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“It is a trap,” Rekk’ar said, lowering the invitation to the Hawkwood’s dinner down to the meeting table. “Obviously.”

“I concur,” Olatt’an said.

“The fact that your missives were delivered by a Swiftwing harpy should have been evidence enough of that,” Zullie said, adjusting her rectangular glasses. “They’re reserved for use by the Duke only, for correspondence with important people. The King or the Ecclesiarch. Not random mercenary leaders.”

“Forgive me, Master. I also find it suspicious that you fend off the inquisitors and then suddenly receive an invitation to their last known location.”

Arkk tapped his finger against the table a few times. None of them were saying anything that he hadn’t already thought.

“You aren’t seriously considering going?” Rekk’ar asked, tone somewhat resigned.

“I am. Not just for a meeting with Hawkwood—assuming this isn’t a trap. Right now, Company Al-Mir is not in any way sanctioned. I’m not either. I don’t know how long that will last and there are other reasons to visit Cliff. Doing so would be much easier as a free man.”

“What reasons?” Rekk’ar leaned forward, hand clapping flat against the table. “What could be worth stepping into the inquisitor’s net?”

“Two things. First,” Arkk paused, glancing at Vezta. “I want us to investigate the magic academy.”

Vezta tilted her head to one side, violet-hued hair dangling over her shoulder. “Master, I believe I have informed you that I am incapable of casting traditional magic.”

“Not for the magic. If you remember, I thought the academy might be another fortress. I’d like confirmation.”

“Ah. Understood.”

Arkk nodded his head. Little more needed to be said. If it was another fortress and it was possible to claim it, that would change things drastically. It would bring Cliff under his sphere of influence, allowing him free teleportation as well as a foothold that would be difficult to oust him from. Having a fortress in the center of the city of his enemies was less than ideal but the possible benefits would be great.

“Secondly,” he started, glancing at Ilya at his side. Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew a piece of fine parchment, folded over three times. Placing it down on the table, he pulled back and waited.

“What’s that?” Ilya asked.

“Invitations to the Duke’s next party. We can bring four people in.”

Ilya’s eyes went wide as she snatched up the invitation. At the same time, Rekk’ar let out a loud huff.

“Now they’re just being obvious.”

“Too obvious,” Olatt’an said with a frown. “Or… the Duke did not send you this invitation, did he?”

Arkk shook his head. “Originally, it was addressed to Baron Doble of Moonshine Burg. I… felt sorry for how much paperwork the man had and decided to lend a helping hand in reducing that work.”

“You stole this?” Ilya snapped, eyes narrowing as she glared up at him. “But… it has your name on it.”

“It does. Although grudgingly, Lexa pointed me in the direction of Edvin for help with that. Whatever other problems people have with him, he seems to be a competent forger.”

“Whatever other problems?” Edvin said, aghast as he spoke for the first time this meeting. “What people have problems with me?”

“Anyone who has met you?” Lexa said with a joyless smile.

“You can’t think this will actually work,” Ilya said, rubbing her temple. “Believe me, nobody wants to get into the Duke’s manor more than me. A chance to talk to my…” Shaking her head, Ilya held up the invitation. “The Duke isn’t going to let someone in who he doesn’t remember sending an invitation to just because they have one.”

“I don’t think the Duke sent these invitations out,” Arkk said, pointing out the differences between the handwriting of the Duke Levi Woldair’s signature and the rest of the letter. “Besides that, I highly doubt the Duke will be manning the door. It will be some servant. Probably also not the person who wrote the invitations.”

“Then what? We get in and just act like we belong?”

“Exactly! We’re not there to engage with the Duke. We’re there to speak with Alya. Get her out of there or just hire her so that we might get her out sometime in the future.”

Ilya’s open mouth shut with a slight clack as her eyes drifted back to the letter. She was mulling it over now. The possibility of meeting with her mother would entice her. In ten minutes, she would be arguing to go as well.

Arkk… although things had been different upon first finding Fortress Al-Mir, wasn’t sure how much he actually wanted to meet with Alya. There were just things about the situation with her that didn’t quite add up. Especially not after hearing what Ilya had to say regarding her little spying campaign on the Duke’s manor during their last visit to the city.

He was more interested in the academy. The possibility of a fortress being there was… too great to ignore. He didn’t exactly know how having a second [HEART] would work but it had to be better than just one, vulnerable, stationary [HEART]. A backup for if things went wrong. Its location left much to be desired but he already wanted to get rid of the Duke simply for his crimes against the people of the Duchy. Either it would be a good staging ground for an assault or it could be claimed afterward, after making the city safe.

Although… he had no idea how to go about getting rid of the Duke without making enemies of the entire kingdom. That bit of the plan might not be possible in the near future. Not with how much of a failure their recruitment attempts had gone in Moonshine Burg.

