until she reshaped properly on the other side.

Several pedestals now contained statues. Something Vezta was certain was a good sign.

The molten, chained form of the Burning Forge stood proudly atop an anvil. The Eternal Silence rested in a peaceful slumber. The Heart of Gold, head held high, looked as proud as always. The Almighty Glory maintained the same majestic pose. Xel’atriss, Lock and Key, stood in front of a now opened door, which was the same as it had been since the ritual was completed. The Jailer of the Void still confused Vezta with its presence. The Cloak of Shadows was barely visible atop the darkened pedestal.

There were two changes from the last time Vezta had been in the room. The first was a new statue atop a pedestal in the far corner of the room. A tall man in a fine suit. He had a thin body, thin enough that a human could touch fingers and thumbs together if they used both hands at the waist. His chin was sharp and pointed with equally sharp eyes and a short tuft of black hair. Aside from his unnatural thinness, the most striking feature was his mouth. He lacked lips entirely. His teeth, flat molars all, were clearly visible. They stretched from ear to ear. If he opened his mouth, the entire top half of his head would tip backward.

The Laughing Prince. Lord of undeath, elation, festivals, and children.

The others, minus the Jailer of the Void, were understandable. The traitor gods existed because they had never left this plane. Xel’atriss, Lock and Key, could ignore boundaries and barriers. The Eternal Silence, the Cloak of Shadows, and the Burning Forge all had their worlds visited, opened via the portals.

Now, the Laughing Prince had appeared. It had to be a consequence of Arkk’s actions with the Evestani army. Even with the Calamity, the Laughing Prince had seen the death and undeath and had… approved? Concerning, but nothing to get too worked up about. Occupied pedestals were good, in Vezta’s eyes.

The other change in the room had her scowling.

The Holy Light, still masked in rays of blinding white, now had a hand held forward. In its hand, it held a rolled-up piece of parchment.

Vezta stepped closer, reaching for the parchment.

A flash of light blinded her. Rather than blink away the blindness, she simply formed new eyes deep within her core and allowed them to bubble forth. Just in time to watch her outstretched hand slop to the ground, severed at the wrist. Lacking cohesion with the rest of her body, it deformed and spread out into a thin pool of violet sludge. Stretching a thin tendril along the ground, she made contact and pulled the mass back into her body.

Vezta scowled as her hand reformed. It was painful. Draining. She could feel the load it put on the [HEART] of Fortress Al-Mir. Much like when the inquisitors had injured her during their invasion, though to a far lesser extent.

“Vezta!”

She felt her current master pop into existence behind her. Whether he detected her sudden spike of pain or noticed the drain on the [HEART] didn’t matter. He was here now.

Vezta turned slowly, keeping the statue in full view of her swiftly reforming eyes. “Master,” she said, unable to stop a frown. “It appears we had a visitor.”

 

 

“As useless as I expected.”

A tall woman sat on a grand throne, one leg crossed over the other with her elbow on the armrest, propping her head up. The fingers of her other hand drummed against the chair as she observed the chaos down below.

It was a clever trick. It would have been more clever were it not for how easy it was to see through. At least, she thought it was simple to see through. The fact that her contemporary took one look at the illusory army, believed he understood what was going on, and immediately set off to find the source of the power implied that their opponent had a better grasp on his opponent than she thought.

Now, while he was off meditating and concentrating, his army was being torn apart.

She shifted in her throne, swapping elbows from one side to the other. With an utter look of disdain, she plucked a thin white thread from her black dress and obliterated it.

“Empress, your orders?”

Luminous white eyes flicked to the side.

An older man wearing a clean-cut black and silver uniform stood ready and waiting. He had a cane, simple and unadorned with fine detailing, planted between his feet. Both hands rested upon the silver handle as he stared out the large glass windows. As he felt her attention on him, he turned, raising a white eyebrow above his round glasses.

“Ready the cannons,” she said with a lazy wave of her hand.

He nodded his head, turning on his heel. The long cape he wore as part of his uniform fluttered behind him.

“Wait, Berthold,” she said.

