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Arkk stared into the darkness, feeling a constant pull in the back of his navel. He stood still. The ground underneath him was perfectly solid. Yet that twisting in his stomach felt like he was climbing a set of stairs only to try to step up one extra stair that didn’t exist.

Behind him, that orange, hazy light that extended throughout the Underworld illuminated Savren and Dakka along with the wide staircase that led beneath the Cloak of Shadows’ temple. The light cut off abruptly at his feet. Beyond… An abyss. It looked like the bottomless pit beneath Fortress Al-Mir’s [HEART]. Except it wasn’t just a pit. The abyss extended outward to infinity and even above as well despite the impossibility of that. The temple was above, after all.

Holding out a hand, Arkk uttered the incantation for a small ball of light. Enough to hopefully shed some light on the room beyond.

For it was a room. The Protector, forced to crawl on all six limbs like an insect because of the height of the stairwell, stood within the abyss ahead. It looked like the Protector was simply floating. Its chitinous face stared at Arkk without discernable expression, patiently waiting.

The light did nothing. Arkk held it out ahead of him, past the threshold of darkness where the orange haze cut off. He could see his hand. He could see the orb of light hovering above his palm. Yet it didn’t seem to cast any light at all. Not back on him in the stairwell. Not ahead on the Protector. Not even on his palm. Rather, the dark abyss in the room encroached. Thin black tendrils wormed their way around the hovering orb, entangling it. The light shrank and, as the darkness encircled it fully, snuffed out entirely.

“Uh…”

“The Unilluminable Chamber is land consecrated to our Lady Shadows. It cannot be lit through any means.”

“I see,” Arkk said, frowning down at the darkness. Taking a breath, he stepped forward. He didn’t place his weight on his forward foot until he fully felt the firm ground beneath him.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, a chill ran up his spine. Inside the temple, the heat of the wasteland faded somewhat but in here? He might as well have been thrown outside a warm tavern on a cold winter night.

What was more, he found he could see. It wasn’t a large chamber. The rounded walls were adorned with sigils and runes. Even with Zullie’s tutoring, he didn’t recognize a single symbol. All he could tell was that the area immediately around them was somehow darker than the abyss that surrounded him.

What could only be the Shadow Forge stood tall in the center of the room, right next to the Protector. A marvel of mystical engineering. Its design was a fusion of obsidian-like alloys, glowstone crystals that seemed to do the opposite of regular glowstone, and more glyphs that pulsed colors that Arkk had never seen before, nor could he find the words to describe.

At its core, a swirling mass of shadow contained within a crucible mimicked the molten metal that might be found in a regular smithy’s forge.

Parts of it moved. An arm lifted. A hammer crashed down. Gears turned and pistons shifted. All without a hint of sound. It operated autonomously, filling that core with more liquid-like shadows with no clanks of machinery or hisses of steam. The crucible overflowed constantly, spilling the swirling mass. None of the shadows quite reached the ground beneath the forge, however, fading into nothingness well before it could reach.

“Knowledge of its operation is lost to us,” the Protector said, still crawling on all six of its limbs as it circled the forge. “There is one within each temple to poor Lady Shadows. Once upon a time, they were used to manufacture all manner of items. From simple bowls and spoons for the needy to weapons and armaments in times of war.”

With one foot planted on the side of the forge and two hands grasping at some stationary machinery overhead, the Protector dipped a hand into the crucible. The shadows within clung to his fingers like honey, dripping down in long, stretching strands.

“The Night Blade you found above was crafted here by the priests and acolytes. Few were permitted to observe their rites.” It tilted its hand, letting the last of the shadows run off back into the crucible. “Now, they are gone. The knowledge lost with them. I do not know what use it may be but, as it once made weapons of war, it may serve you should you discover its secrets.”

Arkk pressed his lips into a thin line as he stepped closer, watching as a spigot above dispensed more of the liquefied shadows into the crucible. Gears turned and a piston chugged before more spewed out. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. If it was just a bowl of liquid shadow, it would have been unlike anything he had seen. The machine working entirely on its own…

Autonomously.

“In my employ, I have an avatar of the Burning Forge. The member of the Pantheon who deals with fires, fabrication, creativity, and autonomy.” Agnete had been tinkering in the smithy lately. She had crafted Katt’am’s wheelchair among a few other simple items. Nothing as fancy as this, but she seemed to have a knack for manufacturing.

Agnete had never touched an anvil before Fortress Al-Mir. According to Perr’ok, the orc blacksmith who headed Al-Mir’s foundry, her level of skill was equivalent to someone who had been working a smithy for at least ten years. Arkk suspected that was something to do with her status as an avatar, whether by receiving divine inspiration or having already had an innate talent that led to her being chosen as an avatar. Arkk hadn’t thought too much of it before—he had plenty of smiths after recruiting some of the refugees with more than ten years of experience—but now…

“If anyone can figure out how to get it working, it will be her.”

Arkk wasn’t sure what they would do with it. It depended on what the forge was capable of. That ceremonial blade was clearly magical. If they could arm an entire army—or at least their specialists—with magical weapons… Well, maybe that would help level the playing field. Maybe a shadow sword could penetrate or ignore the gold armor of that knight. That alone would help with so much. Morale, mostly.

“The gadget grimly gazes at gravity, grounded and ungraceful. Gathering a gang to govern its gears shall be a gargantuan game.”

Turning, unsurprised to find that Savren had joined him in the dark room, Arkk nodded. “It doesn’t look very mobile,” he agreed. “You said there were more? Is there one closer to the portal?”

The Protector, now a step away from the forge, nodded. “There are several. The closest would be the village where we initially encountered one another.”

“Good,” Arkk said, trying to keep any annoyance at being unable to examine one of these forges earlier out of his tone. “Once we get back, if you would be so kind as to show Agnete the way. Perhaps a few of our other smiths as well.” When the Protector nodded again, Arkk looked back to Savren. “Any input from you on how to work the shadows?”

“I’m a sorcerous scholar, not a smithy savant. Nevertheless, those spellbound symbols on the surfaces…” he said, looking at the eerie runes on the walls of the Unilluminable Chamber. “I’m inclined to intricately inspect those.”

“Very well,” Arkk said, only to pause and look to the Protector. “Uh… if that’s alright with you. It isn’t our intention to commit any sacrilege or blasphemy against the Cloak of Shadows.”

“That you have not fallen to darkness already is evidence enough that your presence here is accepted.”

Arkk shifted in a sudden discomfort. He tried to avoid glancing downward. “That’s a possibility, is it?”

“You stand within land consecrated to the Lady Shadows. Her power is at its highest here.”

“That isn’t… frightening at all. I’m glad we’re accepted.” He leaned over, hissing in Savren’s ear. “Be respectful during your examinations.”

“Eminently,” Savren said with half a bow.

“Good,” Arkk said. “I… I’m curious, Protector. What does it take to consecrate land to the Lady Shadows?”

“You ask for more lost knowledge. The Lady Shadows is also the Lady Secrets. Her acolytes were not the kind to share their tradecraft with outsiders.”

“I see.” The Cloak of Shadows was the god of secrets, shadows, and night. Shame they hadn’t stumbled into someone whose domain involved a little more openness. That said, perhaps Vezta would know. Consecrating land to one god might be similar to all of them. Failing that, the temple back in Fortress Al-Mir was somewhat similar, wasn’t it? Hadn’t she said that the silvery waters were some kind of connection to the realm of the Pantheon?

A few ideas started churning in the back of Arkk’s mind.

Nothing he could act on immediately, however.

“Well, thank you for your willingness to share in any case.”

“I revere the Lady Shadows for all she has done and tried to do for the people here. But I was never an acolyte.”

Arkk gave the Protector a curt nod of his head. “We’ll spend the night here,” he said. Not that there were nights in the land of the night god. That orange haze outside never faded. “Savren, Dakka, continue looking around for anything that might be useful, provided the Protector permits. We’ll head back in the morning and… introduce everyone to our new ally.”

The temple had an armory nearby. Or the remains of one.

Unfortunately, not much within was usable. The building itself was little more than a few crumbling walls, held up by sheer spite against gravity. Metal had rusted, cloth decayed, and shadows had been exposed to the light overhead for far too long. For normal use, light exposure wasn’t a problem. But having sat around in the light for a thousand years, the weapons and armor made from shadow had faded to faint silhouettes of the items in question.

Arkk still had them collected, carefully wrapping them to preserve them as much as possible. Even if they were useless in combat, they were examples of items manufactured in a Shadow Forge. Their existence could help Agnete and the other smiths figure out how to work one of the enigmatic forges.

He held one of the more intact blades aloft. It weighed little. Like lifting a chicken’s feather despite its unwieldy size. And it was unwieldy. The blade was too long. The grip, too thick. At least for a human.

Although Dakka was the smallest of the orcs in his employ, she was still larger than he was. Passing the sword over to her, he noted that it fit far better in her grip. Vezta had said that orcs resembled one of the former inhabitants of this world. He supposed that made sense. She swung it, hacking through the air as a test. It left a faint trail of shadow in its wake, arcing a dark slice.

While it looked right in Dakka’s grip, her few experimental swings with the weapon left a frown on her face.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “It feels flimsy. Weak. It doesn’t have the heft that my axe has. The weight of my axe head helps chop into things I wouldn’t be able to otherwise.”

“Perhaps it has properties that aren’t apparent. Or a freshly made sword would be better.”

Dakka glanced around the room. Not finding what she had been looking for, she set the sword down and removed her helmet. Her face underneath gleamed with small beads of sweat. While the cart had a cooling ritual pumping out chill air in a small radius around it, their exploration into the area around the temple was back in the persistent heat of the Underworld.

She placed the helmet on the ground in front of her before taking up the sword once again.

“Bit of an awkward position for this,” she said, looking down. Even a goblin would have been a larger target. Nevertheless, she raised the sword and brought it down on her helmet with all the force she could.

Arkk wasn’t sure what he expected. Perhaps for the blade to bounce off the armored helm. Or a broken shadow blade.

But something strange happened as the blade drew near the helmet. Covered in small spikes for a fearsome appearance, though designed to break off easily in combat, several little shadows stretched across the top of the helmet. Those lines of shadow cracked and broke when the blade hit, snapping the spikes even though the blade hadn’t touched them.

The helmet itself dented where the blade made contact. It didn’t slice straight through without resistance, instead hitting it as if the sword were any regular metal sword.

“Huh,” Dakka said, pulling the sword back to look it over.

“Huh,” Arkk agreed. “Try stabbing the shadow of the helmet?”

The orange light against the constant haze of the Underworld’s sky wasn’t directly overhead but it was close enough that the helmet didn’t cast a very long shadow. There was still enough of a diffuse darkness for Dakka to grasp the sword in both hands and slam straight down, just to the side of the helmet.

Two things happened at once. The sword, brittle and weak from light exposure, cracked and splintered. Small shards of shadow scattered off into every direction, all but the largest of which faded and vanished. Dakka was left holding nothing but the sword’s handle and the finger-length of shadowy metal sticking out of it.

The helmet, on the other hand, split. Cut straight down the middle, the helmet fell apart, clattering against the dust-covered stone.

For a long moment, Arkk and Dakka simply stared.

“Huh,” Arkk said.

“Huh,” Dakka agreed. “I’m not sure what to think of that.”

“Do you think a normal hit from your axe would have split it down the middle like that?”

Dakka shook her head. “It would have bit into it. Probably killed the guy wearing it—maybe, hitting someone who can fall back is a lot different from hitting a stationary target stuck against the ground—but these helmets aren’t poorly made. It would have left a gash without breaking apart.”

“I see. That’s… interesting? I’m curious to see how it handles something… squishier. Not willing to volunteer for testing, however.”

“Same.” Dakka lifted the handle and turned it over before shaking her head. “It would certainly be a surprise in combat, me slamming a sword down on some guy’s shadow only for his armor to fall off. Assuming it doesn’t slice a guy in half. But at the same time, attacking a shadow seems like it would be awkward in a fight.”

“And what if it is nighttime? Or sufficiently overcast? Or the Golden Order’s avatar produces some light that puts the opponent’s shadow directly behind them.”

“The same works for us, doesn’t it?” Dakka asked, bending to inspect the helmet. She ran her fingers along the cut edge, accidentally slicing part of her glove open. “Toss a glass orb filled with some alchemical solution behind the enemy that lights up when the glass breaks. Their shadow stretches toward us and then we stab it easily.” Her fingers moved to the heavy dent from the first strike against the helmet. “Even if we can’t, they still act like regular weapons it seems. And any little shadow on their body or helmet might cause their armor to break apart.”

“It’s a shame that the Protector never fought with these,” Arkk said with a frown. They were going to have to do a big meeting on just what kind of uses these weapons might have. “There is probably some lost treatise for fighting with and against these kinds of weapons.”

“I cannot recall a time before the end.” The Protector stooped, ducking through the remains of a doorway that was not sized for it. “I know I was there, smaller and less… aware. Although there were many wars after the end, I was not an observer or participant. My time came after, just before… I recall the fears of the people as crops died and livestock thinned. I recall the final words of acolytes across the land. ‘And so, we shall ascend, delivered from our burdens by the grace of the Lady Shadows.’”

“Ascend,” Arkk said, turning to face the Protector fully. “Into those shadows outside?”

There had been more… gatherings of the shadows than just the procession in front of the temple. Arkk had passed a group that might have been browsing a market, another couple who appeared to stand guard around the armory, and plenty more occupying the shadows of old homes, long since broken and withered away.

The Protector did not answer Arkk’s question. It simply looked around, slowly turning its head from Arkk to Dakka and the broken helmet between them. “Did you find aught of use?”

“Just the examples of items from the Shadow Forge as you suggested we would find.”

The Protector nodded. Then, promptly stood aside.

Gretchen stepped into the room, shooting a wary look at the Protector before looking to Arkk. “Cart’s all packed up. We’re ready to move when you are.”

“Thank you,” Arkk said. “We’ll be there shortly.”

Gretchen shot one more look at the Protector before turning on her heel and fleeing back to the safety of the others.

“They fear me.”

“They’re not used to you,” Arkk said, looking over the chitin-covered monster before him. If this building still had a ceiling, it would have to duck and walk on all six limbs as it had down in the Unilluminable Chamber. It was tall, lithe, and had that uncanny face carved from its carapace. “We… don’t have anything like you back home. If they can get used to Vezta, they can get used to you. I wouldn’t worry.” Arkk said with a shake of his head. He left the statement hanging in the air for a long moment, somewhat expecting a response. When none came, he cleared his throat and asked, “Are you ready to leave?”

“I will not leave. I will meet you at your portal.”

“You aren’t coming with us? I thought—”

“I shall maintain my vigil over the shades. It is the solemn duty I have taken on, to protect the subjects of the Lady Shadows. Fear not, I am already waiting for your arrival near your portal.”

Arkk hesitated. A being with multiple bodies was… a strange thing to talk to. One-on-one, it wasn’t so bad. If there were multiple in the same room, what would he do then? Which would he look at when talking to it? Would all of them speak as one or would they take turns?

With a small shake of his head, Arkk looked up at the Protector again and started to nod, only to hesitate as a thought occurred to him. “You are the protector of the shades but… protector from what? We haven’t seen anything in this world apart from you and them. Are there other beings here?”

The Protector didn’t answer right away. It tilted its head up toward the hazy skies, turning slightly to face one of the tall columns of darkness that were scattered across the Underworld. “It has been some time since I last saw others. Perhaps they have gone extinct and only I remain.” It paused a moment before its tone turned to something a little more hostile. “Shadows act differently here compared to memories lifted from your spellcaster. More things interact with them. As I am sure you have noticed,” it said with a gesture toward the broken helmet. “Shadows have developed their own predators.”

Arkk shivered, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Something about the Protector’s tone made him think there was more to it than that.

But the Protector turned away, crawling on all sixes to pass through the armory’s doorway. Arkk followed slowly, making sure to keep a respectful distance. Dakka followed after him, holding the broken helmet under her arm while carrying the remains of the broken blade in her other hand.

“Nevertheless, the Lady Shadows gave me strength and purpose,” the Protector continued. “Allowing me to live in this world. I will continue my vigil in turn.”

“What would you do if these predators have gone extinct?”

“I would change nothing. I can experience things in ways that my memories of your spellcaster cannot. I can explore the world while keeping watch on the shades. I will shortly venture to your world. I imagine it will be a novel experience.”

“I’d say we’ll be as hospitable as we can be. The ongoing war might limit that hospitality.”

The Protector didn’t answer again. Arkk wondered just how introspective it was. Had it had any contact with something that wasn’t itself or a predator since the Calamity? Feeding it Savren’s memories had probably been an unimaginable gift, giving it something other than its thoughts.

“Farewell, Arkk of Al-Mir. I await your arrival.”

With that, the Protector broke off and headed toward the center of the dead city. After glancing at Dakka—and getting a shrug in return—Arkk turned and headed to the outskirts where their cart awaited. It would be a few days back and then…

Then, just how ready were they for the war to resume anew?

 

 

 

With lightning from an Electro Deus spell crackling between his fingertips, Arkk rushed out of the temple.

Dakka, Orjja, and Eiff’an stood in front of the temple’s entrance with their heavy shields raised. The rest of the team fanned out behind them, readying crossbows and battle axes. The horses, off to the side of the entrance, were pulling and tugging against the ropes used to hitch them to an old post. Their agitation didn’t extend to the skeletal horse. It stood, still hooked up to the cart, without moving.

Arkk fully expected a Protector on the other side of the orcs’ shields. They had warned him against exploring the Underworld. While they had left the portal when the Walking Fortress arrived and hadn’t been seen since, he doubted they would be all that excited to hear of him looting an old temple dedicated to their god.

Yet the tall, carapace-covered forms of the Protectors were nowhere to be seen.

A darkness unfurled across the desolate landscape. An inky shadow, elongated under the skewed light that seeped through the orange clouds in the sky, was little more than a murky silhouette. It possessed an eerie semblance of a humanoid figure rather than the multi-armed shadow of the Protectors. Its stockiness gave it the familiarity of an orc rather than a human or an elf.

Nothing cast the shadow.

The absence of any discernable body to account for the shadow that stepped closer to the temple sent a jolt of unease up Arkk’s spine. He shouldn’t feel surprised at shadows acting oddly in the Underworld. Yet there was just something disconcerting about watching a shadow step and move without anyone there to block the light.

That unease only grew as Arkk realized that there were more of the shadows. A dozen. Two? They blended together at points, like groups of people walking alongside each other. Just without the people. Some walked in pairs, some walked alone. They all headed directly for the temple.

Watching the shadows, Arkk made a snap decision. “Out of the way,” he said, motioning with his hands off to one side. “Back!”

The shadows didn’t noticeably react as Dakka and the others, with their shields aimed toward the shadows, backed away toward the horses and cart. They carried on, continuing their walk toward the temple. Based on the way the heads bobbed and turned, the shoulders shifted, and the arms gesticulated, Arkk could imagine conversations going on between the shadows.

It reminded him of the Suun sermons at Langleey Village. Everyone would head up the hill to the church, chatting amicably as they prepared for Abbess Keena’s lecture.

Priscilla, emerging from the temple just after Savren, stood around with a blank look on her face. Arkk was about to yell at her only for Leda to grab her by the hand and, hovering above the ground, tug her away. Leda didn’t manage to move the dragonoid even a single step despite her best efforts but, after a moment of staring at nothing with her blind eyes, Priscilla allowed herself to be pulled over to Arkk.