“Recruitment at Moonshine was a failure,” Arkk said, looking around the table. In the month and a half they spent at the burg, they had gained Edvin, Lexa, and three more orcs who, as far as Arkk could tell, thought that Company Al-Mir was an orc-run company. “We need more people.”

“You intend to do that at Cliff?” Rekk’ar asked, shaking his head. “Jump into a trap and then what? Ask the locals to get you out?”

“Not exactly.” Arkk turned back to Edvin and Lexa. “When I was there last time, I noticed a significant number of demihumans and beastmen who weren’t… exactly well off. Some could fight.” He thought back to the group that had harassed Dakka. He hadn’t personally seen them fight and her review of their capabilities hadn’t been a glowing one. Still, people could be trained. “I doubt any are all too thrilled with living in the Duke’s shadow. A new place to live with proper food and pay would be something many would consider, right?”

“Uh…” Edvin glanced to his side, frowning at Lexa before looking to his other side where Khan was wrapped around a warm rock, only half paying attention to the meeting. “Why are you looking at me?”

“Because you and Lexa are going to be my recruiters.”

“Wait. Wait a moment. Hold on. I don’t know about this. My mother always said not to get between an inquisitor and the ones they’re after. She also said never to walk into obvious traps. ‘Edvin, my little pointed sword, don’t you plant your foot in the waiting maw of a beast,’ she said. You didn’t forget that this is a trap, right? Because this is the most obvious trap I’ve ever seen and I have seen a few.”

“Don’t worry. Nobody will know that you’re working with us. You’re new. Brand new. Nobody will know you’re part of Company Al-Mir. And that is the whole point.”

“That’s only going to last until we start handing out flyers for recruiting.”

“Edvin, please,” Arkk said, moving around the table. He clapped a hand on Edvin’s shoulder, smiling. “You’re cleverer than that.”

“I am?” The man cleared his throat and then nodded to himself. “I mean. Yes. I am. But why not explain your thoughts for the orcs? They don’t look like they’ve quite caught on to your equally clever plan.”

Rekk’ar curled his lip, growling from the back of his throat.

“You aren’t going to be shouting Company Al-Mir’s praises. You’re going to be spreading rumors. ‘Oh, Lexa? Fancy meeting you here at this incredibly crowded tavern. Heard about that new free company?’”

Lexa blinked as Arkk turned to her but she quickly grinned. “‘The one with loads of gold they’re paying people with?’”

“‘That’s the one! Heard they’re recruiting. I’d apply myself but seems like they’re interested in demihumans and beastmen.’”

“‘Oh… I don’t know about that. Probably will come up with excuses not to pay us.’”

“’Not true! Practically the entire company is made up of non-humans. Their second in command is even an elf. A beautiful elf at that with the most shapely—”

“Arkk…” Ilya said, tone flat.

“‘A gold coin per month is the going rate for recruits,’” Arkk continued ignoring Ilya. “‘And free living space and food!’”

Lexa’s eyes danced as she looked back and forth between Ilya and Arkk. Her grin showed off just a few more teeth before she managed to get a hold of herself. “‘Wow! A whole gold coin? Where do I sign up?’”

Arkk let the placid smile drop from his face as he looked down at Edvin. “Well?”

Rekk’ar snorted, drawing the attention of the table. “You should quit the mercenary business and take up a career in the arts.”

“Really?” Edvin said with a serious frown. “I was going to say not to quit his day job. Mind if I… adjust some of that dialog?”

“Have at it,” Arkk said, releasing the man’s shoulder as he continued to make his way around the meeting table. “Zullie…”

“Ah. No,” Zullie said. “Nope. If you’re forming a wandering theater troupe, I quit.”

Arkk shook his head with a small chuckle. Crossing his arms, he looked down at her. This was the main reason he wanted to go to Cliff. Alya… was more of a side project. Important to Ilya, of course, and thus important to Arkk as well. But…

The Cliff Magical Academy, even beyond the possible fortress it held, had things he both wanted and likely needed.

“Zullie, how close are you and Savren to finishing the modifications on the ritual?”

Zullie’s lips squished together, making her look like someone who ate a particularly rancid piece of fruit. “If he wasn’t such—”

“No complaints, just timeframe.”

She drew in a deep breath through her nose. “A few weeks? Maybe months if he keeps… He keeps trying to insert minor nodes that I am pretty sure will destabilize a planar array but that he claims will recycle magic. There is some merit to the idea, doubly so given we’re not exactly sure about your magical output—”

Arkk held up a hand, stalling the witch before she could launch into a full dissertation. A few weeks was too long for the Duke’s party or Hawkwood’s invitation. He would have to proceed without any support from alternate planes of existence.

Or rather, he would have to proceed to ensure the ritual was a success.