“Empress?” He turned back. There was no confusion in his eyes or questioning why she had stopped him. Whatever she decreed would become edict. It didn’t matter how much she contradicted herself or how often she changed her mind.

Her words were law.

“Ready the cannons but do not fire. We have a truce with the Evestani. Accidentally striking a single man even in accident would violate that truce.” There was little need to explain herself. If she said not to fire, not a single man would do so even were monsters of old charging straight at the cannoneers. But Berthold would appreciate the intricacies of her thoughts.

“If we laid down fire at the battle line, it might harm a few, but it would save the vast majority,” he said with a faint glint in his old eyes.

“Nevertheless, the truce stands.”

“Understood,” he said, laying his hand across his chest in a firm salute. “I’ll see that the men await your orders.”

Watching him go, she waited until the heavy wooden door swung shut behind him. Only once she was alone did she dip her finger into a small bowl of water resting atop a pedestal next to the throne. With an idle motion, she swept the water into a gentle swirl.

“Find anything yet?” she asked.

A golden light pulsed at the bottom of the basin. “It’s underground. I can tell that much.”

“You sound frustrated.”

The golden light pulsed again in an unintelligible snarl. “If you have nothing to contribute, stay silent.”

She, naturally, ignored that command. “While you dealt with your little issue, I found myself musing on the absence of our comrade.” Waiting a moment for a response ended up a futile endeavor. The water simply boiled in irritation. So she continued. “My spymaster has received reports of a string of excommunicatory notices released by the Abbey of the Light’s current ecclesiarch. A handful of prominent inquisitors, priests, abbesses, and so on and so forth have all been removed from the Abbey’s roster.”

“Is there a point to your babbling? I’m trying to concentrate here.”

“All excommunicated individuals are in or were recently in the lands of Mystakeen. Many are known to have associations with the leader of the so-called Company Al-Mir.”

“So what? The…” The golden light in the basin dimmed momentarily. She could almost hear the scraps of wilted wit mustering together to form an insult. “The Limp Light is sticking to her word of not allowing anyone in good standing to fight against us. When she didn’t show up to assist us, I told you that she was plotting something. I was right. As always.”

She hummed lightly, stirring the water again. “I merely wonder what her end goal is.”

“She hates us. Wants to kill us. Take the world for herself. Is that so hard to understand?”

“From you, I would expect it.”

“Same with you,” the golden light pulsed.

“Indeed. But her?”

“What does it matter? She can’t deal with both of us. We handle this little insect and then swat… Ah, there!”

She watched through the great windows. A thin ray of gold lanced out from the center of the Evestani forces down below. It burrowed underground before passing too far, presumably to strike at the underground ritual array.

“Got it! The illusion is gone, right?”

“Indeed,” she said, leaning forward to better peer out the windows. “I can now clearly see the undead army slaughtering your forces.”

The water in the basin erupted like a geyser as the golden light in its depths gleamed in angry incandescence. “The what?”

“Skeletons, it seems,” she said, keeping her tone utterly calm. “Every one of your soldiers they attack rises to join the undead army. A few thousand of your soldiers died while you were looking for that illusion spell.”

“You…” The water boiled over, slopping onto the floor. “You did nothing?”

“I was unsure if you still counted the undead as yours. Our truce—”

“Fuck you, stupid–Do something—”

The voice of her cohort faded as the last of the water boiled out of the basin, leaving her finger stirring through air. She stared a moment, wondering if the few words at the end counted enough to lift a hand. But she had likely pushed him as far as was wise at the moment.

Raising a hand overhead, she flipped up a small cap on a long brass tube. “Berthold,” she said, speaking into the tube.

“Empress?” came the distorted response.

“Send in the vanguard to get those undead off our ally’s back. Then rain down fire on the bulk of the undead forces.”

“Understood.”

She leaned back in her throne, letting the cap fall over the mouth of the brass tube. The wave of black armored soldiers moved in almost immediately, easily handling what Evestani had struggled against for the last several minutes. A golden wall sprung up, further dividing the undead from the living. A bit late but better than nothing.