The shadows continued past Company Al-Mir, taking no note of them. As they passed into the shadow of the temple, they formed more three-dimensional bodies, standing upright instead of flat against the ground, though they stood no less shadowy. Most of the dark figures headed inside while a handful stayed out. Those that remained mostly chatted with one another. One group stood outside only until a fifth shadow approached their group, at which point they all entered. The others slowly trickled in until all the shadows had vanished inside.

Company Al-Mir stood silent, watching from the side of the church. Weapons and shields slowly lowered as it became clear that the shadows weren’t attacking. Dumbstruck silence hung over the group as confused looks passed from party member to party member.

“What in the Light was that?” Gretchen mumbled, breaking the silence.

Not that anyone had a proper answer.

“There was something strange,” Priscilla said, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. “A chill passed over the area as if a thick cloud passed in front of the sun.”

That was a fairly apt description, even if Arkk hadn’t felt a physical cold. He looked over to Savren. The warlock had joined him along with Priscilla and the two magical assistants. Savren held the ceremonial dagger and the shadowy cloths that Arkk had shoved in his hands when he thought they were under attack. “Thoughts?” Arkk asked.

“Lexa lent lexicon after leaving your first ’loratory lot.”

Arkk slowly raised an eyebrow. “Really? ’loratory for exploratory?” Savren just shrugged, leading to Arkk shaking his head. “Shadow puppets,” Arkk said after a moment.

Lexa had mentioned that. She slipped away during that first encounter with a Protector and scouted out some of the village ruins near the portal. She had found shadows of villagers doing perfectly normal things like eating at a table, knitting, or sleeping. Not wanting to provoke the Protectors, they hadn’t returned to the village to investigate further.

Arkk had almost forgotten about it.

“Think we can communicate with them?”

“It looked like they stood around talking,” Dakka said, still on guard. “Didn’t hear a whisper. Did you?”

Arkk couldn’t say he had. The entire… procession had been utterly silent. The only noise came from disturbed horses and armor clanking as his crew moved around.

“I don’t think they’re real,” Morvin said. He winced and looked back to Savren as if he were asking for approval. Savren didn’t move one way or another but Morvin took that as permission to continue. “I mean. Obviously, there is something there. But nothing with thought. Shadow puppets is an apt description. Perhaps shadow echoes or shadow ghosts. We would need to examine them a bit more to be sure.”

“Sounds right to me,” Dakka said. “Not that I know anything about magic. Just the feeling I got, you know? There’s nothing there but—”

“Poor Lady Shadows.”

Arkk jolted. He whirled around along with most of his team. Dakka jumped in front of him, shield raised. Priscilla was a little slow on the uptake, looking around as if nothing was wrong. She must have sensed the tension in the air as everyone else scrambled to reposition. Her wings, unfurled fully, worked as a shield over the group.

If only she were facing the right way.

A Protector stood in front of them. Twice as tall as their tallest orc without including the elf-leg-length horns, it loomed over the group with its long and lanky limbs. This Protector did not carry a jagged sword or a goblet. Its long, sharp fingers would work well enough for a weapon, as would all the many spikes covering its reddish-orange carapace.

“Faced with the end, the Lady Shadows reached out and touched her people. An attempt to save them, I am sure. But the Lady Shadows doesn’t understand. Can’t understand.” The Protector’s yellow eyes shifted their horizontal pupils to the group of Company Al-Mir, now fully prepared for battle. “Their shadows endlessly act out happier days. They fail to notice that their cities have crumbled around them. There is no thought. No desire. No drive. Just the act. A final and endless performance for poor Lady Shadows.”

It let its commentary hang in the silent air for a long moment, looking back to the temple’s entrance. Arkk stared at it, tension slowly lessening as he took in its words. Compared to his last encounter with a Protector, this encounter was going positively swimmingly. It was talking. It was explaining things. Why explain things so calmly and casually if not to engage in communication rather than violence?

“You can speak now?” Arkk asked, stepping around Dakka to face the Protector directly.

“I learned,” it said, eyes swiveling down to Savren and the artifacts he carried. He shied back, shirking behind Gretchen and Morvin. “Poor Lady Shadows, suffered so much, must now suffer at the hands of pillagers and looters, raiding what little remains of the Lady Shadows’ once great kingdom.”

All that tension came flooding back. The Protector hadn’t moved but the hostility in its tone was enough to twist Arkk’s stomach.

“We sought audience with the Cloak of Shadows to ask for her aid,” Arkk said, as fast as he could. He still had some hope that they and the Protectors wouldn’t have to be enemies. “Our enemy is the Heart of Gold, one of the Pantheon who is responsible for the sorry state of your Lady Shadows. But fighting on our own while the Heart of Gold sends boon after boon to their worshipers is… not the kind of battle we can win.”

“You fail to find audience and thus you resort to theft.” The protector leaned forward, looking at Savren even as one of the orcs moved between him and the creature. “I understand.”

“Not theft. A boon from a god can come in many forms. It need not be a personal chat with a god. Divine inspiration leading us to valuable artifacts like the tower or this dagger are equally valid,” Arkk said, bullshitting to the best of his ability. “How can you say that the Cloak of Shadows would prefer for such artifacts to rot away in this wasteland rather than be put to good use?”

“You claim to understand the wants and desires of the Lady Shadows? Impossible. You cannot know the unknowable.”

“I only claim to know what I know,” Arkk said. “And I know we didn’t find this place by chance. You think, in this entire wasteland of a world, we would have just happened across this temple and the Walking Fortress Istanur?”

The Protector did not respond. It stood, stooped forward with its long, blue hair flowing down its back like a waterfall. Its head tilted, swiveling somewhat as it looked over the group.

Arkk couldn’t tell what it was thinking. The faces of the Protectors, although humanoid in appearance, were rigid chitin. Its only means of conveying an expression came in its eyes and even those were alien and unreadable.

“We aren’t here to disrupt the… lives of the shadow people,” Arkk said, pleading his point. “Nor are we here to destroy or plunder. But when inspiration points us toward artifacts that might help against the enemy of the Cloak of Shadows, who are we to not make use of them?”

Priscilla had found both the tower and this temple. She claimed that the stars showed her what she needed to see. Maybe he was twisting things somewhat, but that sounded like divine inspiration to him. Perhaps not inspiration from the Cloak of Shadows, but it was the best they had.

“Come with us,” Arkk continued. “If you don’t believe us, join us and witness the enemy we fight. Make your decision after.”

“I don’t believe you so I should join you. The logic is… absurd.”

Arkk just scoffed. “These are absurd times we’re living in.”

The Protector didn’t seem to have a response to that. It simply swiveled its head, its alien expression conveying nothing.

“So what will it be?” Arkk asked, not even trying to read the creature’s body language. “Will you come with us and at least look for the possibility of a brighter future? Or do we have to fry another one of your… bodies? Or however you work.”

A few of Arkk’s crew tensed at the casual threat. They were tense enough as it was. Antagonizing the creature that towered over them, especially when they all knew how difficult the last one had been to put down, probably didn’t sit well with them. Arkk wasn’t so concerned. This time, they all knew that lightning would take them down with relative ease. Everyone present could cast at least one lightning bolt. Likely more in the Underworld, given the constant ambient magic in the air.

The Protector didn’t rise to the quip. It stared for another moment before breaking eye contact, looking back toward the temple. Although its expression was just as unreadable as usual, Arkk felt a vague forlorn sensation in the way it stared where the shadows had gathered. Alien mind or not, Arkk felt he had a decent grasp on what it was thinking at this moment.

“A brighter future…” it said, still staring at the temple.

Arkk thought he caught a note of disappointment in its tone that was separate from that forlorn feeling.

Dakka nudged him in the side. “A shadowy future? A darker future?” she hissed. Her voice was somewhat stressed despite the forced humor in her quip.

“Ah. Sorry,” Arkk said to the Protector. “That was a tactless remark. Turns of phrase here are probably a little different than back home.”

It turned away, looking back to Arkk. “I understood your meaning.” Slowly, it turned its gaze over to Savren once more. “I learned much since our last encounter.”

Savren adopted a sneer, glaring at the Protector. “You harbored the hallowed harvest of knowledge, pilfered precious perceptions from my pondering psyche?”

“I presume that is why you’re able to communicate so naturally,” Arkk said, ignoring Savren.

Savren had mentioned that, during the time where their minds were linked, several secrets of Fortress Al-Mir may have made their way from his end to the other. Arkk wasn’t too concerned about that. Unless the Protector had a whole army of bodies to use, they weren’t going to be able to make use of any real secrets. Not like Evestani or the Abbey of the Light would if they learned more.

Rather, Arkk probably owed Savren thanks. Although unintentional, that pilfering of his psyche was likely the only reason the Protector was communicating now, instead of attacking immediately like they had at the village. That alone made that mind ritual worth it, even if Savren hadn’t enjoyed it.

The Protector dipped its head in what had to be an agreement with Arkk’s statement. “Knowing what I now know, I am more inclined to believe your words of peace even despite your actions here today.”

“So…?”

“Your proposition is acceptable. I will observe your actions and render judgment, even aid if I deem it worthy. In exchange, you will assist the Lady Shadows.”

“I’m not exactly sure how to assist a god, but what we’re doing is hopefully for the good of everyone, including the Cloak of Shadows. Is that enough?”

“It will have to be.”

The moment the Protector spoke, Arkk staggered. He smacked a hand into his forehead, rubbing at a sudden ache as a link formed. A strange link. It felt like just a single person but, the moment he tried to follow the link, it split and split and split. Dozens… hundreds… perhaps even thousands of the Protectors stood at the other ends. They were spread across the Underworld, and few were gathered together in groups. They were dotted about, few and far between. Only near the portal were there any gathered together. Even then, there were only a dozen, all hiding out in that village.

“Arkk?” Dakka whispered in concern. She reached out but wasn’t able to accomplish much with her shield and weapon in her hands.

Arkk shook his head, pulling his awareness back to himself. “I’m fine,” he said, patting Dakka on her armored arm. He turned back to the Protector and added, “Don’t try going near the portal until we get back. The guards have standing orders to defend the wall if any of you get too close. I’ll inform them of the change in situation once we return.”

“Acceptable.”

Arkk could already think of a dozen uses for the Protectors. Even if they weren’t willing to fight, their shared mind even over vast distances and a multitude of bodies meant that they could communicate instantly. Arkk could ask one to do or say something and someone else, far away, could hear his orders instantly.

Stationing one inside the scrying room would let them disseminate scrying updates to any active teams instantly. Something like that could have warned against the ambush at the supply lines, warning the team the moment the fog settled into the crystal balls. One at the former Duke’s manor, one with Hawkwood, one with the Walking Fortress…

Arkk was getting ahead of himself. The Protector had said that it would render aid, but Arkk would have to hash out the details with it later on. See what it was willing and unwilling to help with.

And how best to keep it happy.

He had ideas about that as well. Some he had built up just during their conversation.

Arkk set the lesser servants in the fortress to clear out a large chamber. One with a high ceiling and plenty of open space. A new temple. One dedicated to the Cloak of Shadows. Something modeled after the temple here. He might have to get Vezta to help design the schematics for the room but he could start making the space right now.

They could even keep the ceremonial knife there, along with any other objects they took from the Underworld. Although they might be engaged in a little plundering of this world, despite his earlier words, they could at least show that they were treating the recovered artifacts with respect. The temple could act as a reliquary for anything related to the Cloak of Shadows.

Speaking of…

“I imagine we have a great deal to discuss even if you know most of our story from Savren. The way back is long and we’ll have time aplenty. For now, however…” Arkk paused, not quite sure how to breach the subject. Open honesty was the best option, he supposed. “We came out here to find aid from the Cloak of Shadows. As long as we are out here, I don’t suppose you would be aware of anything that might assist in our efforts.”

“More trinkets to loot?”

Arkk heard the disapproval in that question. He quickly shook his head, only to pause. “I wouldn’t phrase it like that.”

The Protector’s eyes flicked to the ceremonial dagger. It held out a hand, wordlessly asking for it to be passed over.

Out in the sun, it wasn’t visible. The only reason Arkk knew it was there was because of the way Savren gripped at nothing. Though he didn’t grip for long. Without even looking to Arkk for permission, Savren held out the dagger and the shadowy cloths for the Protector.

With reverence befitting a priceless artifact, the Protector took the dagger and held it up in one of its four hands. The long claws didn’t fit around the leatherbound grip in a way that indicated it had been designed for something like the Protector. After holding it up, examining the invisible blade in the light, it took the smaller of the cloths from Savren and wrapped the blade from tip to pommel.

It left the larger cloth in Savren’s hands but kept a tight hold of the bound blade.

“There is one other object of note in the area,” it said, using its long legs to practically step over the group as it made its way to the temple entrance. “Though I do not know if the Shadow Forge will fit in your small cart.”

 

 

Ever since Walking Fortress Istanur arrived at the portal, the Protectors watching the activities of Fortress Al-Mir vanished. Nobody had seen one sitting out and observing. None had tried to attack. They just left.

Given the tower’s shadowy nature and their professed loyalty toward the Cloak of Shadows, or The Lady Shadow as they called her, Arkk had to wonder if something about the tower convinced them that he was genuine in desiring a peaceful cohabitation with the denizens of the Underworld. Or perhaps blessed by their god.

The way his luck normally went, Arkk was a little worried that they were plotting something.

However, he couldn’t afford to sit around and ignore the opportunity.

Dakka was right. Something needed to change. The Walking Fortress standing tall in the Cursed Forest wasn’t enough. Perhaps if another dozen dragonoids joined or another few purifiers defected, he could assign one or two to each team just to handle heavy threats. But wishful thinking wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He needed to strike out and seize power where he could.

“There it is,” Arkk said, looking out over the wasteland that was the Underworld. Priscilla and Leda reported back from another outing. Although they had managed to fly out and back in a single afternoon, it took three full days of travel to reach the spot they found. They located a point of interest that Leda described as a kind of temple. Tall, black shadowy spires, grand gates, and statues vaguely matching the one in Fortress Al-Mir’s temple room.

He didn’t like leaving Fortress Al-Mir alone for so long. Vezta was back at the fortress and she could take care of most things but… It just made him nervous. After that ambush at the Evestani supply line, the forces arriving at Elmshadow had been increasing. Slowly. They weren’t yet charging across the Duchy as fast as possible. It was still enough to make Arkk wary about leaving. Especially when he lacked a method of returning quickly.

If something went wrong, his fastest way back was Priscilla carrying him. That would still take half a day.

“You plan to plunder a place the Protectors prioritize?”

Arkk glanced at Savren, riding along on a horse alongside the rest of their team, before looking back to the temple.

It was… a sight. Tall walls, sharp angles, peaked roofs, and long supporting buttresses cast off well away from the structure. It looked like there was glass in most of the windows but the structure had fallen into disrepair. One buttress and a small portion of the roof had collapsed. A wispy statue of the shadowy god had crumbled and broken. Another statue had lost its arms.

That was to say nothing about the surrounding land. It looked like a city had once stood around the temple. That city had long since fallen into decay. A few scattered walls stood, often at angles, but no one whole structure. Just the temple.

It must have been a sight to see back in its prime. The whole building looked larger even than Cliff’s temple to the Holy Light.

“Plunder is a strong word,” Arkk said after a long moment. “Evestani and their Golden Order have a god sitting on their shoulder, handing out boons like they were pies at the harvest festival. The closest thing we have is Agnete and her patron god is cut off from our world.

“What I hope to find here is something more than just a few trinkets or old books. I’m sure they could be helpful—” More so if his spell crafter still had eyes with which to read them. “—but Xel’atriss, Lock and Key, either cannot or will not lend us further assistance.”

Zullie was back on her feet. Unsteady and blind, but awake, active, and even talking. A little. What few words she had were spent on the concept of the [PANTHEON]. Xel’atriss had tried to show her something but that something hadn’t come through clearly. Zullie wasn’t sure if it was a warning, an attempt at assisting, or a deliberate attempt at dissuading her from continuing her line of research.

Regardless, she didn’t think burning her eyes from her head was the intended outcome. Just a side effect of a god not knowing or not caring about the consequences of its actions. Likely the latter option, in Arkk’s opinion.

He would have liked her expertise available on this journey. Savren’s magical expertise was mostly constrained to ritual magics and mind magics. Zullie’s was in spell creation and planar magics. Hers just felt a little more applicable to his current goals. She was, unfortunately, in no state to travel.

“Vezta told me that, in the past, temples like the one we have at Fortress Al-Mir were once used to commune with the Pantheon, petitioning for boons and making offerings. Things like that. I hope to find a way of communing with the Cloak of Shadows here and, gods willing, perhaps a boon.” Arkk paused, directing the horse around a set of wind-worn bricks that might have once made up a wall around a small courtyard. “Failing that… I would like to discover more about the Anvil of All Worlds. The plane associated with the Burning Forge.”

“Ah. Agnete asked an accommodation of you, I apprehend.”

“It isn’t just that. I mean, I appreciate all she has been doing for us but, war going on as it is, there isn’t time for personal quests. The Burning Forge is, however, an active god. At least active enough to push a sliver of power out to Agnete. With Agnete already working with us, additional help seems likely.”

Priscilla drew back her lips, grinning at the sky as she lounged on the long cart they hauled alongside the horses. Zullie’s skeletal horse pulled it, never tiring nor needing feed. “Unless the Burning Forge believes you have received and squandered aid in the form of Agnete and refuses to offer more.”

“Why would that be the case?”

Priscilla shrugged, turning her head so that her icy eyes met Arkk’s. “Gods are fickle. And easily insulted. You have an avatar working for you and yet you can barely beat some human with magical armor.”

Dakka let out a loud and exaggerated scoff. “I seem to recall the fire witch doing a whole lot more than some others. What were you doing again? Lying face down in the mud for the whole fight?”

With a snarl, Priscilla sat upright and glared in almost the right direction. “Shut it, greenskin. You might as well have been beating against a mountain for all you contributed.”

“First of all, tan skin,” Dakka said, leading Priscilla to point a clawed finger at her face. “Second—”

“Enough,” Arkk said, raising his voice. “We’re here. Dakka. You and your team secure the horses and the cart. Shout if anything moves. Priscilla, you’re with me and Savren. Leda.” Arkk looked at the little fairy in the group. “You’re in charge of Priscilla. Keep her out of trouble.”

The fairy started to nod, only to flinch as Priscilla let out a guttural growl from the back of her throat.

“In charge of me?”

“I’ve seen the way you walk around the fortress,” Arkk said. “You bump into the wrong column here and the entire place might collapse on our heads. Let Leda help you or fly back to the portal. Your choice.”

Priscilla opened her mouth, failed to provide an argument, and clamped her jaw shut again. “The fairy can warn me if I’m about to bump into anything. Nothing is in charge of me.”

“As long as you listen when she says to stop.”

“Fine.”

Arkk nodded his head, more for everyone else than for the one who couldn’t see him nodding, and looked around the group. “And everyone shout if you see a Protector. Or anything else for that matter. But, again, try not to attack first.”

Orders given and confirmation received, Arkk turned to the temple.

The good news was that they wouldn’t need to figure out how to get inside. Two great doors, each as tall as three orcs stacked on each other’s shoulders, would have barred the entrance were it not for the massive hinges having come loose in the years of neglect. One of the doors had crashed into the ground, leaving the opening undefended.

With Savren at one side and Priscilla at the other, and Leda hovering just ahead of Priscilla, Arkk stepped on the dry and dusty wood of the door. He tested it with his weight, making sure it wouldn’t crumble and leave him stumbling, then walked forward into the dark shadows of the old building.