Her luminous eyes flicked over the undead as the cannon fire commenced.

“Clever tricks,” she muttered to herself. “But they won’t be enough.”

Arkk leaned away from the crystal ball with a grimace on his face.

He had known what he was doing the moment he started. He knew the likely outcome of the foul magics he used. Zullie had expressly explained the effects of the weapons she created using notes from the black book. Arkk had okayed it, signed off on implementing it, and then got Savren aboard to make the whole project more effective by disguising it as something else.

Even still…

Even still, some small part of him had hoped that the Golden Order’s avatar would have caught on sooner. But the disguise had worked on the avatar just as well as it had worked on the rest of the army. The avatar went off in search of the source of the illusion magic—and found it, eventually, blasting a hole through the center of the underground ritual circle. But all that did was vanish the illusion.

The skeletons were still animated. Their swords still corrupted anyone they touched.

“It’s fair play,” Rekk’ar grunted, seated opposite from Arkk. The green-skinned orc wasn’t looking at the crystal ball either. He had his arms crossed, staring upwards at the ceiling of the Walking Fortress command room. “They used their golden statue magic. We used necromancy. Same effect, in the end.”

Rekk’ar thought it was a good idea, clearly. Which did worry Arkk. He rarely approved of anything Arkk did.

“We hit them hard this time,” Rekk’ar continued. “And utilized your undead while disposing of them. The evidence we left behind in the village should imply that some rogue necromancer raised that army. Not us. That should keep the Prince and anyone else with objections off our backs.”

“They’ll know,” Arkk said, clasping his fingers together as he looked back down to the crystal ball.

Carnage filled the ranks of the Evestani army. After the avatar blasted apart a tenth of the illusory forces, they had formed up in proper battle lines, fighting down the illusions manually while the avatar looked for the source. Fighting illusion after illusion, with the tricks Savren installed in them, wore them down and, at the same time, made them complacent. When the first few died, it had come as a surprise. Chaos reigned. A thousand soldiers fell before any proper retaliation could commence.

Fire, boulders, and reality-shearing magic rained down on the army just as they started to get their footing. Bombardment magic driven by glowstone crystals and the lesser servants who placed them on the hidden ritual circles. The lines broke, the undead rushed in, soldiers died…

And then a brilliant force surged through the air. Falling boulders few back as if bouncing off a wall, multicolored flames snuffed out, and while the black voids of severed reality slipped through, those rituals were demanding enough in terms of magical capacity that they couldn’t do much on their own before the glowstones were depleted.

Arkk leaned in, narrowing his eyes as the Eternal Empire made its move. He imagined they had wanted to keep all that they could do secret, but the situation forced their hand. Regardless of how the rest of the battle went, this was valuable information.

To have so thoroughly nullified the bombardment magic, did they possess an avatar as well? Or were they simply using anti-siege spells similar to what Evestani or even he had used in the past? The effects weren’t anything flashy. Not like the Heart of Gold’s avatar when he used his defensive magic.

Arkk grasped the second crystal ball—both were with him today for the special operation, not wanting his scrying crew to see what the undead army at his command—and quickly angled its view upward.

“There it is,” Rekk’ar grunted, leaning in as well.

A ship. A flying ship. It sailed through the sky as easily as a regular ship cut through the ocean. The barriers came from it, different than the normal barriers Evestani or Arkk had used. More like constant gusts of wind that blew with such force that all the siege magic was sent askew, if not nullified completely. The wind barriers didn’t reach the ground—if they had, they probably would have blasted both armies off their feet—but they didn’t need the wind to stop the undead.

If not for the Eternal Empire marching alongside Evestani, the necromancy might have taken out the entire army before the avatar managed to return. As it was, the knights of the Eternal Empire moved in now that the bombardment magic had been dealt with, interposed themselves between the undead and Evestani, slipping in and taking the brunt of the attacks. They were better armored, better trained, and obviously more experienced. A few did fall, but that number was practically nothing compared to the dead and redead Evestani.

“I mean, it is obvious who made the undead army, isn’t it?” Arkk said, scowling as a warm golden light spread through the fighting soldiers. The avatar was back. “Who else could do something like this? The Prince will know.”

The avatar was back and with him, that golden aura. The Heart of Gold’s domains did not include healing or anything that would directly counter a legion of undead skeletons and turned soldiers. But it didn’t really need to. The soldiers stood straighter, bolstered by the arrival of their god. A barrier of gold carved through the battlefield, dividing it in half with Evestani and the Eternal Empire on one side and the undead on the other. Some undead were caught on the wrong side but, without the bulk pushing forward, they were swiftly dispatched by the regular soldiers.

Then it started.

The ship, flying overhead, began unloading cannon fire down on the far side of the golden barrier. Bones shattered and broke, undead scattered beyond the magic’s ability to compensate for, effectively killing them. The bombardment was heavy and widespread, a single blast taking out two dozen skeletons in one strike. They weren’t even tightly grouped. Smaller, more precise shots took out stragglers, scattering their remains to the winds.

A beam of gold lanced out from the center of Evestani’s army, only about a quarter of the size of the mass beam that had taken out a bulk of the illusions at the start. But this one swept back and forth, slicing swaths of undead into pieces.

“It might be obvious if anyone looks too hard,” Rekk’ar grunted, shaking his head as the tables turned for the mass of undead. “But right now, it might be more convenient to believe in the innocent fiction of a third party raising those skeletons. You just decimated the Evestani army and probably pummeled their morale into the ground. We’re in a strong position with reinforcements on their way. The situation is too good for the Prince to start pointing fingers at those ostensibly on his side.”

“Maybe for now. What happens after?”

Rekk’ar’s lips curled, splitting to show off the bulk of his tusks. “They’re bringing the King’s army, right? What happens if that army falls? Accidents happen on the battlefield all the time.

“We’ll have dealt with Evestani once and for all,” Rekk’ar continued before Arkk could even begin to object. “If that thing your witches came up with works as intended, we’ll be rid of that avatar too. Our position will remain strong. Our allies, if they suffer too much, will weaken.” He thumped his fist on the table. “Claim the land for ourselves. Kick everyone else out. That second tower will watch our western border. This tower can move elsewhere to keep the Kingdom off our backs. We’ll finally have peace.”

“Ignoring that you want to get our allies killed, that demon—”

“Demon? If it exists, if the Prince summons it, so what? You’ve got countermeasures for it. Things that can kill a demon.”

Arkk doubted it would be so easy, but didn’t interrupt Rekk’ar.

“Build up enough of Dakka’s Shadow Knights, you won’t even need an army to hold this territory. Each one of them is worth fifty good soldiers, a hundred bad.”

“That still requires me to deliberately weaken our allies.”

“Arkk,” Rekk’ar said, his curled lips twisting into a frown. “I’m going to be straight with you because you’re an idiot farm boy who won’t understand if I’m not. Those allies are only allies until this war is over. You are a threat too great to let stand. Especially once it is no longer convenient to ignore the who behind that undead army,” he said, waving a hand toward the crystal ball. “You want to keep people safe? That’s fine. But keep our people safe. The best way to do that is to ensure that nobody, Kingdom, Empire, or Sultanate, can threaten us.”

A grinding noise filled the air as Rekk’ar slid his chair back, standing from the table. He gave Arkk one last look before nodding his head. With that, he turned and left.

Left alone, Arkk scowled, looking back to the crystal ball. There wasn’t much of a battle going on any longer. Just a clean-up operation. The enemy took damage. A lot of it, even, especially considering the minor resources he had expended on the battle. Was it enough to weaken them to the point where Arkk could handle the battle without ensuring those reinforcements were used most effectively?

Arkk shook his head. He didn’t agree with Rekk’ar on most of the orc’s ideas.

This one was no different.

At the same time, agreeing with it and deciding it was the best course of action were two very different things…

 

 

Arkk stood at the edge of the encampment, his eyes scanning the rows upon rows of soldiers assembled before him. They stood silently, their armor immaculately shined and the tabards in solid black with violet edges. Each bore the crest of Company Al-Mir on their chests, shields, and banners. Their faces were determined, showing no fear… or much of anything else. There was an eerie blank look to every one of them if looked at a little too close.