He wished he had Vezta here as well. Zullie would have been able to provide specialized magical insight but Vezta was his expert on the Pantheon. Having lived in a time where gods touched the world on the regular, she knew more than most even if she didn’t know everything. Priscilla was a poor substitute despite her insistence that the Stars told her all she needed to know. The dragonoid had been born before the Calamity but only just. The world had obviously been bereft of gods following the Calamity.

Even the Permafrost was a subject of worship more because of her gifts with ice and draconic culture than anything else.

Arkk expected the temple to feel different than the outside air. Even Fortress Al-Mir’s temple room had a certain stillness to it. An odd reverence that closed out the hum of the many people who now lived at the fortress. The silvery waters in the temple’s pools, alleged doorways directly to the gods, emitted this otherworldly aura.

Stepping into the temple lacked any sensation of the air changing. It was cooler than the hot open desert, cloaked in shadows as it was, but that was a physical difference. There was no feeling different. No looming sensation of being watched by a being he couldn’t perceive.

The ceiling of the temple, minus the parts that had collapsed, was high and arching. Dark, obsidian-colored tiles created an illusion of the night sky while glowstones, still brightly lit thanks to the ever-present magic in the Underworld, represented stars. The dominating feature was a depiction of the Cloak of Shadows. A swirling mass of inky darkness, with a pattern that tricked Arkk’s eyes into thinking it was moving and billowing in an unfelt wind. A shadowed, ashen face with bright white eyes peered out from behind the shifting cloak.

An inspiring sight, especially with the illusion of movement, but the awe it instilled still wasn’t what Arkk was looking for.

Arkk stood still, staring up with a small frown for a moment longer before dropping his gaze back to the rest of the massive room. The entire temple seemed made up of just one space. There were a few doors at the far end, behind a section of collapsed roof and a high altar that might have been used for ritual purposes, but those doors couldn’t lead to any spacious sections of the temple.

On the main floor, mosaiced with black and white tiles, ancient bodies littered the temple. Skeletal remains of a small population. It reminded him, for just a moment, of the first time he had stepped into Fortress Al-Mir. Except, in the fortress, the bodies had all belonged to warriors and fighters. Every body had a weapon and armor. Here in the temple, there wasn’t a sword to be seen. Just bodies huddled together.

Given the lack of plant life in the Underworld, Arkk had to wonder if these people had been simple villagers who had run out of food and, thus, starved to death. Arkk well knew the aches of hunger. Langleey Village hadn’t suffered many famines, but… There had been one long drought in his early teens where crops had withered and the river running past the sawmill had nearly run dry.

That hadn’t been a good year. He, obviously, had made it through. Some of the others, mostly the elderly of the village, hadn’t.

Despite targeting Evestani’s food stores and supply lines, starvation wasn’t the goal. It wasn’t a death he would wish on anyone. He wasn’t trying to kill them, just force them to turn back.

Shaking his head, Arkk turned aside. The lack of an obvious direct connection to the Cloak of Shadows almost made him want to rush back to Fortress Al-Mir.

At his side, Leda softly whispered to Priscilla, describing the sight overhead along with much of the rest of the room. The dragonoid interrupted Leda talking about the stone columns along the walls to ask more about the bodies, which made Leda stumble and hesitate over her words.

Savren, on the other hand, spent all of the blink of an eye observing the temple before swiftly directing Morvin and Gretchen to take charcoal rubbings of some lettering inscribed on the columns. The two assistants, formerly of Zullie’s apprentice group and now assigned to Savren, gaped and gawked at the temple far longer than Savren did, earning them a brief reprimand as Savren had to direct them a second time.

He thought those markings were important. Arkk, though he had learned a lot under Zullie’s instructions, didn’t see anything magical about them. But he was still vastly uneducated compared to either Zullie or Savren.

Arkk proceeded forward, carefully stepping over the bodies on the ground. They represented another good reason why undoing the Calamity without extensive research was a bad idea. With the war, he didn’t see that being a priority for some time. It still hung heavy in the back of his mind.

Climbing over a broken pillar and a small segment of the roof, Arkk approached the altar at the far end of the temple. At one point in time, Arkk could have seen the altar being the central and focal point of the temple. The place where the pious would come to pray or make offerings. It held the remnants of mystery in its shadowy stone and the air of a well-cared-for object of worship toward the Lady Shadow.

Breathing out sent a cloud of orange dust into the air. Arkk waved his hands back and forth a few times, clearing it away. As he did so, he noticed that there was something on top of the altar. A cloth draped over the top. Lightly running his finger over the top, he found himself surprised when it didn’t feel like it was going to disintegrate under his touch. In fact, it felt quite firm and strong.

Lifting it, Arkk gave it a light shake, filling the air with another cloud of dust.

It wasn’t a large cloth. Certainly nowhere near big enough to count as the namesake Cloak. Nevertheless, it was something special. Dark and moving even while still in his fingers. It diffused light, making the area around it marginally darker. He could feel some magic in it.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be useful, but he would take it with him.

Beyond the cloth, the altar had a number of items adorning its top as well as littered around its base. Small figurines representing shadowy figures and stealthy beings, candelabras whose candles had long since vanished to time, and an incense burner that still had a unique smell when Arkk leaned in close enough. It smelled just like the air after sunset following a rainy day.

Offerings left by worshippers littered the area around the altar. Gemstones and glowstones, small metal tokens in a variety of shapes, and even the bones of small animals. Despite the obvious deaths suffered throughout the temple, presumably by worshippers of the Cloak of Shadows, the offerings were undisturbed and intact. No one had grown angry and trashed the place in their final moments. The atmosphere was one of hushed reverence, even in the passage of time.

Arkk was about to turn away when he noticed an odd flicker in the corner of his vision. It was like a bit of shiny metal catching light except… backward. Dark metal reflected a shadow in a way that hurt his head to think about. Despite the mild ache, Arkk rounded the altar.

A dagger sat on the ground. Its blade, jagged and twisted, reminded Arkk of a smaller version of the blade the Protector had used. Except, this was clearly made from an unearthly metal. The light entering the temple from the broken ceiling seemed to stop abruptly at the corner of the altar where the dagger sat. It was almost pitch black in the darkness behind the altar. Despite the darkness around it, he could still see the dagger just fine. Not very good for stealth, then. It was probably a ceremonial dagger, given its placement near the altar.

Reaching down, Arkk’s fingers curled around the dark leather wrapped around the dagger’s hilt. He half expected some surge of power to course through his body. Instead, it felt just like any dagger. Weighing it in his hand, he didn’t feel like it was any heavier or lighter than the dagger he had given Nyala.

Moving it did make something happen. As he stood and took a step, the shadows behind the altar trailed after him like a long piece of cloth snagged against the dagger’s tip. It didn’t remove the shadow from behind the altar, just stretched it out.

Curious, Arkk reached down and closed his free hand around the darkness.

It felt like nothing in his grip and yet the shadows pulled away from the ground as he pulled back, leaving the altar in far more natural-looking shadows. The cloth-like shadow was like a far larger version of the smaller cloth that had adorned the top of the altar. Except this shadow was not marred by the orange dust.

As Arkk moved, the dagger kept dragging more shadows to its tip. None were quite so black as the one from behind the altar, they were more like regular gray-colored shadows that had been transmuted into cloth. Most of those dispersed and vanished as he tried to grab at them.

An odd item. Arkk… wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Aside from keeping it, of course. This was, presumably, an artifact of a god. Whether that meant an artifact given directly to the people as a kind of boon or just an enchanted weapon crafted by whatever equivalent to priests the Cloak of Shadows had, it was something special.

Arkk draped the thick shadow from the altar over one arm, the smaller cloth-like shadow over the other, and took the dagger in hand back toward the rest of the group to ask their opinions on the subject.

He paused once again as he crossed through the collapsed section of the temple.

As soon as he stepped into the column of light pouring in, the dagger disappeared. He could still feel it in his hand, he just couldn’t see it. The gray shadows dragged by its tip faded and dispersed in the light. The darker cloths over his arms didn’t, they stayed dark and whole. He quickly moved out of the light anyway.

That was something he hadn’t even been thinking about. These cloths were shadows. Shadows fled from light. He could have inadvertently destroyed the dark cloths or the dagger. It was only luck that he hadn’t.

The dagger came back the instant he moved it out of the light, once again snagging shadows as he moved.

“Savren,” Arkk called out as he drew closer to the warlock. “What do you think—”

A loud shout from outside the temple cut him off.

 

 

There was no preamble. No moment of banter or mocking. Just a long, pregnant pause where Arkk issued a few brief commands to get the most wounded out of the battlefield while the knight in golden armor sized up the group before him.

Were Arkk in the knight’s place, he wouldn’t have engaged. Dakka’s group contained a dozen strong orcs and Joanne’s had an equal number of human swordsmen. Alma might not be so imposing but she could hit just about anything with her smaller hand crossbows. Kelsey, large and muscular, nearly matched an orc in size and strength while Lyssa… Well, she wasn’t a feral werecat but she sure fought like one. The knight wouldn’t know how they fought but he should be able to recognize a threat when he saw them.

Not to mention those of Kia’s strike team who were readying weapons and, finally, Arkk and Agnete, both standing with eyes aglow.

The knight in golden armor bounded down the hill with great strides carrying him three paces with every step.

“Electro Deus,” Arkk intoned, slinging his arm forward after building up a moderate amount of magic. Enough to fry a goblin and kill an orc outright.

The lightning struck the dead center of his mass, arcing around his breastplate. It crackled and clung to the man, the magic trying to work its way into Arkk’s target, but failed. In the span of a single step, the lightning faded and dispersed into the air around him. He didn’t even break stride.

Dakka hefted her spiked shield in front of her. “Form up!” she shouted. An unnecessary command with the way her orcs were already moving to defend the weaker members of the group. They got in place, stances wide and stable, just before the knight reached them.

He didn’t stop. He lowered a shoulder, charging forward without hesitation. The moment one of those massive pauldrons struck the front of Dakka’s shield, a small shockwave went off. The nearest three orcs went flying with Dakka, launched from their stable stances into the air. Alma had to dodge and roll to one side to avoid one of the orcs crashing into her.

With the golden knight in their midst, the still-standing orcs pivoted, raising their hammers and axes.

A brash hand knocked one axe into a mace while the knight’s armor took another attack. He grasped one of the spikes on another orc’s helm, likely intending to use it as a handle, only for the spike to snap off with little effort. Although the sudden lack of resistance gave him some surprise, it wasn’t enough to stop his hand from lashing out. A fist caught one of the orcs square in the face. His head snapped back with enough force to shatter the metal of the back of his helmet as it clipped the back of the gorget around his neck.

The employee link snuffed out as the orc collapsed.

The knight didn’t stop. He caught the bottom lip of another orc’s breastplate. With only one hand, he hefted the orc up and over his head, bringing him down on another of the orcs.

“Scutum!” Arkk shouted.

A pulsing violet light surged around the orc just before his head crashed into the ground. The light spread out into the ground with the impact, taking the blow that would have shattered the orc’s skull.

Lyssa’s chain whipped out, whipping around his leg. She pulled but the man’s leg barely budged.

With a kick into one of Joanne’s men’s chest, Lyssa lurched off her feet and into the air. The knight barely seemed to notice that he had brought the werecat along for the ride. He simply moved on to grasp Joanne’s helmet.

Another Scutum saved Joanne from having her face caved in against the knight’s knee. She still stumbled back the moment the knight released her, disoriented and discombobulated. A small corner of Arkk’s mind made a note to thank Priscilla for teaching him a few other old magic spells. Though getting the spells out of her had been like prying open a blacksmith’s vices, he would probably be down two more employees were it not for her.

Even if he managed to intercept every lethal blow with the shielding spell, the fight would still end in their loss at this rate. The gold armor was shrugging off blows from axes that would lop heads from shoulders, bashes from hammers and maces that should have crushed the gold metal, and the less said about Alma’s crossbow bolts, the better. Even though she was aiming for the joints and the gap in the thin slits in the man’s helmet, not one had struck true.

Agnete stood at Arkk’s side, burning hotter than ever and yet unable to act without hitting their own side in the melee. Her flames, even under her control, were too indiscriminate.

Priscilla, though alive, was still in the crater she had made after being thrown down to the valley.

“Desidia,” Arkk shouted, trying another of the spells he had learned from Priscilla. If his lightning wasn’t going to do a thing, he had to find something that did.

This one had an effect. The knight’s fist, about to hit Kia, slowed in mid-air as if a pot of sticky molasses had been dumped over the knight. It didn’t stop him completely but it allowed the dark elf to duck to one side, avoiding the blow with time to spare. She even managed to swing her greatsword straight down on the overextended arm.

It clanged off, chipping a chunk from the blade without so much as scratching the golden armor.

“Need ideas!” Dakka shouted, her axe looking like one of the lesser servants had been taking bites out of the blade.

With the knight slowed from Arkk’s spell, Zharja saw an opportunity. She slithered forward, iridescent black scales gleaming as she coiled her body around the knight’s body. She only managed to pin one of his arms to his side as she started constricting but, seeing what she was doing, two of the orcs threw their weapons aside and grasped hold of the knight’s free arm to keep him from tearing Zharja away.

Grasping hold of the knight’s helmet, Zharja first tried to rip it from his head. She must have been trying to petrify him but found herself unable with the helmet in the way. Unfortunately, it didn’t budge. Undaunted, Zharja opened her mouth wide enough to swallow a boar whole. Caustic venom dripped from her fangs. She didn’t try to bite through the armor. Gathering a mouthful of the venom, she spat directly in the knight’s face.

That elicited a reaction. The first noises the knight made were shouts of pain as something hissed and sizzled inside that helmet. The slits for his eyes and the dozen small holes in front of his mouth weren’t much but some of that venom must have gotten inside.

Whether it was a surge of adrenaline from the pain, Arkk’s spell fading, or the armor somehow revitalizing the man, he found a renewed source of strength. The two orcs clinging to his arm went flying as he swung. Now freed, his gauntlet dug into Zharja’s side, making her hiss and squirm. The weakening in her constriction let him get his other arm free from Zharja’s coils. He grasped the gorgon and flung her. The lower segment of her tail, coiled around one of his legs, ripped clean from the rest of her as she joined Priscilla in slamming into the ground.

A shielding Scutum kept her from splattering against the ground but Arkk could do nothing for her tail at the moment.

The knight pivoted on one foot, swinging his arms wide to clear the immediate area around him. When he finished, he stood stooped, one hand pressed to his helm. Some wisps of white smoke steamed out from the holes in his helm along with a faint labored breath, but as the smoke dispersed, his breathing cleared up and, after a moment, he stood straight with no signs of internal injury. The golden armor itself looked entirely untouched. Not just on the helm but everywhere. He didn’t have a speck of blood or smudge of dirt, not even around his feet where he had been trudging through the muddy ground.

Arkk’s eyes flicked down to the ground and then back up to the man.

He was glaring now. Though his eyes were hidden in the shadows of his helmet, Arkk could tell just by the way his helmet angled toward him.

“Agnete,” Arkk said, planting a hand on her shoulder.

Zharja’s venom had gotten through. Thus, Agnete’s flames likely could as well. Her flames had already failed once against the gold magics of Evestani back at Elmshadow. She hadn’t been able to melt those gold statues. So, in case the fire through the helm failed, Arkk had a secondary plan.

“Melt the ground under his feet,” he said before casting the last of his newly learned spells on the purifier. “Acceleratæ.”

The heat around Agnete exploded, forcing Arkk backward with his gloved hands shielding his face. Small hairs of stray threads on his gambeson caught flame, burning to ash in an instant.

When Agnete moved, she moved. She crossed ten paces in the blink of an eye. The knight, for all the invulnerability of his armor, flinched back at her sudden approach. The rest of Company Al-Mir, already backed away thanks to the knight pivoting around, scrambled back even further. Those who couldn’t walk ended up dragged by others.

The knight lashed out, attacks more ferocious than earlier. Agnete simply tilted her head, dodging the first strike by a hair before she slid to one side to dodge another. Flames swirled around her, obscuring her exact movements. The enhanced speed was already visibly wearing out—Arkk could feel the drain of magic lessen—but it was easy to forget that she had been an inquisitor and could hold her own in close-quarters combat.

As expected, Agnete’s fire didn’t seem to do much to the armor. Even when Agnete planted a palm directly on the man’s breastplate, it didn’t start glowing let alone melting. From some second-hand analysis Zullie had done following the incident at Elmshadow, they had two theories on why her fires didn’t affect the Heart of Gold’s namesake metal. Either the Heart of Gold, being on this side of the Calamity, was simply stronger than the Burning Forge’s trickle of power or, as in alchemic theory, the Heart of Gold represented a purity that was so magically great that nothing could truly affect it directly.

All that didn’t stop the ground under their feet from turning red and molten. Even though the knight moved like he was wearing a light tunic, it had to weigh a ton. He rapidly started sinking into the ground. Agnete carefully kept him in one place, simply stepping side to side to dodge his attacks with a renewed haste spell from Arkk while she kept his focus on her, he didn’t even realize until his ankles were well into the ground.

But it wasn’t the flames in the ground that affected him. He kept grabbing at his helm like he was trying to wipe something off the front. His breathing, once again turning more laborious, grew in intensity the longer the flames surrounded his head. Giving up his attacks against the now normal-speed Agnete, he tried to take a step backward only to twist and bend at the knee with his feet unable to move.

As his back hit the ground and the earth turned red under Agnete’s increasing heat, Arkk let out a small sigh of relief.

A sigh too early.

The knight thrust his hands together, letting out a sound like the ringing of a church bell. A bright golden flash filled Arkk’s vision for a brief instant.

The ground, once molten, gleamed bright gold. Agnete, clutching at her chest, was on her back on the golden ground. The few tattered strips of burned clothing that had clung to her body gleamed gold just as the ground did. One body, two swords, and a shield, left behind near the fight while the others backed away, now matched. The living beings and plant life were spared, nothing else was.

The knight himself was still in the now-golden ground, audibly panting and gasping for breath. Now that he wasn’t under Agnete’s constant attack, he might just be able to rip his feet out of the holes. Or pull out some magic trick that let him escape. His hands were still free. Arkk wasn’t sure if he could repeatedly use that clapping trick but he wasn’t about to test it.

This was a chance to escape.

Arkk let out a sharp whistle, catching the attention of all his employees. “Back,” he shouted. “Help anyone who can’t move on their own. Alma, Kelsey, get the dragonoid.”

Agnete, slowly sitting up and ripping the golden cloth off her chest, snapped her fingers, sparking a fresh flame in the area. The fire rushed forward from her even as the others began their retreat.

“Desidia,” Arkk said, enveloping the golden man in the slowing spell again just to keep him from doing anything in retaliation. Maybe Agnete could burn away all the air around him again. Maybe she could melt the gold and trap him further.

Arkk couldn’t take the chance. He grabbed her by the arm, meeting her fiery eyes for a brief moment. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she. After a moment, she nodded her head and started backing away. That didn’t stop her from keeping the flames circling the golden knight.

They were leaving four of their own behind. Arkk hoped the knight would die from the flames but couldn’t chance staying to watch. They were still in the scrying fog. The enemy could be just around the next hill. Maybe they could fight off a regular force of soldiers but if another of those knights showed up, or this one got back to his feet, they might well be done for here and now.