Savren did good work. The ritual circle powering the ten thousand illusory soldiers was massive and complex, buried deep beneath what would soon become a battlefield. It utilized practically every glowstone of ritual quality that Arkk had collected.

An illusory army would hardly be worth it normally. As soon as the enemy realized that they were illusions, they would simply march straight through. A particularly ignorant army might divert course or even stop entirely, not wanting to test the realistic blades the illusions held, but Arkk was guessing that the avatar wouldn’t be so easily fooled. One of those golden rays would slice through the illusions with ease. Even if the avatar couldn’t blast the entire army, one little revelation would cause the entire effect to become nothing more than a waste.

Except for one small detail.

Arkk paused before one of the imposing figures. It looked no different from the others. The fleshy face underneath the metal helmet bore a thin goatee, furrowed brows, and a thick scar over its right eye, just like every other soldier in the line. It stared straight ahead, eyes failing to track Arkk or anything else.

Reaching forward, Arkk’s hand passed beneath the illusion with only mild resistance. His fingers felt cold, hard bone beneath. A shiver ran through him as he pulled his hand back.

Not every illusion hid those hollow eye sockets and grinning skulls. He didn’t have enough undead to make up an army ten thousand strong. Not unless he was willing to desecrate bodies that he had already sworn off. Let the Evestani fight themselves, dead or alive. He wasn’t going to disturb the rest of anyone else.

Besides, having only half the army be an actual threat might even work to his advantage. The front five thousand, the ones most likely to eat a golden ray and be taken seriously by the enemy, were fully illusory. Get them to let their guard down. And then…

Arkk’s eyes trailed over the blade in the skeletal soldier’s hand. It looked real. Just like every other sword in the army. Arkk shied away from it. Just thinking about what he and Zullie had done to it made him uneasy.

“Everything is established. We should swiftly skedaddle before our adversary arrives.”

Arkk turned to find Savren walking through a line of soldiers without even flinching. It was a bit strange to watch. Even knowing they were fake and knowing which had skeletons hidden within, Arkk found himself moving around them as if they were solid. It just felt… strange not to.

They weren’t real people. Most of them had never been real people. But they looked real enough, at least from a cursory glance.

“Thank you, Savren,” Arkk said, looking back to the scarred face of the false soldier. “It is a bit late to ask, but I don’t suppose you have any hang-ups about this army, do you?”

“Regarding the use of necromancy? None. Rather, I reckon it’s not nearly enough. Shouldn’t we seek to shatter them to smithereens instead of simply poking and prodding them?”

Arkk turned to the warlock with a raised eyebrow. “You think this army, their swords, the buried alchemical explosives, the bombardment rituals we’ve set up, and your illusions are merely poking at them? I wouldn’t be surprised if this decimates them.”

“Or falls flat, felled by the golden fellow.”

“Or falls flat,” Arkk agreed. “Frankly, if that happens, I’m not sure what we’re going to do to stop them once they get to Elmshadow again. Last time, we used the territory magic of the tower, ambushes, surprise attacks, a bomb directly underneath the avatar’s feet, and Agnete and Priscilla. Either he is prepared for all that or he is the biggest idiot in the world and I doubt he is the latter.” Leaning back, Arkk looked up into the sky, squinting into the distance.

There was a shimmer, almost invisible had he not known what to look for.

“With the Eternal Empire along for the journey…”

Savren didn’t say anything for a long moment, looking off into the distance along with Arkk.

“I’m hoping the bombardment magic Zullie invented for Elmshadow can take that thing out. Otherwise… Otherwise, we might have to get the Prince to summon his demon to help us out. Nobody wants that.”

“Indeed,” Savren said. “Are you absolutely assured we shouldn’t seize the situation to trial our tactic against the avatar?”

Arkk slowly shook his head. That was something that had come up in the dozen meetings they had over this operation. “Sylvara is trying to improve it still, make it a little more versatile. If the avatar learns of its existence… Well, I would try to find ways to mitigate its effects or find countermeasures. We shouldn’t use it until we’re ready or pressed up against a wall.”

Both, perhaps.

At the moment, they would practically have to touch the avatar with the little doll-like object. This was a problem not only because it meant that they would have to get close but also because, not unlike the ice marble, it affected everyone else in the vicinity. The one carrying it needed to be rendered immune somehow.

Shaking his head, Arkk started back along the rows of soldiers. Savren swiftly followed along, not offering any further commentary on the subject. To avoid traveling in total silence, Arkk cleared his throat and asked, “Have you had any luck finding ways to remove your curse?”

“You’ve kept me busy beyond belief. There’s been no time to tend to my personal pursuits.”

“Ah.” Arkk winced. “Sorry about that. I…” Pausing, Arkk turned back to Savren. The warlock halted as well, fingers curling through the tip of his goatee. “Honestly, I didn’t really like you… at all when we first met.”

“Likewise,” Savren said with a dip of his head.

“But,” Arkk pressed on. “You’ve been one of the most reliable employees I’ve got. The war is unfortunate and takes priority. After, however, once things calm down—”

“If such an eventuality even exists…”

“If it ever happens, yes, feel free to ask me for any resources you might need. As long as you’re not trapping a village in some mind ritual again, I’ll give you all the support you need to get rid of your curse. Whether that means funds or books or assistants. I’ve practically got full access to the Cliff Academy’s library as it is and Sylvara and Vrox might be able to help with their access to the Abbey’s archives.”

Savren pressed his chapped lips together and dipped his head. “I appreciate your generous gesture.”

“Good.”

Pressing his lips together again, Savren spoke quietly. “Under your employ, I’ve had an edifying enterprise that hasn’t been the most trying tenure.”

“Careful,” Arkk said, tone flat. “You’ll hurt yourself trying to force a compliment like that.”

“You kidnapped me from a cozy cavern filled with creature comforts, coopted my conspirators, countermanded my command, and cast me in confining chains.”

“I didn’t put you in chains,” Arkk said with a frown.

“Metaphorical manacles, manipulating my methods through threats and terror.”

“I… might have threatened you a little. In fairness to me, you had a village effectively held hostage. And were those mines really that comfortable? Better than Fortress Al-Mir?”

“No,” Savren said slowly, looking like he didn’t want to admit it. “The meals metered out might marginally out-perform portions provided by my minions in the mines… And the company is competent and classy… But first impressions impart an imprint.”

“Right. Well, sorry for threatening you.”

“Apology accepted on account of amends offered.”

Arkk let out a small snort. The words meant nothing, it seemed. It was all about the gold and magic. “Well, shall we see if your research paid off? Evestani will be here soon.”

The forward scouts had already seen the illusory army and were surely reporting it to their superiors as they spoke. Hopefully, they wouldn’t divert anywhere. Not that there was much room to make their way past this soon-to-be battlefield. All the previous roadblocks Arkk had put in Evestani’s way had served to direct them here for a reason.

Woodly Rhyme was a burg that Evestani had used as a staging location before their first assault on Elmshadow. It was strategically positioned as the perfect point to ready their forces for a final march. They would want to capture it if they wanted any kind of fallback point should things head south.

They would come. They would fight.

They would die.

Barin yelped as a pike punctured his shield, pierced his armor, and thrust deep into his chest.

It didn’t hurt. There was no pain. No blood. Nothing more than a slight pressure against his ribs. His armor didn’t have a hole in it and his shield was perfectly intact. That wasn’t to say that it wasn’t disconcerting, to see a blade embedded in his body, but it wasn’t real.

It was just an illusion.

He had to tell himself that a dozen times in the last hour.

Just an illusion.

Embarrassed by the yelp, especially after hearing some of his unit laughing behind his back, Barin channeled his embarrassment into anger and lashed forward with his spear. The scarred-faced soldier standing opposite to him shimmered and wavered as the spear slashed through him. But he didn’t vanish. Not immediately.