So he turned, following behind the rest of the retreating Company Al-Mir with Agnete at his side. Alma and Kelsey were dragging Priscilla while Orjja and Krett’al hauled Zharja. Two other orcs needed assistance walking and one of the humans was leaning on Dakka’s shoulder.

They had rescued Kia, Claire, and the rest of the strike team. From a pure numbers game, the rescue had been worth it.

Morale was buried at the bottom of a latrine. Even as they made it back to the teleportation circle, even as they passed through one at a time without Evestani harassment, he could feel the dour mood in the air and the discordance in the group. Arkk wasn’t immune.

He was livid.

Right when it felt like things had been looking up. The Walking Fortress and its near completion, the new spells from Priscilla, Hawkwood and the deserters gathering to help push back Evestani, Katja taking the Duke’s place to turn his armies against the invaders…

Now this.

Losses were inevitable in wars. Hawkwood had sat him down and told him that the moment the war began. Losses of personnel, losses of battles, losses of territories and holdings. Arkk didn’t expect to come out the victor of every engagement but this… This felt different. It wasn’t an honest loss. Evestani and the Golden Order had a literal god sitting on their shoulder.

The closest thing Arkk had, the Lock and Key, had taken his lead researcher out of commission.

The moment they returned to Fortress Al-Mir, Arkk sent the wounded off to the infirmary, including Agnete and Kia even though they had only superficial injuries. Hale was certainly getting all the practice she needed with the Flesh Weaving spell. There were no immediate calls for his attention from Vezta or the scrying team. A small relief. He still had to look over the group left behind.

“We rescued the strike team,” Arkk said, taking the small silver lining to this dark cloud. “And we uncovered the existence of another heavy threat, one we can now begin planning around. Four lost their lives in exchange.” He pressed his lips together. Perhaps he was still just a little too idealistic, but he did not view that as an acceptable exchange.

There would be four new names on the memorial wall now.

“Go,” Arkk said. “Rest and recover. Eat and sleep. But keep the encounter in the back of your mind, thinking of the strengths and weaknesses that Golden Knight had. We’ll do a full debriefing later.”

“You all survived!” Dakka shouted to the morose room, ripping her helmet from her head. The sudden gruff bark left Arkk stunned, though he tried to avoid showing it. “Against a foe worthy of legends! We’ll have a feast tonight and we’ll crack open the kegs!”

That got much more of a reaction, earning some cheers. Arkk could tell that the cheering wasn’t wholly enthusiastic, the tone was just a little too flat, but at least the troops weren’t showing their displeasure so overtly. Her shout got them moving as well, filing out of the room and into the rest of the fortress.

Arkk couldn’t help but notice Dakka remaining behind, not moving with the others.

As soon as the room was clear, she turned on him, face drawn tight in consternation. “Arkk,” she said slowly. “You need to work on your post-battle speeches.”

Arkk drew in a breath and let it back out, nodding his head without a word.

“And… Arkk… I have very much enjoyed my time under your service. Compared to being a raider, it feels good, you know?”

Arkk’s eyes widened as he looked up at Dakka’s face. The tan-skinned orc’s hair hung in a mess, matted with sweat and a small bit of crusted blood. She looked… worn. “You aren’t thinking of leaving, are you?”

Dakka didn’t answer right away. She stared down at him, eyes looking back and forth for a moment before she snorted. Her lips peeled back, showing off her tusks. Not in a snarl, but in a smile. “No. Not yet. But Arkk, something needs to change. I’m a girl who enjoys a good fight as much as the next orc but I’m no spellcaster. I’m not a fire witch blessed by the gods. I’m not a dragonoid or even a gorgon. We keep fighting these things. The golden avatar and now this gold knight.” She paused, pressing a gauntleted hand to her chest. “I’m not even going to say that I need fights I can win, just fights where the field is even. And it isn’t just me.

“Get us fancy golden indestructible armor or spells we can cast without taking a nap after. Get us opponents that aren’t gods walking among mere mortals. Something.

“Something needs to change and it needs to change fast. Or you might be finding yourself with less of an army to work with.”

Dakka stared for a moment longer before nodding her head. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, leaving Arkk alone in the teleportation chamber with just his thoughts.

Something needed to change. A walking tower wasn’t good enough. He needed something for his people.

 

 

Arkk knew he was walking into a trap.

It was pure complacency that allowed Kia and Claire’s successful attacks to turn sour. They had allowed it to turn into a routine. Routines were predictable.

If he had supply lines constantly under threat from an enemy he couldn’t defend conventionally, he would have been scrambling to find solutions as well. He wouldn’t have been content with merely repelling the attacks either. He would have been figuring out ways to strike back.

Thus, the trap. Perhaps Evestani wouldn’t consider that Arkk would try to rescue his employees. They certainly didn’t seem to have much compunction regarding casualties. Arkk had personally witnessed that golden avatar hit some of his own men in attacks meant for others. But if they were at all intelligent and even half as aware of Arkk’s character as Inquisitor Vrox was, they would be setting up and preparing for his inevitable arrival.

Arkk had distressingly little information about what actually happened. He could tell that his strike team was still alive through their links but anything beyond that was shrouded in mist. It could be that Evestani thought their mist would protect them from the strike team and, on the field, nothing had gone wrong. Arkk wasn’t sure that he was such an optimist anymore.

Thus, the rescue team.

Agnete. Priscilla. Dakka and a dozen orcs. Alma and a quartet of beastmen geared for stealth and rapid movement. Zharja and three other gorgon. Joanne and a team of swordsmen.

With so many of his trusted and, in Agnete and Priscilla’s case, powerful employees at hand, Arkk was leaving Vezta behind. She, Ilya, and Rekk’ar would maintain the fortress in Arkk’s absence. Rekk’ar would manage the soldiers and Vezta would act as a little surprise for anyone foolish enough to actually invade the fortress and lucky enough to get past the newly installed traps.

Although there was no evidence of any enemy forces moving toward the Cursed Forest, he had everyone remaining behind on high alert just in case.

The teleportation ritual carried Arkk and his team a fair distance from the obscuring fog in the scrying balls. It took time, unfortunately. A fairly significant amount of time. There were a lot of people to move and all needed to move in a hurry. If there was one upside, it was that the portal chain—a series of teleportation rituals leading away from the fortress—was already intact. They had simply taken the same one that Kia and Claire used up until the final hop where Arkk inscribed a new ritual circle to divert them closer but not quite to that fog.

Alma and her team teleported in first, immediately venturing into the fog to gather information while the rest of the force moved through the teleportation circle.

There wasn’t any literal fog around. The stretch of land east of Moonshine Burg where the supply caravans traversed—and thus where the latest strikes had taken place—was fairly sparse. Plains and gentle-sloped hills that stretched on and on, covered in low vegetation but without many trees about. Today, perhaps as a signal of the nearing end of winter, the sky was bright blue and cloudless. Still cold but utterly clear.

Despite that, the crystal ball still showed nothing but fog.

“They’re on their way back,” Arkk said, staring off in the direction that he could sense his employees.

“Sir?”

Arkk half-turned. Dakka, fully armored, stood at the ready with her team of warriors a few paces back. Zharja and her gorgon flanked them on one side while Joanne and her swordsmen stood on the other. They weren’t in any real formation, just standing and ready for the scouting to finish.

“I can sense that Alma’s crew have started heading toward us. I can’t tell exactly how far they are but they’ll be back soon. As soon as we hear their report, we’ll likely head out. Be ready.”

“I could have been there and back in half the time,” Priscilla grumbled from where she stooped, crouched with her icy claws on the ground between her feet. “Dealt with the problem on my own too. We’re wasting time.”

Dakka shot the dragonoid a dark look. She opened her mouth, probably about to needle Priscilla about something or other. Arkk stalled her with a wave of his hand.

“If I’m being honest, I would rather you not show yourself at all, in scouting or a fight,” Arkk said, earning a surprised look from Priscilla. Though she didn’t quite manage to look in his exact direction. Her iced-over eyes drifted past his shoulder. “Evestani may not be aware of your presence and, if they aren’t, you represent a surprise that I would like to keep for the most optimal moment. But I’m also not willing to risk the lives of the strike team, hence your involvement.”

Priscilla peeled her lips back in an ugly snarl. “You want me benched on the sidelines unless the pyro can’t handle it?” she asked with a lazy thumb flicked toward Agnete.

For her part, Agnete stood with a stoic expression on her face, ignoring Priscilla.

“I want everyone safe. After that, I want everyone used to their fullest potential. If the avatar of the Golden Order is here, you ripping him apart may well be a great use of your talents. But if it is anything but an entire army out here, I doubt even Agnete will be needed.”

Dakka, along with many of her squad, puffed up in pride at the implied praise and expectation toward their capabilities.

“Which reminds me,” Arkk said, turning to address the entire crew. “The lives of our comrades are our first priority but uncovering any magical secrets in the area is a close secondary.”

If he could figure out how they worked the obscuring mist and make use of it himself, he would feel a whole lot more secure in knowing that nobody was scrying on him. And Zullie—or… Savren, rather—might be able to find countermeasures, allowing their scrying to see through the enemy, thus giving them a false sense of security.

“That means any books or tomes in the possession of our enemies are a priority, as are taking notes of any ritual circles in the area. Depending…”

Arkk trailed off, turning at the sound of rustling brush. Since they left the area of effect of the fog, he had been able to track Alma, Lyssa, and Kelsey as they approached. The half-werecat stepped forward with the ox-like Kelsey at her flank. The full-werecat moved around the group and approached Joanne, who had been holding onto the long spiked chain which she quickly attached to the lone manacle she wore around her normal arm.

“Sir,” Alma said. “We found them. Some are fairly roughed up and some could use healing faster than others, but they all look alive. Unfortunately, they’re all caged up, being transported back toward Moonshine Burg.”

“Like the slaves,” Lyssa cut in, her voice a low growl. “Big beasts hauling big carts filled with tiny cages.”

Arkk closed his eyes.

Though his optimism had been lacking, there had been a glimmer of hope that Kia hadn’t run afoul of any problems and the fog was incidental to their mission.

“Enemy force?”

“About four dozen, most on foot but a quarter were armored knights with horses. Two dozen were pikemen and the rest archers of some variety. We did not see any children or other people with those Golden Order tattoos on their heads, however, most wore helmets making it difficult to tell for sure.”

“Any obvious spellcasters or ritual circles?”

Alma shook her head. “No, Sir.”

Arkk took a breath, frowning. “Well the scrying fog isn’t coming from nowhere,” he said. “How far exactly are we from Moonshine Burg? How long will it take the prisoners to reach it?”

Alma and Kelsey glanced at one another, uncertainty obvious on their faces. They weren’t locals of Moonshine Burg or its surrounding area. They had been teleported in with no real frame of reference.

Lyssa cut in, stepping back toward Arkk as she wrapped her chain around her arm, leaving the spiked end dangling. “A quarter of a day. Maybe less.”

“Not much time,” he said. If they let the prisoners reach the burg, getting them out would be much, much more difficult. And the enemy would probably identify which ones knew more than others in short order, interrogating them and executing the rest. In addition, Evestani might send out additional reinforcements to help escort the prisoners. Their hypothetical arrival would make freeing everyone all the more complicated.

There wouldn’t be time to spread out and find the source of the magic in the area. It might even come from the burg itself, directed to a distant location like the boulder drop ritual could be targeted.

“Dakka, Joanne. Come up with a plan to engage the transport. Involve Zharja in your plan—the gorgon can stone key targets before engaging themselves. Alma, you and your team use the chaos to free the prisoners. Focus on those least injured first—try to get them weapons so they can join in on the fight,” Arkk said.

He paused to think a moment, looking over the assembled groups. “Agnete, Priscilla, and I will remain at a short distance,” he continued, “ready to charge in as heavy magical support should the engagement need assistance or should additional complications arise. Dakka, you have field command. We need to move fast before they reach the burg or reinforcements from the burg show up to escort them. We move in no more than thirty minutes.”

Arkk watched in nervous anticipation as Dakka and Joanne’s teams ambushed the prisoner caravan.

From the reactions of the Evestani guardsmen, they had no idea what was coming. They panicked, broke rank, and fell into a disorganized mob. Half tried to flee, only to find themselves facing Joanne’s team. The other half tried to fight but, disorganized and lacking half their fighting force, they were quickly picked apart by Dakka and the gorgon.

Once Alma cracked the locks on several of the cages, tossing weapons to those captive within, the rest of Company Al-Mir tore through Evestani like a scythe through wheat.

The ease made him even more nervous. This was a trap. It had to be. The fact that it was going so well just set him all the more on edge.

“Waste of time,” Priscilla grumbled, twisting at the waist hard enough to send a series of snaps up her spine. “Thought I might finally get a chance to stretch my wings.”

“You were flying over the Duchy for at least a few weeks,” Agnete said, looking confused.

“It was a polite euphemism for crushing the skulls of some humans.”

“Surely you engaged in that as well during your trek, given what I know of dragonoids.”

Priscilla bared her sharp teeth. “You know nothing about me. I spent the last hundred years atop a lonely mountain at the behest…” A pained look crossed her features before she shook her head. “Forget it. Another waste of time to explain to a human.”

“Enough. Both of you,” Arkk said, not taking his eyes off the fight down below.

The fight taking place on the long path that stretched between two hills was nearing its conclusion. Not many of Evestani’s troops were still standing. Some looked to have surrendered. Arkk… wasn’t too sure how he felt about that. Callous though it was to think it, them all dying would have been easier on him. He doubted some grunts would have much valuable information and now he had to transport them back to Fortress Al-Mir, which would show off his teleportation ritual. Not a problem as long as they were captive but they effectively could never be released.

“What do we think? Was this too easy?” he asked.

“Your minions got lazy and got themselves captured. Nothing more to it,” Priscilla said with a yawn. “Got us all worked up for nothing.”

“Then why the fog in the scrying balls?” They were in the thick of it now. It was an eerie sensation. His normally clear and innate knowledge of Fortress Al-Mir, its contents, and all of his employees was obscured at the moment. Still there but just hazy and difficult to see. “There has to be something more.”

“It could be standard protocol to obscure scrying,” Agnete offered slowly, considering. “They never enacted the protocol in the past because the strike team acted too swiftly.”

That… was possible. But still too easy. “I expect we’ll know more once we have a chat with Kia. Until then, however, keep on your toes.” He glanced at Priscilla. Despite what he had said earlier about keeping her a secret… Something about this situation just rubbed him the wrong way. Better to use his assets than to lose them. “In fact, Priscilla, take to the skies and see…” Arkk trailed off, looking at the dragonoid’s iced-over eyes. “Well, see whatever it is you see.”

Priscilla gave him a frosty look for a long moment before she spread her wings out and, with a downward thrust that nearly knocked Arkk off his feet, took to the skies.

“Should have brought Leda or one of the other fairies to accompany her,” Arkk grumbled, not sure that Priscilla would be able to bring back any valuable information. She had an uncanny sense for some things, such as the Walking Fortress, but not other things. Arkk had spied her bumping into walls and knocking over chairs on more than one occasion.

“Will she be able to find her way back?” Agnete asked, looking upward with a hand held over her brow to shield the sun.

Arkk didn’t answer right away. He hadn’t thought about that and now, he wasn’t sure. Another reason for a fairy to hang off her back. Perhaps he should assign dedicated minders for Priscilla. She wouldn’t like that. He would have to call them something different. “She says she sees what the Stars want her to see, or something like that. So if the Stars want her with us, I assume she’ll figure things out.”

“Perhaps it is strange for an avatar of a god to say this,” Agnete started with a frown on her face. “I’m not at all sure that relying on higher beings to guide us will see us seize victory. They’re too… distant.”

Arkk had a feeling that the Heart of Gold’s avatar felt differently. But then, the Heart of Gold was one of the traitor gods. Agnete’s patron, the Burning Forge, was cut off from this world. As for the Stars…

Well, he had seen them for himself. Though they were distant and alien, they seemed to be aligned with the Lock and Key. Near as Arkk could tell, the Lock and Key was on his side. At least ostensibly.

He still wasn’t sure what happened with Zullie, unfortunately. Whether that was retribution, a misguided attempt at assistance, or just a freak accident. Zullie was getting better, slowly, in terms of eating and moving about. She still wasn’t saying much of anything. There was a lot of muttering. A lot of fascinated, awed murmurs. Things that sounded like they could be magical theories, but which sounded like nonsense to Arkk’s ears.

“Let’s get down to the prison wagon. I can already see some wounds that need patching sooner than we could get them to Hale.”

Still wary but taking some comfort in the shadow of the dragonoid’s wings that crossed over him, Arkk descended the hill with Agnete at his side. There was no sign of any ambush to counter their ambush.

Dakka, heavy axe resting over her shoulder, turned her head. He couldn’t see her face under the dark helmet but he could hear her smile. “Thought this was going to be a tough one,” she barked out, earning a few cheers from the orcs under her command.

“Be thankful it wasn’t,” Joanne grumbled, one arm held up to her shoulder where a crossbow bolt stuck out. Bright red blood leaked from between her fingers but it didn’t flow at a rate that warranted panic.

“The human is just angry she got caught out,” Dakka said with an even wider grin in her tone.

Not bothering to engage with Dakka’s post-battle revelry, Arkk merely uttered the incantation for Flesh Weaving and set to sealing Joanne’s wound. He worked quickly and without much regard for perfection. Hale would be able to do much better work once they got back to the fortress anyway.

He hopped from wounded to wounded, prioritizing those who looked worst off. Everyone who could walk quickly formed a line, organizing themselves by who needed care the most so that Arkk didn’t even have to think about who to move to next. Most of the injuries were among Kia’s team. Claire and Kia were no exceptions. Though, while Claire looked like she had been thrown under a stampede of horses, Kia had only a number of bruises and a large gash just above her left ear.

“What happened?” Arkk asked as he sealed the gash. The long blonde hair on that side of her head was a mess.

“The attack against a lightly guarded caravan was going as well as expected in such a scenario. It was small, just this wagon with its cages covered in tarps. Thought it was food until… well, it wasn’t. Then…” Kia looked pained, grimacing for emotional reasons rather than physical. “Not rightly sure. Something rang my bell, took my helmet off at the same time. A second knocked my lights out. Only came to in the cage.” She looked over, eyes locking on Claire.

The brown-haired dark elf pursed her lips together. A rare show of emotion. Claire didn’t speak much, nor did she enjoy attentions thrust upon her. Nevertheless, she stood and clasped her hands together behind her back. Now that she had been patched up with Flesh Weaving, she could actually stand.

“A soldier in gold. He—”

“Gold soldier?” Arkk said, tenser now than he had been since hearing about this ambush. He immediately started looking around.

“It can’t be one of those,” Agnete said. “Or they would all be gold as well.”

Claire nodded. “Golden armor,” she corrected. “Taller than an orc. Beat us all and threw us into the cages one by one. I tried to escape. He was too fast.”

Despite Claire’s correction, Arkk didn’t feel any more at ease. “Just one soldier beat your entire team?”

Claire nodded again. “Bare-handed. He intended to capture us from the start.”

“Where is this soldier now?”

She just shrugged, sending even more chills up his spine. “We move immediately!” Arkk said. “Leave the Evestani who surrendered. Fall back to the ritual circle. No one is to go anywhere alone. Guards at the fore and rear of the group. Keep eyes open and shout if you see anything at—”

A dragonoid crashed into the ground, gouging a deep trough through the winter-hardened earth. Arkk spun, looking in the direction Priscilla had come flying from.