Instead, the soldier’s form began to contort. His rough features softened and his battle-worn armor shifted into something more familiar. Barin’s breath caught in his throat as the image before him transformed into the delicate figure of his daughter, Lurya. Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto his as she reached out a trembling hand, grasping onto his extended arm.

“Papa,” she whimpered, her voice trembling as if she just woke from a horrid nightmare. “Papa, please come home.”

Barin’s grip on his spear slackened and his heart ached. It was an illusion. Just an illusion. Yet, the sight of his daughter, the sound of her pleading voice, cut deeper than any weapon could. He wanted to reach out, to pull her into his arms and promise that he would be home soon, that everything would be alright.

“You aren’t real, Lurya.” His voice cracked as he spoke. This time, there wasn’t any laughter from the rest of his unit. “You’re not Lurya.”

“Please, Papa.” The illusion stepped forward, clinging to his arm. Great tears welled in her eyes as she leaned into him. “I miss you.”

Barin clenched his eyes shut. Keeping them shut, he shoved his arm, flinging the cruel illusion off his arms. He opened them just in time to watch his daughter go rolling through the dirt, coming to a stop with her legs twisted and arms bent and broken.

Lurya’s head turned too far then twisted just a little more, looking up at him. Her skin turned blotchy and ill. Those innocent eyes rotted and festered, leaving empty sockets behind. An evil smile spread across her face as her skin sloughed off her skull. “You’ll never make it home alive. Die for your false god and—”

“That’s enough of that,” Captain Vultan snarled, stomping a heavy boot down on the illusion, finally dispersing it for good.

Barin stumbled back, breathing heavily as sweat coursed from his brow. Just an illusion, he repeated in his mind. It wasn’t the first he had seen. The first had been his wife, not begging him to return, but claiming she hated him and had always hated him while proclaiming her love for Ming. That had been much easier to deal with… even if he felt guilty after.

This…

Barin shuddered. He had heard from some of the survivors about the magics their enemy used. Black magics that peeled apart soldiers into thin ribbons, fires that couldn’t be extinguished no matter the magic used, dragonoids and monsters and more besides. He had seen the unpleasant tactics for himself on the way here, watching some of his fellows fall into pits to be skewered on spikes at the bottom, bombs buried beneath the ground that exploded upon being walked upon, magics that caused soldiers to turn on one another…

Yet none of that had affected him quite as much as this.

The rest of his squad wasn’t faring much better. Those in the front were falling back after dealing with their own mental demons. One soldier’s illusion turned into an angry mother, berating them. Another turned into a comrade who had perished at the hands of their enemy. Yet another turned into His Holiness, looking around the soldiers with obvious disdain, disappointed in their performance.

One turned into a mass of spiders that swarmed over poor Yones. They had been dispersed quickly by his thrashing and flailing, but he was still shuddering on the ground, twitching every few moments.

“You’re all a bunch of babies,” Sydow barked out as he stepped ahead.

That had been their tactics thus far. While His Holiness searched for the source of the illusion, the soldiers were to clear it out manually. Just in case it couldn’t be found. A front row fought, dealt with the illusions, and then backed away to recover while another line moved forward.

Sydow, the big, burly man that he was, strode with confidence toward the nearest illusory soldier. He hadn’t been affected by the last illusion he faced, simply cutting into it with his curved sword until it vanished, uncaring of its form. “Come,” he barked, spreading his arms wide. “Take your best shot.”

The illusion didn’t acknowledge him. The scarred-faced soldiers never spoke or reacted. Battlecaster Wyn supposed that the illusions didn’t know how to act until they read their opponent’s minds in the first attack. So, it stepped forward, brandishing a black sword.

It thrust, spearing it straight through Sydow’s open helmet.

A hot liquid splattered across Barin’s face, making him flinch.

At the same time, Sydow’s arms lost all their strength, dropping to his sides. The sword ripped out of his face, spraying more blood across the field. Sydow’s hulking body collapsed, gushing blood, as the blank-faced illusory soldier turned to find a new target.