There, standing atop the nearby hill, gleamed a hulking man in golden armor. Massive pauldrons hid most of his head and his helm sported a long red plume that draped down his back. Although he carried no weapon, the thick gauntlets around his hands could easily crush someone’s skull if he hit hard enough.

For a long moment, he just stared down from the hill.

“Uh, Arkk,” Dakka said. “I think I see something.”

“Impressive,” Joanne snipped as she drew her large claymore. “The orc’s command of the obvious is truly unmatched.”

“Quiet,” Arkk snapped. “Those whose wounds weren’t healed enough to fight, fall back. Everyone else… get ready.”

 

 

 

The Walking Fortress in Allworld was almost complete.

It wasn’t as tall as the Walking Fortress over in the Underworld, nor was it as bulky. That wasn’t to say that it was small. The base of the tower occupied an area as large as the Stone Hearth Burg garrison. And it just went up from there.

Following his directions, the lesser servants had constructed a simple series of circular rooms, all stacked on top of each other. Living quarters and ancillary rooms, for the most part. It fit the definition of a tower far better than the structure in the Underworld did. There were a few small platforms that jutted out. Arkk planned to equip them with siege equipment. Catapults, mostly.

He hoped to get enough spellcasters to man siege ritual circles—combined with charged glowstones from the Underworld—but having manual, mundane backups seemed wise to him.

With a sigh, Arkk turned away from the shadowy tower and looked over the landscape. Winter was almost at an end. Already, the temperature was heating up. It didn’t snow much in the Cursed Forest, fitting with its cursed nature, but even outside, the snow had melted off. Villages were prepping the land for spring crops, travel was becoming more possible for the layperson and refugee alike, and reinforcements from Evestani were storming across the Duchy, headed for Elmshadow.

It was somewhat upsetting that only now did he have this Walking Fortress. Perhaps it wouldn’t mean much against Evestani, who traversed the winter with their golden magic as if it didn’t exist, but mobile housing for an entire army sounded like the perfect way to move through the cold. It was still a mobile fortification that afforded him all the powers he had in Fortress Al-Mir while on the move. The magically reinforced stone, which turned somewhat shadowy after being constructed thanks to the [HEART] of the tower, should be able to shrug off most siege attacks without even needing additional magical barriers.

He wasn’t sure if it would shrug off the golden rays that the avatar could fire. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be sure until one of those rays hit the tower.

“And… you say this building will… move.”

“Walk, yes,” Arkk said, motioning toward the thick legs that stuck out around the base of the tower. With the bulk of the tower resting on the ground, the bend in the legs reached up to the fifth floor. A little under a quarter of the way up the tower.

Hawkwood ran a gloved hand through thinning gray hair. His hair hadn’t been quite so thin or quite so gray at the start of Winter. Nor had his face sported the deep lines of stress and the sunken look around his eyes. Nor had his hand been so stiff and… injured. Arkk had hoped to relieve some of the pressure from the man’s back—along with an introduction to Hale and her expertise with the Flesh Weaving spell—but seeing the way Hawkwood was looking at the tower, Arkk wondered if he had only added more stress into the man’s life.

“It won’t be fast,” Arkk said, wondering if that was a reassuring statement. “But when each step carries it across the length of a cornfield, it can make good time.”

“How… Just how?”

“Magic,” Arkk said with a shrug.

Hawkwood let out a withering laugh. “Magic, he says. I’m no arcanist nor am I a theologian, but I’ve never heard of magic like this before.”

Rather than give a straighter answer, Arkk gestured around the building. “The walls are magically reinforced and it should even be able to grow its own food, enough to support at least three thousand. Filling it to that capacity will be… cramped, but it is possible. I can enlarge it later as well. Those same skull defenses that we used at Elmshadow will be around each leg, which should prevent anyone we don’t want from even getting near the thing let alone assailing it…”

“I… I don’t…” Hawkwood ran his hand through his hair again. Then settled on tugging at his beard. “When you said you had something to help turn the tides, I… I don’t know what I expected. Not this.”

“Oh, it isn’t the only thing.”

“Dear Light. There’s more?”

“Not like this,” Arkk said with a small chuckle. “We’ve been working on ways of casting large-scale rituals without ritualists. My spellcasters have uncovered a trove of old magic which, while most of it isn’t as practical as I would have liked, still has enough to cause a few surprises in any conflict. I’ve been collecting as many groups of deserters from the Grand Guard as possible. And… Well, you remember that dragonoid that Inquisitrix Astra was after?”

Hawkwood closed his eyes. “I can guess what you’re going to say but I’m still not quite ready for it.”

“Yeah, she’s working for me now.”

“Light. The gorgon, I could understand. Offer them food and safety. They’re pretty simple. But a dragonoid? I didn’t know they ever talked with people long enough to be offered food. How did you manage that?”

“Funny story,” Arkk said. It was his turn to sheepishly rub the back of his head. “I didn’t know it at the time but she was coming here to help me out in the first place. It has to do with all the magic I’ve been learning.”

Hawkwood shook his head from side to side, clearly trying to shake off his exasperation. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I can see why so many people are… nervous about you.”

“That is a way to put it.”

“Who would have thought that a farmboy, in over his head with a handful of orcs begrudgingly working for him would turn out like this.”

“Not me, that’s for sure,” Arkk said, then leaned in conspiratorially despite the lack of any eavesdroppers in the area. “If I’m being honest, I still feel in over my head about as much as I did that day you found me in Cliff.”

“Cliff…” Hawkwood’s bewildered expression turned sour. “Have you heard the news?”

Arkk nodded slowly. There was only one bit of news out of Cliff that anyone would be talking about for a while. “The Duke is dead. Not sure how I feel about that,” he said, honestly. “On one hand, maybe the Duchy won’t be after my head anymore. On the other hand, the Duke’s replacement offered amnesty to anyone who deserted the army due to disagreements with the Duke’s choice of friends.

“More than a handful of those deserters I mentioned hiring have… expressed interest in returning to the Grand Guard. I’m not going to try to stop them but it is a bit irritating.”

“Bah. The ones who aren’t returning are likely the wiser of the group. Nobody takes kindly to deserters, good reason or not, amnesty or not. I’m not all that thrilled to hear that you’ve hired them.”

Arkk shrugged. “I needed men.”

“There are men and then there are men,” Hawkwood said.

“Question, though, since I’m fairly ignorant of larger political matters. Can this replacement of the Duke offer amnesty?”

“She has no legitimacy. People listened to and respected the Duke because the King gave him the title. That gave him the authority and command of armies needed to enforce that respect. This so-called Lady Katja has no such authority. As far as I can tell from Neil’s reports, she has managed to gather a sizable foundation of support within Cliff, but that support doesn’t extend much beyond the walls of the city.

“Until and unless the King grants her a title—which isn’t likely as I doubt the King will be all that enamored with those who kill his noblemen, regardless of their reasons—she won’t have any true authority.”

Arkk opened his mouth, only to have his comment stalled by a raised hand from Hawkwood.

“However,” Hawkwood continued. “The situation in the Duchy is… chaotic. Some, like those you mentioned under your command, will be interested in working for this Lady Katja solely because she offers them the ability to continue living in their home. Others will still see the threat of Evestani and join together for a better chance at fending them off. Villagers and those outside the military will likely be pleased with the change in leadership once they hear of the cut to taxes.

“How the situation plays out will likely revolve around how the regiments of the Grand Guard at the southern border react to the news. They could easily step back and allow the King’s army entry to the Duchy or they could maintain their postings for the usurper. If Lady Katja is wise, she will be doing everything in her power to convince the border regiments to come to her, further stalling the King’s army while she consolidates power.

“Ultimately, the King will likely send word to the army to force their way in. Maybe this Lady Katja will have used that stalling time to muster the resources necessary to fend him off. Maybe they roll through faster than Evestani and take her head.” Hawkwood let out a long sigh, casting his gaze back upon the tall tower. “Your presence, especially once this Walking Fortress manages to take its first step, throws an awful kink in the rope as well. I can’t even begin to predict how anyone will react to it.”

Arkk took in his words for a long moment, simply staring up at the tower as he did so. “Well, I can tell you how I’ll react. I’m very much interested in not being tried for treason or heresy or anything else that would result in… an unpleasant outcome.”

Hawkwood nodded his head. “If Lady Katja is at all intelligent, she will be making overtures to get you on her side as soon as you unveil this tower. This is… I mean, an army spotting this approach over the horizon is going to lose all its morale even if it doesn’t do anything. It represents a power that will frighten many.”

Hawkwood paused a moment as a conflicted look crossed his face. Like he had something more to say but wasn’t sure if he should say it. Eventually, he decided to speak. “There is one other thing. I have received a letter via Swiftwing that asks, if I am still loyal to the Kingdom, to meet with Prince Cedric on the Vaales border of the Duchy. The King is sending his son to… investigate matters.”

Blinking twice, Arkk tried to think. He really did. While Duke Woldair was a known name even in small villages like Langleey and he had heard the King’s name in passing, Arkk wasn’t sure that he could name a single prince. Or princess, for that matter. Did the King have daughters? He didn’t know.

There was the Principality of Vaales to the east of the Duchy and the Principality of Lockloch to the southeast. Presumably, both were run by a prince. Which ones or what their names were just wasn’t something that most villagers in the Duchy cared about.

“Is that… bad?”

“The Prince shut down a rebellion in Vaales, orchestrated by the local count of the land, through overwhelming force. I don’t know much about it other than it happened, nor what his exact plans are in coming here, but…” Hawkwood drew in a deep breath. “No matter what, we’re all going to have some heavy choices ahead of us. This isn’t for a few weeks, however, so we have some breathing room to think.”

Arkk didn’t move outwardly. Inwardly, he wondered exactly what kind of choices Hawkwood intended to make. There was something in Hawkwood’s tone. In his words. Arkk wasn’t sure that he would like the answer if he asked where Hawkwood stood on matters.

“For now,” Arkk said, “until we reach the point of those choices, I could use a drink. And you haven’t even seen the fortress proper yet.”

Hawkwood immediately cast his gaze around, looking confused.

He had arrived in Smilesville Burg to the north of the cursed forest earlier in the day along with a small retinue. Most of whom were still back at the burg. Arkk joined them there before riding in along with Hawkwood and two of his direct adjutants. They were waiting some distance back, Hawkwood having been the only one to approach the tower.

“Not here,” Arkk said with a small laugh. “We’ll be using teleportation circles to reach it. Your men are welcome to join or to rest in the tower. Though the tower is somewhat… lacking in amenities, the crew I have stationed here will be happy to accommodate guests.”

“Arkk,” Hawkwood said, tone flat. “We’ve been camping through the winter in tents and sleeping on hard ground in our armor most nights. I’m sure whatever you’ve got will be a luxury.”

Arkk blinked, feeling foolish all of a sudden. Although he had helped out at various points during the war, he hadn’t been on the campaign trail. He hadn’t roughed it out in the wilderness with nothing but watery stew and hardtack rations.

“Sorry.”

Hawkwood just shook his head, clapping a hand on Arkk’s shoulder before heading back to talk with his adjutants. Arkk, deciding to follow his lead, pulled Dakka straight to the entrance of the Walking Fortress. The land on the surface was still unclaimed, meaning he couldn’t drop her off directly in front of him. Even if he could, it was probably best not to startle the newcomers too much by having her appear right in their midst.

As Dakka hurried over from the tower, Arkk looked around. If a war was to be fought here, claiming the territory so that he might use it to instantly move himself and his forces around the battlefield would be an undeniable advantage. It would be obvious, however, turning most of the land into glowstone-encrusted tiles. He could build on top of that to disguise it, but whatever he built probably wouldn’t be enough to hide the complete transformation of the Cursed Forest.

Then again, he was fairly certain that anyone who cared already knew where he was positioned. Perhaps his fiction that Fortress Al-Mir had moved following the inquisitor’s invasion had worked for a time but he doubted it did now.

He would give the order later for the lesser servants to begin claiming the land.

After giving directions for Dakka to show their guests around the tower, Arkk and Hawkwood descended into the false fortress and made their way toward the ritual circle room at the back. Normally, none of the eight ritual circles went anywhere important. They were intended to be decoys. But today, Arkk had altered one to take them into the fortress proper.

What followed was a fairly standard tour of the fortress. Fortress Al-Mir had become unwieldy large and sprawling in the time since the war had begun. Mostly to make room for all the refugees and the necessary food supply for them, but also because Arkk felt it would be wise to have as much of the Cursed Forest’s underground as possible under his control.

He didn’t bother touring most of those areas, just touching on them in passing as they moved around the more important locales in the fortress. The canteens, the library, the training rooms, the forge, the alchemy lab, and so on and so forth… Arkk skipped over the portal room and the prison, feeling no desire to further shock the poor man with the former or to explain what the unmoving carcass of the Protector was in the latter.

Arkk ended the tour in Fortress Al-Mir’s larger meeting room. The one with a detailed map of the entire duchy hanging across one entire wall. It had been updated recently by a particularly artistic refugee working in conjunction with the scrying team to get what Arkk believed to be the most accurate map of the land that existed.

It was covered in dozens of little metal pins that had been dipped in a variety of colored paint to denote various points of interest, enemy force concentrations, logistical routes, and anything else that might come in handy for this war. Hawkwood spent several minutes just staring at it and then several minutes more asking about each of the pins. He pointed out a few notes of his own, items he knew about that Arkk was missing.

Arkk made notes to confirm that the information was still accurate. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Hawkwood, it was just that the war had effectively been on hold for a little over a month now.

“I must say,” Hawkwood said, swirling a small glass of ruby-colored alcohol. “This is all… impressive. Hard to believe if I wasn’t seeing it for myself.”

“When you have a crystal ball capable of scrying, gathering information is surprisingly simple. There are some holes—Evestani likes to obscure what they’re doing with a sort of fog.”

“I meant everything,” Hawkwood said, waving his glass around. “The crowded halls and training rooms, the manufacture of armor and weapons, the magical research. I lost count of the number of soldiers you have. Beastmen, demihuman, and humans mixing together, working together. Gorgon of all things. No, dragonoids of all things…”

“Just the one.” Arkk hadn’t seen Priscilla on the tour. Although she was working with him, she didn’t exactly get along with many of the others at the fortress. Mostly just the fairies, who Arkk presumed to spark some note of kinship in her given their loss of magic in the Calamity.

“The rate at which you’ve built your organization is staggering. It’s been, what, a little over six months since you stumbled into Cliff City looking lost? You claimed to have two dozen orcs in your employ at the time and were having them doing farming work,” he said with a loud laugh. “I figured you would go out and handle a few bandits or other menial work before some other company annexed your group, offering benefits you couldn’t provide. Maybe suffer a mutiny if you try to get the orcs farming again…”

“You didn’t mention that at the time.”

“I like to think of myself as a man with boundless optimism and firmly believed in your eventual successes.” Hawkwood knocked back the entire glass of alcohol. His face twisted like he expected a burn only to find that burn missing. He looked down at the glass with a frown. “A bit weak,” he said.

Arkk, after taking a long drink from his own glass, Arkk shrugged. “I’m not much of a drinker. Give me a celebration or social meeting like this and I’ll pour a glass. Otherwise, it isn’t to my taste. If you want something stronger…” Arkk held out a hand and, in an instant, a small keg appeared on the tabletop, pretapped with a little nozzle. “This is what the orcs drink.”

Although Hawkwood jolted at the sudden appearance, he only looked at the keg with mild suspicion before twisting the nozzle and filling his glass. He immediately tried a bit only to start coughing. “That’s,” he started with a wheeze in his voice, “a bit stronger.”

Arkk laughed, leaning back in his chair. “My success is definitely not because of any iota of charisma or leadership qualities. I lucked into a magical artifact that lets me do things no other mercenary leader would be able to manage,” he said with a nod toward the keg. “An assistant who pushed me along, driving me to be what I am today,” he continued. Then, dipped his head toward Hawkwood. “And a decent mentor.” Arkk held his glass aloft in a small toast.

Hawkwood hesitated a moment before slowly smiling and taking another sip.

Drinking it just made him cough again.

“You shouldn’t disparage yourself so much,” Hawkwood said as he got the last of the coughs out. “I’ve seen men squander wealth, born leaders waste away in depravity and laziness, and corruption take hold of even the most honest of men. In the hands of the majority of people, a magical artifact would have gone to waste at best, directed toward nefarious ends at worst.” He paused and chuckled. “And don’t underestimate the value of a trusted assistant. You think White Company would be what it is today if I didn’t have my advisers and adjutants? I would have been the squanderer.”

Arkk wasn’t sure that he believed that. Hawkwood was probably just being polite and humble.

“And a mentor? I hope you aren’t referring to me,” he said with another humble laugh.

“Well, someone who showed me the ropes. I might have tried to send the orcs into the gorgon’s mine if left to my own devices and that would have ended in a mutiny for sure. I…” Arkk paused, feeling a tug from the scrying team. “I’ll be right back,” he said, bolting to his feet.

He had specifically asked to not be disturbed today unless an emergency came up. That someone was trying to get his attention meant that something had gone wrong.

Harvey, the flopkin, sat in front of one of the crystal balls with worry lining his rabbit-like face. The moment Arkk teleported into the scrying room, Harvey sat upright and waved him over.

“Kia and Claire were ambushing an Evestani supply caravan as normal,” he said without prompt. “They were ambushed in turn. Fog obscured the crystal ball before I could see much more.”

Arkk blinked twice and cast his attentions out, following the link from himself to Kia. He could sense the dark elf but it was distant, like the fog in the crystal ball was affecting the employee link. It was an unnerving sensation. He had been inside the Evestani encampment during the siege of Elmshadow but hadn’t felt that effect.

Evestani weren’t resting on their asses while waiting for winter to end. They had been working to counter him just as he was working to counter them.

Unfortunately, it was something he would have to think about later.

Arkk teleported Dakka, Alma, Rekk’ar, Zharja, and Joanne straight to him. “We have an emergency,” he said before they fully got their bearings. “Dakka, Alma, Zharja, Joanne, I need you and your teams ready for combat immediately. Rekk’ar, you get everyone remaining on high alert. That means gear and postings. I’m teleporting you all to the armory. A full briefing will be conducted in a few moments as you are armoring up.”

He teleported them again before they could even think to argue and then teleported himself back to Hawkwood.

The man, standing and looking somewhat alarmed at Arkk’s sudden disappearance, jolted at Arkk’s sudden reappearance.

“Sorry, we’re going to have to cut this short. There is an emergency.”

“Something I can assist with?”

Arkk paused to consider. Most of White Company were out around Smilesville Burg. They weren’t his employees yet—maybe ever—so he couldn’t just teleport them around. It would take too long to get them over here. So Arkk just shook his head. “Not this time. Ilya,” he said, gesturing to where the elf appeared in the meeting room with a short, surprised squeak. “Ilya, if you would be so kind as to help Hawkwood. He is welcome to stay if he wishes or show him the way to the teleportation ritual back to the tower if he wishes to return to his men.”

“Arkk, what’s—”

“Sorry, no time to explain more. Kia and Claire’s group were ambushed.”

 

 

Arkk strode through the halls of the former Duke’s manor. Everywhere he stepped, it looked like a war had been fought. Blood stained the floor, discarded weapons and armor sat in corners of rooms, and every now and again, he passed by a body that had yet to be dragged out with the others.

All in all, a war hadn’t been fought. Most of the casualties of the operation were confined to the manor since it had been staffed with those most loyal to the Duke. Between some carefully targeted personnel at the garrison and the average soldier being less-than-willing to attack the citizens of the Duchy that they were meant to protect, and the general discontent with the Duke following what was seen as a surrender to Evestani among the army, the coup had come off with surprisingly little bloodshed.

“The Abbey of the Light is cowering within their church,” Lexa said, walking alongside him as she gave him a report on all the important bits of the coup. “A few low-ranked people came out to heal and extinguish fires but all the leadership and inquisitors are hiding away.”

He wasn’t sure what to do about them. The Abbey was, effectively, his enemy. It was they who convinced the Duke to ally with Evestani against him.

“From asking around,” Lexa continued, “subtly, of course. The public views them in a positive light. They came out to help the people, as little as they did, and that’s made them an ally of this coup.”

“Unfortunate,” Arkk said. He would have loved to have an excuse to get rid of them. He doubted Katja wanted to keep them around either. Then again, perhaps it was better to keep them around where he could see them.

Astra was ostensibly helping keep an eye on them, but she wouldn’t be around for long. The crux of her agreement to help him hinged on him keeping his focus on the Golden Order. That golden-eyed avatar possessing children to use in his army had personally upset Astra to the point where she was willing to set aside just about everything else to take him down.

Even if it meant working with a heretic.

She was to feel out a few of the other prominent members of the Abbey to see if anyone else was of similar thought. Then she was going to travel to Chernlock.

And wasn’t that a whole other issue.

The situation was complicated beyond Arkk’s understanding. In part because he didn’t have all of the facts but also because matters of kings and nations weren’t something farmboys like him were typically educated in. Even all the books he had read in his youth hadn’t touched on matters of succession or coups.

The Duke had initially requested help from Chernlock in repelling the Evestani invaders. The King had mustered his army and sent them north to the Duchy, only for the alliance with Evestani to be announced. Per Hawkwood’s reports, the King’s army had been stopped at the border and denied entry with the Duke’s guard claiming they had everything under control and no longer needed reinforcements.

But the pressure for the alliance came from the Abbey, which was headquartered down in Chernlock in the same city where the King resided. Wouldn’t the army have just supported the Duke and Evestani against Fortress Al-Mir?

There was miscommunication somewhere. Or disagreements. Arkk wasn’t sure which.

With Katja taking over here and having access to the Duke’s notes and whatever advisors hadn’t fled in the night, he hoped he would get a better grasp on the situation soon. For now…

“Where is Katja anyway?” Arkk asked. “I expected her to meet with me.”

“Offering a performative speech to those who ‘rescued’ her from the garrison,” Lexa said, complete with wiggling her fingers around the word. “She earned goodwill and loyalty through ensuring people’s needs were met. Can’t just go lock herself in the manor and become a despot overnight, can she?”

“I would prefer if she didn’t become a despot at all.”

Arkk was fully prepared to use the resources and magic of Fortress Al-Mir to prop her up. But there was much unknown about this situation as well.

The current goal was to consolidate. Give anyone who wouldn’t support Katja the boot while installing her men throughout positions of power. The King probably wouldn’t take kindly to her coup no matter the situation around it but if they painted the Duke as a traitor to the crown and managed to get the support of most of the population, having her beheaded would hopefully be a little more troublesome. Especially if the King thought the Duchy as a whole would immediately revolt.

Of course, if the King and the rest of the Kingdom were in full alliance with Evestani, no amount of sugared words or guile would spare them.

Lexa led him up through the manor and to a large room with wide-open glass windows looking out onto a grand balcony.

Katja stood outside, dressed in plain clothes with very little styling to her hair. The hulking form of Horrik stood at her back with his arms crossed over his chest.

Pausing well away from the windows—nobody was supposed to know of his presence here as he would prefer if any link between him and Katja were kept silent—Arkk watched and waited, listening to Katja’s speech while she spread her arms in grand gesticulation.

“I stand before you today as a liberator. The tides of change have swept through our lands and now a new dawn has risen. Let us cast aside the shackles of our past and embrace this new dawn for what it can be.

“I understand many might be apprehensive, having witnessed the swift downfall of the former Duke. Our illustrious Duke once resided here, throwing lavish parties, surrounded by opulence. But if you look and ask yourself what he offered you in exchange for his relaxed life, you’ll find nothing more than empty promises and broken trust, heavy taxes, and a blind eye to the people of the land in favor of those with wealth and power that he could use.

“Promises, trust, and the will of the people will have to be something worked on over time. However, I can speak on the topic of taxes today to give you something to look forward to. Effective immediately, taxes will be reduced to a mere ten percent for the next five years. The people have suffered enough with the war and the displacement it has caused. I will take no more than it requires to maintain a strong army.

“My methods may seem unorthodox and strange. Desperate times call for bold action. I will craft this realm into a society that can thrive. The invaders will be expunged. There will be food and shelter aplenty. In the months to come, you will witness—No, you will be the transformation of this land into one of prosperity.

“Together, we shall build a community of unprecedented change. May fortune favor us on this journey toward a brighter future.”

Katja remained at the window for a short time longer, making sure she was seen by all the crowd who had gathered. Eventually, with parting waves, she retreated back into the manor. Horrik followed, closing the glass doors behind them.

“Nice speech,” Arkk said. He nodded toward the window. “How much of that did you mean?”

The bandit lord shrugged her shoulders, cracking her neck back and forth. “Let me put it this way: I’ve already been reaching out to all the wealthy merchants and nobles, assuring them that their lavish lives won’t need to change in the slightest.

“Oh don’t give me that look,” Katja said, fingers finding her elbows as she crossed her arms and leaned against the desk. “As the Bandit Lord of Porcupine Hill, I learned well how things work. Especially once I started bringing Moonshine Burg around to my way of thinking. Every ruling structure has its key figures. The ones who can get things done. Some might be merchants with able laborers, some might know the secrets of the state, and others will simply be those whom others use as examples for direction and inspiration. The mass of people doesn’t matter half as much as keeping those key people happy. Offer the masses some useless platitudes to keep them quiet while we focus on those who can actually help.”

Arkk let out a small sigh, wondering if this hadn’t been a foolish decision. He could have had Ilya or even Alya take Katja’s place in this coup. Much as he was upset with the elder elf, at least she wasn’t… a bandit.

But Katja had the people and, as she said, the experience. And it got her out of Fortress Al-Mir, which was another positive of the situation.

If worse came to worst, he could always remove her. Probably a whole lot easier than they had gotten rid of the Duke.

“Don’t worry so much. Unless I turn actively malicious, I doubt I can possibly be worse than our dear, departed Duke.”

“You have a point there,” Arkk admitted. “I couldn’t help but notice a lack of cheering or excitement outside the window. You got a rise when you mentioned taxes but not much else.”

Katja scoffed. She looked back to Horrik with a raised eyebrow before shaking her head. “There were supposed to be some of my men in the crowd, ready to rouse the rabbles at the right moments. I think most were too drunk to show up. As for the rest of the people…” She trailed off with a small laugh. “I doubt half of them knew they were participating in a coup. They thought they were freeing poor Katja from the garrison prison. Waking up to find the Duke is dead and someone new is standing in his place is probably a shock to most.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Hardly. I’ll make sure I make a few visits around the refugee camps and elsewhere in the city, delivering supplies just like normal.” She shifted off the desk, sauntering through the room while miming handing out a blanket. “‘What am I doing here? Oh silly me. I could have other people delivering supplies these days. I didn’t want this position, you know. I just want to see joy on people’s faces.’ They’ll eat it up,” she said, dropping the act. “Word will spread and people will be content.

“There are two real problems. Evestani and Chernlock.”

“Unless the latter starts a war, I’ll leave them to you,” Arkk said. “Try to appease them? Cooperate or whatever it takes. We don’t need another faction in this war. As for Evestani… I acquired a magical artifact while you’ve been gone. I need men, however. Spellcasters especially.”

“I don’t know that my men will be all too enthused with that idea after what happened last time.”

“Look. That guy had very clear instructions to not move and he did the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do. I’m not sure what else…” Arkk stopped, shaking his head back and forth. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve already reached out to Hawkwood and he’s willing to lend his support but he doesn’t have many quality casters in White Company. The Duke’s guard, on the other hand, does. As does the academy here, if all the casters haven’t been drafted into the guard.”

“Ah. That might be a problem,” Katja said with a put-upon sigh. “I’m not a miracle worker. While, thanks to some key… adjustments of the personnel in charge, the local garrison is willing to work with me, the armies afar likely don’t even know that the Duke is dead. Convincing them to follow my lead isn’t going to be something that happens overnight. If at all. And they’re the ones with the spellcasters.

“All I can guarantee is that anyone who doesn’t fall in line will not receive any support from Cliff,” Katja said as a grin spread across her face. “The supply lines are effectively cut off unless they bow to me. I imagine most will want to eat. What’s exchanging one leader they’ve never met for another? Those who do not bow… might be open to alternate sources of employment.”

“More deserters with Company Al-Mir,” Arkk said, understanding her euphemisms. “I can work with that.”

“Shortly, I’ll be sending out a flock of Swiftwing harpies to inform the various divisions of the Grand Guard of the change in circumstances.”

“Wouldn’t you be able to direct them as normal using the Duke’s signet ring to stamp the messages?”

Katja dipped her head. “I considered that. I decided honesty was the best way to prevent an uprising when they find out they’ve been deceived. Unless you have a better plan for the guard that needs immediate action?”

Arkk considered for a long few moments. Between Hawkwood’s men, the deserters he had already gathered up, and the armies of the Duke, there was a lot he thought he could get done with regard to Evestani. The Walking Fortress, currently under construction, would only add to that once it finished. The Heart of Gold’s avatar was a problem but, presumably, couldn’t be everywhere at once or use his abilities with any resounding frequency.

There were short-term benefits to be gained from usurping control of everything as soon as possible.

Long term, they had to stop and think. Katja was right about the armies likely turning on her if they found out they had been following an impostor. It was hard to see right now but there was presumably life after war that needed to be taken into consideration.

Then again, the last war with Evestani had lasted for over a decade, waxing and waning at times but never quite ending. Arkk had this image in mind that the war would end if he just defeated the golden avatar and forced the armies out of the Duchy but…

How realistic was that vision? Even without the avatar, the war had started. Land had been taken. People had died. Those who lived wanted revenge. Even on Evestani’s side, they would see the deaths of their comrades and use those as motivation, making them martyrs of the Golden Order.

Perhaps planting the Walking Fortress in whatever was left of Moonshine Burg would cut off the two nations effectively enough to force a cessation of combat. Even then…

There was too much uncertainty in the future.

Did that warrant the safe approach that Katja was advocating for? Or a more aggressive approach?

There was also the King to consider. Deposing the Duke was damning enough. Falsifying documents and usurping the armies when control should rightfully revert to the King wouldn’t help matters.

Arkk didn’t know the first thing about the King. His name was Abe Lafoar. He ruled from the Bastion City, a star-shaped fortification nestled between three lakes, all of which sat in the middle of a desert. Everything beyond that was a mystery to Arkk. Most villagers of the Duchy probably knew of the Duke, if only tangentially, and likely knew of the King. But where they paid taxes to the Duke, the King was so distant and immaterial to their daily lives that there was just no need to know anything about him.

That needed to change.

A knock at the door broke Arkk out of his thoughts. He turned to find one of Katja’s men standing at the door he and Lexa had left open. As with most of Katja’s men, Arkk hadn’t committed the man’s name to memory, unfortunately. He was still a little put-off about going from knowing the names of every single member of Company Al-Mir to knowing a mere fraction of them.

“Sorry to bother you, Kat, but—”

“Lady Katja, please,” Katja said. “We must maintain appearances.”

“Lady Katja,” the bandit repeated in a slightly sarcastic tone. “Some bishop from the Abbey is here.”

“A bishop? What does he want?”

“To talk?” the bandit said with a shrug. “He has a guard with him. One of those inquisitorial types. No sign of their purifiers though.”

Katja let out a long hum. “I suppose that is a good sign.”

“I can’t be seen here,” Arkk said. They wanted to maintain the fiction that this little uprising had nothing to do with him. To do that, he would have to limit his interactions with Katja. But, while he was here, he paused and looked at the woman with the striped tattoos. “I’m not going to order you around or tell you what to do. Send the Swiftwings to inform the army if you wish.”

Katja smiled and dipped her head. “I appreciate that. I’ll send one of the Swiftwings with you as well. I know you’ve been wanting a harpy in your employ and it will be good for letting you know when I need fresh supplies.”

Arkk wasn’t sure how much he needed a harpy now that Priscilla was at Fortress Al-Mir. Someone who could actually see what they were scouting would be nice but the fairy backpack had worked well enough.

Still, he didn’t argue. He accepted the gesture with gracious thanks.

As Katja had said earlier, there were certain key people needed to keep things running. It was important to keep those people happy and content.

Katja just happened to be one of his key people now.

 

 

Duke Levi Woldair woke to a tolling of alarm.

The sound of the warning bells in the manor was never supposed to ring through the city. For a long moment, he sat in bed, staring at the ceiling with no worries, feeling like he was listening to the chime of the Grand Old Church, which rang every morning with the rising sun. It was only the lack of melody to the frantic and panicked ringing that made him realize something was amiss.

A jolt of adrenaline surged through his body as he jumped from his bed. Levi threw open the doors to his wardrobe and pulled out a simple robe and slippers. Not bothering with proper dress, he barged out into the hall outside his room just in time to barrel into the captain of his manor guard.

“Sir, there—”

“What is it? Is it… Evestani?” Levi said, whispering the word as he glanced around the hallway. Despite the Abbey of the Light’s recommendations to ally with the foreign power, the alliance had him ill at ease.

They had sent assassins after him at the start of this nightmare. The Abbey might claim that there were greater threats out there, ruinous magic that threatened the entire world. Levi didn’t care about the entire world, just the possibility of blades in his back.

He almost wished the Sultan had rejected his offer of an alliance if only so that he would know that they were still after him.

But his guard captain was shaking his head. “No Sir. At least, I don’t think so. It’s a horde of refugees along with—”

“Refu… Refugees?” The panic and alarm that had woken Levi faded, irritation and annoyance replacing the feeling. He let out a relieved sigh. “Just get rid of them? Why all the commotion?”

“It isn’t that easy, Sir. There are over a thousand of them, armed and even armored. The garrison can’t handle them all and… some of the residents of the city have joined the mob as well. Including some from among the guard. Things have already turned violent in some areas of the city.”

“Traitors.” Levi folded his robe around him and started walking through the manor. The guard captain followed behind him, continuing to inform him of the situation.

“Maybe so, but their presence and that of the city’s residents has made the guard hesitant to fight back. It’s like a wave has swept through the city and the longer it goes on, the larger the group of rioters becomes.”

That gave Levi pause. He shifted, glancing behind him with a raised eyebrow. “Magical influence?” Such could be the product of either of his enemies. Evestani used their heretical golden magic to wage their war and, if the Abbey was correct, that abominable splitting of the sky had been the doing of Arkk. A man who, he now knew, had been interested in a certain mind mage that had been causing problems in the Duchy.

“I don’t know.”

Levi scoffed, wondering why he bothered asking. Good help was hard to get these days. He knew without a doubt that Alya would have known everything there was to know about this incident. She would have likely known ahead of time and defused the situation before it got to this point. Or, at the very least, she would have handled it before it got to the point of waking him.

“They do have demands.”

“Of course they do,” Levi grumbled, ascending the tall tower’s staircase. He needed to see what was going on himself. The eyes of his underlings couldn’t be trusted.

“They demand the revocation of the alliance with Evestani and the release of some woman from the garrison.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Katja, supposedly, but there is no record of any prisoner by that name. Unfortunately, contact with the garrison has since been cut off because of the riot.”

Levi crested the top of the manor’s tall tower. A quartet of spellcasters were supposed to be present at all times, manning the manor’s magical defenses. Only one was present. Slumped over with a dagger sticking out of his chest, he was in no position to maintain the magical wards.

The guard captain moved immediately, calling out down the stairs for more guards.

The sight made Levi recoil. No rabble could possibly have reached the tall tower, no matter how riotous they were. And…

Now that he thought about it, had he seen any guards besides the captain?

Mouth dry and cold air biting at his skin through his thin robe, Levi slowly turned around. There was no sign of any assailant but the view from the tall tower let him get a good look at the state of his city.

In the early morning hours where the sun had yet to crest the top of Cliff’s mountains, he normally wouldn’t have been able to see much of anything. Today, however, little dancing flames bobbed back and forth with the masses surging through the city’s streets. In the distance, the exterior of the garrison was burning. Most of the garrison was built into the cliffside but it had a large courtyard that stuck out into the city proper. A few other pockets of flame were burning at various points throughout the city.

Much of the city was made from wood. The flames needed spellcasters to bring them under control as soon as possible or the entire city would burn down. Already, it looked like the mercenary quarter was being quenched but that wasn’t enough.

“Tell them we’ll free the woman and even pardon her for whatever crimes she committed,” Levi said without turning, his lips numb both from the cold and the threat at hand. He needed to de-escalate things as fast as possible. Regain control. “Tell them whatever they want to get them to lay down their arms. Then round them up and—”

A coughing gurgle from behind him had Levi turning.

The captain of the guard clutched at his neck, struggling for a moment before falling limp over the body of the spellcaster.

A woman… No, a gremlin with bright orange hair vaulted the side of the tall tower, landing just to the side of the two fallen bodies. She bent, wiping glistening red blood from the edge of her blade onto the spellcaster’s tunic.

Levi’s eyes flicked from the short woman to the stairs back down. He lunged, all but diving toward the opening.

The gremlin hopped over, planting herself firmly between him and the stairs. She pointed the tip of her blade directly toward his face. “Ah-ah,” she mocked, ticking the end of the blade back and forth. “You know, I thought I was going to have to find some hidden bunker or safe room. Even brought some alchemical explosives with me to blast my way in. Imagine my surprise when you come stumbling up here.”

“Who are you?” Levi said, backing toward the edge of the tall tower. He took a few steps around, moving closer to the fallen bodies. “What do you want?”

The gremlin remained in her spot, guarding the only exit to the tall tower. “I’m just your average seeker of fortune. No one important. And, obviously, I’m earning a promised fortune.”

“I have a vast treasury. Gold coins, precious gems, rare metals,” Levi said, taking another step. “I can pay you ten times whatever you’ve been paid tonight. A hundred times, even.”

“True, very true. But, my dear Duke, what is stopping me from marching into your vast treasury and taking it all?”

Levi grit his teeth. “Take it. All of it,” he said, eyes flicking to the body of the guard captain. The man had drawn his sword before getting his throat cut. It was on the ground, half resting on the legs of the spellcaster. “I can take you straight…”

Flicking his eyes back to the gremlin, he found her gone. Eyes wide, he dove for the blade, grasping it by the hilt in both hands. Whipping around, he looked for any sign of the assassin. Untrained hands swung the sword back and forth, hoping to catch the gremlin off guard even as he backed up to the stairs.

“Help!” he called. “Guards! Guard—”

Searing heat split his throat. He stumbled back, trying to swing the blade back and forth again. The gremlin jumped back, well clear of the sword. She looked entirely casual as if this were just another day even as she wiped the edge of her blade on the back of the guard captain.

The sword slipped from Levi’s weakening grip. He pressed his fingers to his throat, trying to staunch the blood. It leaked between his meaty fingers, flowing without end.

“You know, Arkk wished he could have been here for this. But he’s too busy plotting the downfall of another nation to deal with this one.” She let out a long and disgusting chuckle.

Levi felt lightheaded, woozy. He tried to speak but let out a sputtering cough as he stumbled back.