Screams and shouts started crying out all up and down the line.

Barin stood frozen, staring at the lifeless body of Sydow, disbelief coursing through his veins. The air thickened with the scent of blood and the cries of his comrades. Others fell, some fought back.

It was just an illusion… Sydow wasn’t dead. He was the strongest in the entire squad. He had never lost a spar to anyone else, not even solo against pairs. He survived the civil war with aplomb and—

“Hold the line!” Captain Vultan’s voice boomed over the chaos, snapping Barin back to reality. “Regroup and push forward. Don’t let them break us!”

Soldiers up and down the line had fallen in the surprise attack. Some hit back, slamming shields, swords, and hammers into their not-so-illusory assailants.

Barin’s hands trembled as he tightened his grip on his spear. He couldn’t let fear take hold. Not now. Not with so much at stake. He glanced around, seeing the fear mirrored in the eyes of his fellow soldiers. They were all struggling. He had to take action or they would all be overwhelmed.

He jolted forward, stepping over Sydow’s fallen body to slam his shield into the disguised skeleton just in time to keep its sword off Battlecaster Wyn. The older man shuffled back on his hands and knees while Barin jammed his spear into the soldier.

Pieces of the illusion fell away where his spear hit. The bladed tip was embedded deep within white ribs, chipping one as it slid between them. They were scrubbed clean of any flesh. There were no organs or skin. Just clean white bone.

For a fleeting moment, Barin hoped he was seeing another illusion. Whatever was under was fake just as the exterior was.

It was a false hope. Slamming his shield into his opponent again sent it staggering back. Ripping his spear out of its body jerked it back forward. The push-and-pull jerked it enough to dislodge the skull. It fell from the illusion, landing with a thump against the ground. The teeth clacked together in a chatter as the empty eye-sockets stared up at Barin.

Slowly, with almost deliberate gravitas, the illusion fell away completely, revealing the skeleton for what it was. It bent, hand grasping the top of the skull, before setting it back on its shoulders.

It grinned at him.

“U… U… Undead!” Barin cried out.

He slammed his spear forward, straight into the chest of the skeleton. But it just chipped off the bone, sliding right through the ribcage. The skeleton didn’t care at all. It stepped forward, raising its sword.

Barin put his shoulder into his shield once again, letting go of his useless spear entirely to put as much weight into shoving the skeleton as he could.

It fell backward, bones coming apart. But it almost immediately started trying to put itself back together.

“Wyn!” Barin shouted, turning his head. “Need magic!”

The battlecaster was on the ground, pinned down. Not by a skeleton. Not by an illusion.

Sydow’s hulking body was on top of the battlecaster, vomiting black sludge over the older man. The vomit slackened into a dribble and Sydow slowly craned his head to face Barin.

A gap split his face in two, straight between the eyes. The wound from the skeleton’s sword. With that kind of wound, he could never have moved. Yet there he was.

And his eyes… Gone were the whites, the colored iris, and even the dark pupil in the middle. It was as if someone had poured boiling tar into his eyes, melting the flesh until there was nothing left but the tar.

Something slammed into his back. It felt like a white-hot poker. With a grunt and a hiss, he turned, swinging his shield arm.

The skeleton on the ground hadn’t even finished putting itself together. It was one leg, the torso, and its sword arm. Barin’s shield slammed into the sword arm, ripping it out of his body and sending it flying across the battlefield.

He staggered away from the skeleton, arm clamped onto his side. It wasn’t a deep wound. He could tell that much. That didn’t stop the blood from trickling down over his fingertips.

Although the wound was hot, he could feel something else. Like something was wiggling and squirming inside him. He tried to take a step, only to stagger and fall. He tried to open his mouth to call for help, only to spew up black bile. His vision swam and wavered, even as he watched Sydow’s hulking form grasp ahold of another of their squad, ripping him away from fighting his own skeleton.

Barin sank into the ground, face hitting the prickly grass, as Wyn sat upright and started looking around with black tar in place of his eyes.

“Lurya…” he managed.

Barin’s vision went black.