“Ah, but don’t you worry about a thing,” she said, her tone almost reassuring. A smile spread across her face, revealing sharp, pointed teeth in her unpleasant grin. “I’ll find my way to your treasury just fine.”

Levi tried to take another step back, only for his back foot to hit nothing but air.

The darkness closed in, shrinking his vision as he fell through the air. Everything went black when the back of his head struck a step leading down from the tall tower.

Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox heard the whispers in the halls of the Grand Old Church. Everyone, from the lowliest acolytes to Pontiff Bernardin himself, gathered at the south-facing windows of the church to watch the chaos in the city unfold. No one was quite sure what to do.

A few of the priests and abbesses had been dispatched to help end the fires that were tearing through some districts of the city. That was only a symptom, however.

The city guard didn’t have enough stationed in the city to quell the riots. The garrison had been running under capacity with the vast majority of the Duke’s Grand Guard being stationed out in the Duchy for the war. Even with the so-called alliance in effect, they had yet to be recalled. If the reports coming in were accurate, some of the guard had joined in with the rioters, further exacerbating the problem.

“…dispatch a purifier?”

“…make the problem worse.”

“When threatened with emeutes, drastic measures—”

“The Inquisition of the Light is not meant for quelling mundane riots. The Church isn’t threatened. None have tried crossing the bridge to the Church. There is no evidence of heretical magics at play,” Darius said, voice firm and admonishing toward the various whispers of concerned priests and abbesses. “We won’t expose undeserving people to the mercies of a purifier.”

“…lost his purifier.”

“Embarrassment.”

“This is a mundane issue,” Darius added. “The city guards will handle it or they won’t. The Abbey will continue in either case.”

“Will it?” Bishop Ocasek stepped forward, furrowing his thick eyebrows. “Times are unusual. This disruption will undoubtedly affect our actions against the enemy. If we stand by and allow this city to fall into chaos and thus cannot act when it matters, are we not dooming ourselves and all our subjects?”

“We should be out there anyway,” Abbess Marra said, clutching her hands together at her chest as if in prayer. “People are getting hurt. Dying. The few who are extinguishing fires aren’t enough. It is our duty to help as many people as possible.”

“The Abbess is right,” one of the younger acolytes said as he put himself in the middle of the group. “We’re hiding behind our bridge and gates. That isn’t right. Maybe we can’t quell the riot entirely but we can at least go through the crowds and administer what little aid we can provide.”

“There aren’t enough guards to keep everyone safe,” Bishop Ocasek said, shaking his head. “I fear for the ones who volunteered to fight the fires. If the riots turn violent toward the Abbey, the few we sent with them won’t hold the masses back on their own.” He turned, giving a pointed look to Master Inquisitor Joel Hachi.

Hachi, along with Master Inquisitor Verimas Kael were the only two stationed at the Grand Old Church with purifiers in their retinue. Darius had lost Agnete to Arkk. A few were set to arrive in the coming weeks to help in a joint offense with Evestani against Arkk. There were others out in the Duchy, dealing with their tasks. Most hadn’t contacted the Abbey in weeks if not longer.

Casualties of the war, presumably.

If they couldn’t make contact now that Evestani was supposedly in alliance with the Duchy, they were likely dead.

“Inquisitor Vrox isn’t incorrect,” Hachi said, shooting a dark look in Darius’ direction. “If the goal is to preserve lives and reduce chaos, unleashing a purifier into the city is counterproductive.”

“But—”

“If we act as regular guards, we can escort more healers around. Perhaps, with careful preaching rather than a show of force, we can help calm down some sections of the city. Anything beyond that is outside the scope of responsibilities for the Inquisition of the Light.”

Darius opened his mouth to voice an argument.

He found himself cut off by an unexpected voice, stepping forward from the shadows of the hall.

“All it takes is one idiot throwing one rock at a purifier to spark a massacre.”

For a long moment, no one said a word. They simply stared at the woman who had emerged into their midst. Silver hair dribbled out from the hood of a black cloak. A scarred face peered out with hard red eyes.

“Astra?” Kael said, sounding surprised.

He wasn’t the only one.

“Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra?”

With her hands covered in thick leather gloves, Astra gripped the sides of her hood and lowered it slowly. She looked over the group, scowl clear on display. “What a mess.”

“Where… You’re alive.”

“Obviously.”

“Chronicler Qwol made it back, injured to hell and back. He claimed you had perished.”

“Chronicler Qwol and I were separated following the fall of Elmshadow Burg. I was pursued by a golden-eyed abomination of Evestani’s Golden Order. It isn’t surprising he thought I wouldn’t make it out alive.” Her hard lips twisted into a grimaced grin. “Lucky, I’m hardier than I look.

“Unluckily, I return to find the city like this? An alliance with Evestani? What a sad joke.”

“A lot has changed in your absence,” Bishop Ocasek said. “Surely you saw the fissure in the sky?”

“Bah. I’m in no mood for excuses,” she spat. Her red eyes swept over the room, pausing on Darius for a moment longer than any other, before she finally let out a long sigh. “I’m going to take a nap and then I’m going to start on my report. Maybe it will convince the Abbey to part with this self-destructive alliance before it kills us all.”

“You’re taking a nap,” an acolyte said. “At a time like this?”

“Oh, would you prefer if I stand around at the window with the rest of you all? Useless,” she said with a shake of her head. “A waste of time. I am hurt. I am tired. And standing around helps nobody.”

Astra didn’t give anyone a chance to argue with her further. She turned and, with a slight limp in her gait, walked back down the hall.

Darius looked around the group for a long moment before walking after her. “She’s right,” he said. “As long as I’m awake, I’ve got work to do.”

He left the others behind. Perhaps the inquisitors would decide to send out their purifiers. Perhaps the healers would head out themselves, guarded or not. They could do as they will. It wasn’t like his input would be taken with any amount of gravity.

Contrary to his words, however, he didn’t head back to his office.

The Inquisition of the Light had a small section of the church set aside for their use. It contained sparse sleeping quarters and offices. There wasn’t much room there. Normally, there wouldn’t be this many inquisitors stationed in the church at once. With all the inquisitors, chroniclers, and purifiers, they had spread out, taking over a few of the neighboring rooms and even a few storage areas.

Astra headed for the inquisitor’s quarters but, rather than head in, she stopped outside and waited. When Darius reached the door, she looked over at him. “Something to say, Inquisitor?”

Darius looked up and down the hall. With all the commotion going on this evening, it was deserted. Nevertheless, he waved Astra over across the hall to his office. Holding the door open for her, he stepped inside and closed it behind them. Only then did he speak.

“Suspicious that you return tonight of all nights.”

“Make your accusations if you must,” Astra said with a sigh. “Or, better yet, submit them to our superiors in writing. I don’t need to hear them.”

Darius moved around her, taking a seat behind his desk. His fingers found the end of his cane. He didn’t use it for such short walks through the church. “You’re against the alliance?”

“I don’t know what the rest of you inquisitors have been up to in my absence. I was in the thick of it. Fought against Evestani and their golden abomination. I’ve seen things out there. Things I cannot abide.”

“Personally? Or as an Inquisitor of the Light?”

“Both.”

Darius leaned back, clasping his hands together. “Your plan?”

“Why do you…” Astra trailed off, closing her eyes. “Ah. Arkk. I met him, you know? Not sure what to think of him. Heretical, for sure.”

“Let’s just say that I have my own interests and they don’t necessarily align with the official stance,” Darius said, avoiding her comment. “And if you don’t align with that either, perhaps we can offer each other some mutual… advice.”

Astra eyed Darius for a long moment, simply staring. Her red eyes drilled into him, unblinking and unwavering. “I intend to go visit the inquisitorial researchers, find out if they have any countermeasures for the Golden Order, then come back here and finish what I started. Whether or not I get support along the way is irrelevant.”

“If they don’t have anything?”

“Figure out why not, impress upon them the necessity of coming up with countermeasures, and make my own. In descending order.”

“In that case,” Darius said, leaning forward once more. “I think we can work together.”

 

 

The transition was the important part of the act.

For the first few weeks, she had made a name for herself as the person the refugees of Cliff could come to for nearly any concern they had. Cold at night? Katja had blankets. Little ones fallen ill? Katja had medicine. Rations handed out by the guards weren’t enough? Katja had food. Injuries accrued from fleeing the enemy of the people? Katja knew healers.

In only a few short days, no one at the refugee camp hadn’t heard of her. Even those inside the walls, thanks to some of Edvin’s manipulations, knew of her and had used her services. The war and the refugees meant rationing for all but the wealthy, so even inside the city, people found themselves running low on food and supplies.

But altruism on its own wasn’t the goal.

Katja walked through the encampment, wearing a thin smile on her face to hide her disgust for the rabble. It wasn’t their raggedy attire, the stench of their unwashed bodies, or the unfortunate situation they found themselves in that disgusted Katja. She had been through all that and worse.

It was their helplessness. Their lack of drive. Were it not for Katja and the supplies brought in from Fortress Al-Mir, half the camp would have sat down and accepted death as if there was nothing they could do about it. They saw their current station and, in their feeble imaginations, could envision no grander future for themselves beyond being slaves, in action if not in chains.

Katja had once been an actual slave. Complete with chains and lashings for any perceived slight or fault. She hadn’t been content with her station in life. Through plots and schemes, and one careless master who had foolishly entrusted his servants with poisoning his mistress, she had risen above and carved a bloody path forward.

The transition was the important part.

“Woah there,” Katja said, forcing a laugh as a dozen children rushed up to her, all waving about little wooden bowls.

“Katja!”

“Tiger Lady!”

“You’re back!”

“I said I would be back, didn’t I?” Katja said. She then turned her smile into a disappointed frown. “And what else did I say?”

Blank looks swapped between the children’s faces as they looked back and forth before finally settling on Katja.

She let out a sigh. “We can’t serve food when you’re crowding around.”

“Oh! Line up,” one of the older kids barked out.

“No pushing or shoving now!” Katja called before turning to her side. “Horrik!”

“Aye.” The tall man, ever-present at her side, waved the first of the young children over to the cart. He dipped a heavy ladle into one of the large cauldrons on the cart’s back. Taking the first child’s wooden bowl, he filled it to the brim with stew kept warm thanks to stones heated in a hearth and placed in the bottom of the cauldron.

As Horrik distributed the stew, Katja slipped past the rapidly growing line of both children and adults. Off to the back, standing with his hands tucked under his cloak and his face set in a grim scowl, the assumed leader of this section of the camp beckoned her with a slight jerk of his head. Mal. The one man among the refugees who saw the reality of things around him. He didn’t have the drive to do anything about it but…

Everyone needed a push now and again.

“Mal,” Katja greeted as she approached. “How are things?”

“A new group, a few hundred large, just arrived. Don’t have exact numbers. The guard said to house them in the existing tents but there isn’t enough space to go around. We could use blankets and tents, as soon as possible.”

“Doable.”

Mal didn’t show any surprise to her instant response. He had long since given up trying to figure out how Katja got her supplies. He simply nodded his head with a gruff grunt. “They’ll need food as well but the Duke’s dogs have been doing their jobs for once in handing out a few scraps. It isn’t much but it is enough for now.”

“We have plenty of food,” Katja said, shifting to look back at the cart and the four pots on its back.

“There is one other thing.”

“Oh?” Katja turned back, cocking one eyebrow when she noticed the worried expression leaking through his lined face.

“The guard has been asking about you.”

“Judging by your expression, I presume they aren’t interested in giving me any accolades for doing their job for them.”

Mal let out a low grumble. “It was the weapons, I think. They don’t care about us so they don’t care if you feed or clothe us.”

“People have a right to defend themselves. A few on the outskirts were talking about scrawny, winter-starved wolves prowling the edges of the encampment. Maybe if the guards did their jobs—”

Katja cut herself off as a commotion in the crowd pulled her attention off Mal.

She fought to keep the grin off her face as she spotted a squad of armored men, all bearing the insignia of the Duke’s Grand Guard, making their way through the encampment.

The transition was the important point. The real problem with altruism, especially in a situation like this, was that it eased tension. Perhaps easing tensions would have been good under other circumstances, but not these ones. Katja had other goals, other designs and plans. She wasn’t here to make people’s lives easier.

So what needed to happen?

Well, everyone needed a little push now and again.

Katja wasn’t planning any little push, but a massive shove.

The guard quickly surrounded the cart, shoving away hungry people. A young man at the lead of the group, not wearing any armor, raised a hand and pointed out Katja.

“Looks like we’re about to find out what the guard wants with me,” Katja said, forcing a worried tremor into her voice.

“Edvin, you traitor…”

“Hm?” she hummed, looking at Mal.

“The man leading them. He was another refugee but… I thought he was better than this.”

Katja chomped down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“They must have bought him off,” Mal finished.

“Just doing what comes naturally, I’m sure,” Katja quipped as the guards and Edvin approached.

“Katja, Bandit Lord of Porcupine Hill,” the lead guard barked out, eliciting a few gasps from the people around.

“Formerly,” Katja said, straightening her back. “The war gave me a new perspective. I decided to use my ill-gotten gains for the betterment of the people.”

The lead guard didn’t look like he cared. “Submit to trial and summary execution—”

“What if the trial finds me innocent?”

The man sneered. “It won’t.”

One of the gathered crowd stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Hey now, that’s—”

The guard at the end of the group slammed a gauntleted fist into the man’s stomach, sending him sprawling to the cold, muddy ground.

Everything changed in that instant. Like an electric spark from one of Arkk’s lightning bolts had jolted through the entire refugee camp. The guards drew their swords and readied their pikes. Edvin shied back, hiding behind the armored wall of the guards as the refugees began producing weapons of their own. Swords, spears, and even bows and arrows.

A little altruism went a long way. It garnered goodwill and loyalty.

Threaten to take away the source of food and supplies?

Katja stepped forward, closer to the guards. “Wait, please. I’ll go peacefully. Don’t hurt anyone else.”

A long, tense moment passed while the lead guard pulled out a set of iron manacles.

“Katja,” Mal said, voice soft behind her back.

“I’ll be fine,” Katja said, shifting her shoulders in a way that disagreed with her statement. The guard clamping the manacles around her wrists with a resounding clank and the following jerk, practically throwing her off her feet, only reaffirmed her lie.

The crowd started to close in on the soldiers, only to pause as Katja turned to address them.

“Please don’t fight now,” she said. Her gaze passed Horrik’s tall form.

She gave him a small nod of her head. One he returned with a grim scowl.

“Don’t you dare show your face here again, Edvin,” Mal said, anger plain in his tone.

The cocky conman gave the refugee a jaunty wave as he jingled a bag full of coins. “After tonight? Don’t need to be here.”

A hand on Katja’s shoulder, shoving her forward, got her walking. The guards parted the incensed crowd with drawn weapons, dragging her straight through the encampment and to the main gates of Cliff City.

Through the gates and halfway to the garrison, the guard led Katja off to a side alley. With a few rhythmic thumps of one of their fists against an old wooden door, the wooden slat shifted aside. A pair of eyes gleamed in the darkness, staring out, before the slat slammed shut and the door creaked open.

“Ugh. How do they move in this much metal,” one of her guards groaned as the door shut behind them.

“Who knew Kev had it in him to order around the boss,” another said with a laugh.

Holding her hands over to Kev, he produced a key and unlocked the manacles around her wrists. “Good work, everyone,” Katja said, looking around at the ‘guards’ as they removed their helmets.

Her crew looked back at her, eager grins on their faces.

“Especially you, Edvin.”

“Praise?” He straightened his back. “From Katja the Great?” he said with sarcasm in his tone.

“Of course. I always knew you were a traitorous slime. Good job revealing your true colors.”

Edvin’s back slumped as he put on a flat expression. “Ha. Ha. Very—”

“Put on those rags, everyone, and get back out there. Spread the word. Light a fire under their asses. Harry, Victor, go speak with the malcontents inside the city and stir them up as well.”

The powder kegs were set. It was time to light the fuse.

Everyone needed a little push every now and again.

Walking Fortress Istanur had arrived.

Arkk’s powers as Keeper of the Heart worked in its vicinity, allowing him to rapidly teleport books, equipment, and everything else of value down to the lowest levels. A gaggle of lesser servants, supervised and assisted by some of his workers, carted crates of valuables over to Fortress Al-Mir. All of it had to go.

“Truth be told, I didn’t believe I would ever see one of these again,” Vezta said, voice soft as she ran her fingers along the shadowy stone.

“A walking fortress or stones made from shadow?”

Her lips quirked. “Both, I suppose, though I was mostly referring to the fortress.”

Arkk walked over, planting a hand on one wall. The shadowy stones felt… odd. The entirety of the Underworld was uncomfortably hot but the stones were cool to the touch. Not quite cold, they weren’t frosty or icy. It was like everywhere else in this world was constantly baking under the sun—even despite its perpetual cloudy skies—but this one fortress was made from normal shade.

“This [HEART] belongs to the Cloak of Shadows,” Vezta said, watching his movements. “Each of the [PANTHEON] has their little quirks and oddities. Rather than the lesser servants siphoned from the fractured sky that you’re familiar with, the servants maintaining this place would have been living beings made from pure darkness.”

“The lesser servants didn’t have any troubles fixing this place up,” Arkk said. They had all died during the incident with Zullie’s spell.

“There is some level of unification between all the [PANTHEON]’s gifts,” Vezta said with a small nod of her head.

“Mine, as well as Fortress Al-Mir, come from Xel’atriss, I presume?”

Vezta nodded her head, bowing slightly. “The Lock and Key is the only one of the [PANTHEON] capable of reaching through that fractured sky to reach the [STARS] where I, and the little ones, come from.”

Arkk pursed his lips, pondering for a moment, before raising a hand. “Slave Natum,” he intoned, calling forth one of the lesser servants.

They were disgusting beings. Arkk hadn’t watched the spell work before, not wanting to look at the creatures as they grew. Crawling masses, quivering and indistinct in form, didn’t so much as manifest from nothing. The very fabric of reality wrapped around the point where it spawned, as if the world itself recoiled from its presence. A thin slice in the world opened, visible for a bare instant before the amorphous body squeezed through, adorned with grotesque appendages—countless eyes and mouths opening and closing at random.

Arkk shuddered in a way that he hadn’t since seeing his first lesser servant. Having long since gotten used to the creatures, he wasn’t disturbed by its visage. It was what happened at the moment of its summoning that filled his mind with disquiet. For just a sliver of an instant, he glimpsed beyond the veil that had been cast over the world, keeping all ignorant of the ever-watching eyes of the [STARS].

The hole in the world was gone by the time the servant finished forming. Or perhaps it closed on the creature, squeezing off just a small aspect of a much larger creature that lurked just beyond.

His eyes drifted away from the newly spawned lesser servant to the face of Vezta. She stared at him, watching with a critical eye—dozens of eyes, rather—as he wondered if she was just a larger mass of some larger creature still hidden just on the other side of the world’s veil.

“Something amiss, Master?”

Arkk pressed his lips together. Horror from the Stars or not, Vezta was Vezta. Aside from Ilya, there was no one he trusted more among his crew. “Just thinking about Zullie,” he said with a small sigh.

The witch was up and about… well… mostly. She hadn’t spoken a word. She woke, she ate, and she sat still in the corner of her room. None of Hale’s attempts at regrowing her eyes had worked.

And yet…

When Arkk had last stopped by to visit the witch, she had looked directly at him. Even when he wasn’t making noise or talking, she had stared.

“I saw the same thing she saw,” Arkk said. “And everyone saw the sky during our ritual. So what happened?”

“As I have said before, I have no definite answer,” Vezta said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Either she was being punished for her hubris, you were protected by the [HEART] where she wasn’t, or she caught a glimpse of something that you were unable to perceive. Or… any other possibility. Truthfully, the actions of the [PANTHEON] are beyond the comprehension of beings such as you and I.”

Arkk shook his head. With an unnecessary wave of his hand, the lesser servant vanished down to the base of the tower to join the others in removing the tower’s contents. The job was almost finished. Close enough.

He walked through the room, approaching the pedestal upon which Walking Fortress Istanur’s [HEART] hovered. A shadowy orb that pulled in any light in the room yet, somehow, still allowed those within to see.

“Are we sure this is the wisest idea?”

“This fortress does us no good in the Underworld,” Vezta said. “Even the Protectors have fled with the arrival of this tower. There is nothing to defend against. Its power would go to waste if you use it as a glorified carriage.”

“I mean… I’m mostly asking for reassurances that the whole tower isn’t going to collapse right on top of the portal.”

“Ah. It shouldn’t. Probably.” Hesitating, Vezta shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I hope.”

“That’s not very…” Arkk frowned, noting the cheeky smile on her face. “A joke? From you?”

“You’ve been stressed lately. A little humor helps, I hear,” she said with a faint chuckle. “If it truly worries you, move the tower further away. But I don’t believe it will collapse.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, shook his head, took a breath, and went for it. He grasped the shadowy orb from its place above the pedestal and pulled it toward him.

The tower didn’t move but Arkk still stumbled and staggered. Vezta was at his side in an instant, holding him steady. “Master?” she asked with concern in her voice.

“Fine. I just… feel like someone stabbed my… chopped off an arm.” Arkk shook his head. The world had shrunk down all of a sudden, leaving him unable to see the entirety of the tower or its contents. He could see his minions down on the ground below the tower, still carrying off the last of the equipment. None seemed to have noticed what he had done.

Which was good. It meant the tower wasn’t falling over.

Feeling like he was about to throw up anyway, Arkk graciously accepted Vezta’s assistance in guiding him down and out of the tower. The feeling faded by the time he reached the bottom and, once he passed through the portal and felt Fortress Al-Mir expand through his awareness, he was back to normal.

Keeping hold of the Heart of Istanur, Arkk teleported both himself and Vezta to the exit of the false fortress. The one and only access point to the surface within the Cursed Forest.

Ilya stood at the top, shooting a wary glance at the shadowy orb in his hands. Priscilla stood a few paces away, arms crossed and iced eyes glaring at nothing. Olatt’an’s eyes widened ever so slightly before he resumed a casual pose, leaning against the husk of an old tree. Around them, a gaggle of lesser servants stood at the ready.

“Is that it?” Ilya asked, taking a wary step back. “It’s… smaller than I expected.”

The older orc snorted at her comment. “It isn’t the size. It’s what it can do.” He paused and turned a calculating eye to the orb. “And I am hoping it does something impressive, Arkk.”

Priscilla let out a small growl from the back of her throat. “A walking fortress to crush your enemies is impressive enough.”

Arkk just shook his head. Priscilla was at least partially right. With everything he had experienced in recent weeks, he wasn’t sure he wanted something more impressive. A mobile tower was enough for him. “Stand back, everyone,” he said as the lesser servants squirmed closer.

Gold flooded from his treasury, draining it to a mere few scattered coins. This was by far the most expensive thing he had ever done. The mines would replenish it in time. As long as he avoided any large constructions in the near future. This should be worth its weight.

“We start with the chamber for the Heart,” Arkk said as the lesser servants approached the pile of gold. “Then… we’ll see if we can get it walking.”

 

 

Savren provided answers where Zullie could not. He hadn’t been involved in the direct construction of her spell but he had helped out enough to put together what her thought process had been.

The golden rays were magic akin to Agnete’s flames. Powers of the [PANTHEON] granted to mortal avatars. Except those golden rays were likely stronger because Agnete’s patron, the Burning Forge, was cut off from this world while the Heart of Gold was not. In order to counteract that power they felt it would be best to use magic akin to that which avatars could output.

Xel’atriss, Lock and Key. Given its earlier act of kindness in opening the portal, they felt it was the best choice to base the spell on.

No one had lost their eyes from staring up at the fissure in the sky when they had performed the large ritual. According to Ilya, that incident had looked almost the same as what Arkk had described. Yet Zullie was currently in the infirmary, near unresponsive but not quite catatonic. She had been in and out of lucidity for the past week, frequently murmuring nonsense and uttering unintelligible whispers.

Had what happened to her been a warning of some kind?

Or had she lost her eyes because of some differences in the spell versus the larger ritual?

He had set Savren on researching the cause.

Savren was, until further notice, his lead researcher.

Arkk wasn’t sure how he felt about that. What Savren had done to the village of Hope in a selfish attempt to remove his annoying but ultimately harmless curse did not sit right with Arkk. Yet, since he had arrived at the fortress, he had been quite diligent in his efforts toward whatever tasks Arkk set him upon.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about Zullie either. She had been beyond helpful—instrumental, even. Fortress Al-Mir wouldn’t have made it as far as it had without her. Yet she had explicitly disobeyed his order to abandon all research related to the planar ritual.

The main problem was that, if the spell had worked out, Arkk would have taken it with thanks and used it as well as he could. Especially if she improved it to the point where it formed faster and maybe used a less irritating incantation. Even if he had learned the source of the spell afterward, he would have been happy with it.

But it hadn’t worked out.

It was something he would have to deal with later on. If—or when—Zullie was capable of speaking and answering questions.

For now, Arkk had to conduct an onboarding. A sizeable battalion of soldiers had agreed to join upon Ilya reaching out to them. Deserters of the Duke’s Grand Guard following his proclamation of alliance with Evestani. Taking them in was going to quadruple the numbers of Company Al-Mir. With all the other recruiting, Al-Mir was a fairly sizable entity, numbering just short of a thousand. Counting these deserters among his number would put him in league with White Company, though only after they suffered their losses at Elmshadow and, later, Gleeful Burg.

Fresh lesser servants were having to dig downward now to provide accommodations.

The leader of this group was a captain. Or had been a captain before deserting. Captain Richter Porter. The third son of some viscount, he had gotten his position through nepotism. Given how young he was—some of his lieutenants who stood with him looked older than he was—he hadn’t gotten it through experience or hard work. He was younger even than Arkk yet had somehow garnered the support of a full crew of retainers and lieutenants, not to mention the regular soldiers in their company.

“Thank you,” Porter said, extending a hand to shake. “We all want to fight the good fight but… without the supplies and support of the Duchy, we weren’t sure how we were going to manage.”

Arkk shook the man’s hand. It felt weak in his grip. The longer he talked with the man, the less of a man the boy looked. He was just some kid thrown out here to fight. The few other deserter groups Arkk had recruited had been smaller and more… well… raiderish. Soldiers who abandoned the Duke’s Grand Guard not because of alliances but rather for more visceral reasons. Porter, on the other hand, was idealistic and naive.

Nevertheless, the link formed. Arkk didn’t have to hand out a coin to people freely agreeing to work for him. Fortress Al-Mir took their agreement for what it was and acted accordingly. Not just with the boy leader, but with his men as well.

“It’s good to have you,” Arkk forced out with a smile. “Evestani rampaged across our land and now they want to play at being friends while still occupying burgs and forcing our people to starve? That isn’t something Company Al-Mir will stand for.”

“Good,” Porter said, voice surprisingly hard. Some of Arkk’s surprise must have shown on his face because the captain firmed his features and added, “My father was at Moonshine Burg when the invasion began.”

“Ah. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Moonshine Burg had been the first location hit on Evestani’s initial march into the Duchy. Reports from the burg were scarce but it was generally accepted that assassins had killed nearly everyone in a position of power as well as most of the guards, opening the way for the rest of the army to make their way into the Duchy unimpeded.

Porter gave a firm nod of his head before releasing Arkk’s hand.

“We have quarters being set up to accommodate your men—”

“All of them? I know your elf said that was possible, but that was before she realized how many are disgruntled with the current state of affairs.”

“Believe it or not, transporting them is more the issue. The magical teleportation you used to arrive is not well-suited for an army. I can’t promise open fields with cottages for every individual, but once they do get here, there will be plenty of space.”

“Excuse me!”

Arkk looked up, looking past Porter. The boy hadn’t come to the fortress alone. Four lieutenants joined him to tour the place, ask their questions, and make sure they weren’t being conned in some way or other. Along with them, a trio of retainers had joined as well.

The one holding up a finger wore the pure white robes, adorned with gold thread patterned in the concentric lines of the Luminous Mandala. A woman who bore a striking resemblance to Abbess Keena of Langleey Village. She was, of course, an abbess with the Abbey of the Light as well.

“I was meaning to ask but the ritual that brought us here wasn’t like anything I had seen before.”

“Company Al-Mir has recruited some brilliant magical researchers. Evestani has been using unknown esoterics to great effect during this war. We are engaging in research in an attempt to counter some of what they can do. The teleportation ritual is one of our most useful products of that research,” Arkk lied easily.

“It seems…” The abbess trailed off, not quite willing to voice suspicion of the magic being anathema despite clearly suspecting.

“Unfortunately, I do not believe we have any hope of fighting back against Evestani’s golden magic without some tricks of our own. After this… Well, if we survive this war, we’ll figure out what to do about it then. But until such time, if you have any among your ranks well versed in magic, adding them to our research team is likely the best use of their time.”

Porter turned and gestured to one of the lieutenants. A squat man with sleepy eyes. “Vector leads the platoon of battle casters. He is quite a capable caster himself.”

“I’ll introduce him to… Savren, my current lead researcher.” Arkk hesitated on the name, almost defaulting to Zullie’s name before he caught himself. “They can determine how to proceed with whatever resources are available.”

“Current?” Vector asked, his voice pitched less like a question and more like a flat statement.

“My former head researcher was caught in a magical experiment and is currently on bedrest until further notice. Savren is quite capable and I have confidence in his abilities,” Arkk said, surprising himself with his honesty.

Vector nodded his head, taking the statement as fact without any surprise or concern. As if such a thing was perfectly normal.

Perhaps it was. Arkk’s first encounter with Zullie had ended up with her in an infirmary bed as well.

Shaking his head, Arkk continued speaking. “We have had several recruits in recent weeks. Some of whom are a little too new. I don’t intend to throw anyone into combat unprepared. We might not have much time but anyone experienced among your ranks who can help train the fresh recruits would be appreciated.”

“Not enough time?” One of the other lieutenants asked. This one looked to be the oldest of the bunch, maybe up to ten years older than Arkk. He had a thin mustache, though it wasn’t as well-kept as it likely would have been outside the war. “The end of winter is still a few weeks away. Marching through it has been hell on the troops, especially since we lost the support of the Duchy.”

“I’m not planning on sending anyone through the snow if we can help it,” Arkk said. “The same does not hold true for Evestani. Following the destruction of Gleeful Burg, they pulled back to Elmshadow and were content to remain in place, presumably awaiting proper support from the Duke or their homeland. But I am… working on a method that may allow us to assail them heedless of the weather in the near future.”

Just as soon as it arrived.

“Are avatars born or are they chosen later in life?” Arkk asked.

Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra flexed her claw-like hand, staring at it with her red eyes. The prisoner link between her and Arkk was strained to the breaking point. It had been ever since Hale finished healing her legs. Between the weapon that was her claw, her magical knowledge, and the fact that she was being treated more as a guest than a prisoner, he was surprised that the link hadn’t snapped already.

Arkk figured it had to do with her temperament. She wasn’t trying to escape or attack him, thus the fortress still considered her a prisoner.

Arkk found his eyes drifting to her legs. It was a testament to Hale’s improved skill that Astra could now walk. Arkk had half expected Astra to come out of the regrowing process with a monstrous limb, leaving her lopsided and entirely unable to walk.

He couldn’t see most of her chitinous leg with the cloak she wore but a multi-taloned foot rested on the floor. It was like a bird’s foot with several sharp talons in an array fully around the end of her foot. She could grasp things with it as easily as Arkk could with his hands.

“Define avatar,” Sylvara said.

Looking up, Arkk found her red eyes boring into him. “A being with magic like Tybalt, Agnete, and presumably other purifiers.”

Sylvara leaned back, crossing her arms only to wince when the tips of her claw scraped against her normal arm. She brushed off the mistake without a word of commentary on the matter. “The Abbey of the Light refers to such beings, able to wield powerful magic without training or incantation, as abominations. Signs of abominations typically manifest in the late teenage years—often in situations of violence—though there may be signs in earlier years when exposed to certain types of magic.”

“How early?”

“Hard to say. Generally, local abbess or priest reports will comment on various oddities in their youth. Nothing indicating strong enough magic to be sent off to academies, just… differences between them and other children. Even then, oddities aren’t uncommon. Practically every village has that one odd child that nobody can make heads or tails of. Purifiers are not nearly as common.”

“I bet not,” Arkk said with a scowl.

“Why?” Sylvara asked, leaning forward once more. “Think you’ve located one?”

Arkk slowly shook his head. “No. Unfortunately. I was wondering if it was possible to become one.”

Sylvara curled a lip in disgust. “Whyever would you want that? Abominations like them do not lead happy lives.”

“And is that their fault or your fault?”

Bristling, Sylvara stood. “We give them a chance to live mostly normal lives. Abominations tend to lose control over themselves and their magic, leaving destruction in their wake. Research into nullifying and controlling their magic is among our many duties and it is to their benefit as much as it is to that of the Inquisition.”

Arkk shook his head, not believing that for a moment. “I haven’t needed to use the ice marble on Agnete since she joined me.”

“An anomaly,” Sylvara said, dismissing the notion with a wave of her chitin-covered hand. “Or you are exerting control through another method. Vrox did insist that you had a way of controlling your other monster.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, not quite able to refute that supposition. While Arkk didn’t believe that Fortress Al-Mir was controlling anyone, least of all Vezta, he was perfectly willing to admit that it was a mysterious magical artifact that had odd interactions with spellcasters in terms of both offering power and using their magic for him.

“We’re getting off-topic,” Arkk said with a shake of his head. “You didn’t actually answer my question. Is it possible—have you ever seen someone become an avatar later in life?”

“I have never seen it. That doesn’t mean impossible, it just means they’re too rare to say anything for certain. Now answer my question, why?”

“We believe that avatars are mortal agents of the old Pantheon. Manifestations of their power and, maybe, their will. Agnete’s patron would be The Burning Forge. Tybalt’s likely would have been the Jailor of the Void.”

“It is the stance—”

Arkk rolled his eyes, waving a hand. “Yes, yes. Only the Light still casts its gaze on this world as evidenced by the sun’s rise and fall. I know. You’ve said as much before. That isn’t our stance.”

Sylvara frowned. “Casual heresy aside,” she dismissed with barely a shrug, “I’m still not sure I understand. You aren’t the kind of person to seek power for the sake of power. I understand there is a war going on but…”

“The golden-eyed man is probably an avatar of the Heart of Gold. The rays of gold that sliced your limbs from your body are a manifestation of the Heart of Gold’s power. My researchers are under the impression that it will take the power of a god to stand up to the power of a god.”

Something new came across Sylvara’s face. A deep and heavy expression, one filled with barely contained anger.

She had told him of her encounter in the woods with the man, possessing the same boy whom Arkk had already injured with a lightning bolt. The way he had callously discarded the body as soon as it wasn’t useful to him, leaving a broken, injured, and scared child behind. Arkk could understand her anger, incensed at just the thought of this avatar going around and using children as disposable bodies in his war.

He had seen it himself in Gleeful Burg. Puppeteered body after puppeteered body had come after him. Arkk had been forced to kill them.

“Then I have evidence against your claims,” Sylvara said, obviously forcing herself to keep a calm tone to her voice. “Upon locating an abomination, the Inquisition of the Light begins research to counteract their power, restraining and controlling it, thus turning them into productive Purifiers of the Inquisition. If only the power of a god can counteract the power of another god, how are we mere mortals able to come up with such countermeasures?”

Arkk blinked. That… was right. They had been able to create those bracelets for Tybalt and the ice marble for Agnete.

He pulled the ice marble directly to his waiting hand, staring down at it. “How was this made?” he asked, pushing just a slight touch of magic into it, leaving it hovering just above his palm.

A trick he had learned after having seen Vrox at the Duke’s manor. He had known it could float before but something about that last encounter just made it click.

“I’m a field agent,” Sylvara said with a shrug. “Not a researcher.”

Arkk didn’t look up to her, still staring at the marble. It was a magical object. Enchanted or innate, it constantly output cold air into its surroundings, never diminishing. Even glowstones lost their glow after a time, doubly so when doing something actively magical like powering a ritual.

A suspicion started to form at the back of his mind. A suspicion that Sylvara wasn’t as right as she thought she was.

Arkk teleported his resident dragonoid directly into the cell. A cascade of water flooded off her body, leaving glistening icy scales behind.

The dragonoid didn’t wait even half a second before lunging directly for Arkk. The link hadn’t broken, so she probably hadn’t been about to cause any serious harm. Nevertheless, Arkk reacted quickly by swapping their positions. She kept up her lunge, now unable to stop as she crashed into the wall of the cell.

Sylvara was on her feet, poised for combat but with a rapidly rising look of horror on her face as she stared at the dragonoid.

Arkk blinked, realized, and winced. Right. Sylvara had been hunting down the dragonoid before everything went south in Elmshadow.

“This is Priscilla,” Arkk said, holding out his hands in a calming gesture toward Sylvara. “She agreed to work with me.”

“Having second thoughts about that agreement, Arkk,” Priscilla snarled as she used her icy claws, dug them into the wall, and picked herself up. “I thought you humans had prudish qualms about interrupting bathing women.”

“This is important,” Arkk said, ignoring the dragonoid’s attempts at getting a rise out of him. She didn’t look any different than normal anyway. The remaining water dribbling down her body was rapidly freezing, further obscuring the icy scales underneath. “Are you an avatar of the Eternal Permafrost?”

“Ha! I wish.” Priscilla molded her hands together, breathing out a frosty breath of air that caught in her cupped hands, condensing into a loosely packed chunk of ice. “This entire planet would be a ball of snow. An everlasting winter wonderland, beautiful and serene where all you humans would freeze solid.”

Sylvara shot Arkk a pointed look. One Arkk commiserated with.

He made a mental note to himself that, if they did find a way to turn people into avatars, not to do that with Priscilla.

“Okay…” he said slowly. “What do you make of this?”

“This?” She shook her head ever so slightly back and forth, confused as she stared just to the side of his head. Raising a hand, she pointed at her iced-over eyes with a blank expression on her face.

“Right. Sorry,” Arkk said, lightly grabbing one of her hands, he placed the ice marble inside. “Does this feel—”

Priscilla’s icy eyes widened. “What is this?” she said, anger now spent entirely, leaving her with something akin to awe in her tone.

“That’s what I’m asking. What is it?”

“It feels… nostalgic,” the dragonoid said, smiling. An actual smile, fond and full of distant thoughts, formed on her face. That was a first for Priscilla. She cradled it with one hand, gently running a finger over the marble with her other. “Like something I might have felt as a child, before the Calamity struck. I haven’t felt like this in… so very long.”

That one vague statement was more than Arkk needed.

The inquisitors were using magic derived from the Pantheon to counter the avatars. That answered one question.

Now, how best to use that information?