“When we left Cliff the first time around,” Arkk said, “we left in a hurry, leaving behind some of your books. Would grabbing those help? Or any other material at the Cliff Academy?”

Zullie’s eyes shifted over to Edvin for just a moment before flicking back to Arkk. “I’m not sure that I’m all that interested in getting in the way of the inquisitors either. Especially because they know me. I know I said I have experience dodging them but this is a bit of a different level than what I’ve seen in the past.”

“I won’t be able to figure out what you might need on my own,” Arkk said just as a thought occurred to him. “But Savren was able to disguise himself as a gorgon for an extended period. Could that be used just to look like someone else?”

“You want to take him with you? Oh please! I’d get so much more work done.”

“No! No… I don’t think I could stand the snide sneering and snippy snarks. He would be dead before we leave the fortress. But you are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

“Brilliant enough to learn his spells?”

Zullie’s eyes found the ceiling where they stayed for a long few seconds before slowly dropping back down. “There are a few tomes that might be worth investigating. Restricted stuff, not books from my office. We could double-check our work with anathema. The few surviving scraps of ancient spellcasters who actually practiced planar magics… Yes… That might be valuable enough to risk it.”

Those were the words Arkk wanted to hear. “Excellent. Having definitive resources on hand will hopefully prevent you two from changing the designs at the last minute again.”

“The original designs would have worked,” Zullie huffed, crossing her arms. “Just a little too well.”

Arkk just shook his head, already moving on. “Khan.”

The gorgon looked up, glaze receding from his eyes. He opened his mouth in a yawn wide enough to swallow Lexa whole, showing off his fangs and tongue at the same time. While Arkk somewhat expected those present to stay awake for the duration of the meetings, he honestly didn’t know what contribution Khan could make. He was here mostly as a courtesy, keeping the gorgon looped into the goings on of Fortress Al-Mir.

“Unfortunately, based on my previous visit to the city, they tolerate non-humans more than accept them. In your case, I’m not sure you would get that much. I’m afraid you won’t be going.”

“Undersstood,” Khan said. “Zharja might be dissappointed. No other will care.”

Arkk nodded and moved around the table to the next seat over. Another member of the table who had yet to speak. She was the reason Khan had a warm rock that was putting him to sleep. “Agnete, how much danger is there in you visiting Cliff?”

The purifier hummed, black lips parting toward the end of the tone. “Our excursion to the slaver encampment was… different than usual. Flames call to me and I cannot reject that call. Yet, I cannot quite explain the oddity of it. There was next to no desire to incinerate anyone beyond the slavers. It was a… curious experience. I believe I will have no trouble remaining in control.”

Arkk stared a long moment, wondering how close they had all been to suffering a fiery demise. He felt disturbingly aware of the sudden shift in the room’s air. Everyone, including Khan, stared. “I meant… danger from the inquisitors.”

“Ah.” A gloved finger scratched a scarred chin. “My appearance is distinct. The others will become aware of me as soon as we arrive. If they have not acquired an additional Binding Agent, they will likely leave me alone. Depending on the threat they have ascribed to you and the horror,” Agnete said with a nod toward him and Vezta, “they may well steer clear entirely or decide we are too great a prize to pass up. I cannot guess either way.”

“I see… I think… I’ll have you come, if you don’t mind.”

“My duties?”

“Toss fire at the inquisitors if they do anything other than have a nice chat.”

“Understood.”

Rekk’ar drew in a heavy breath, groaning as he shifted where he sat. “So we are doing this. I don’t know why I bother.”

“I hope you will continue to bother,” Arkk said, offering the orc a smile. “The time I take your advice will likely be the time it saves my life.”

The orc rolled his eyes. “My point exactly,” he said, though Arkk was pleased to note a lack of hostility in his mildly resigned tone.

“I would like a list of the least notorious of the orcs who are willing to venture to the city. Make sure they know the possible dangers—though with Vezta and I present, I imagine they will be ignored in favor of us. I’ll need the list soon as I intend for our tailor to make up uniforms for all of us.”

“I’ll set Dakka on it.”

“This is a trap,” Olatt’an said, the final member of the table. “You have not forgotten that, correct.”

“I have not. But, as I said, this is likely our last chance to walk into the city as free people. We might not be walking out of the city as free people…”

“You won’t be walking out of the city at all if the inquisitors have their way.”

Arkk nodded his head. “True.”

“When springing a trap, it is generally best to have a way out.”

“Also true. I presume the inquisitors will be focused on me, Vezta, and Agnete,” he said, nodding to each as he continued to make his way back around the table. “We can handle ourselves for the most part.” Taking a seat in his chair, he looked over the assembled group. His trusted advisors and Edvin. “I have a few ideas but I would like to hear from all of you. First, Agnete, if you wouldn’t mind going over everything you know of methods the inquisitors use to incarcerate captives…”

 

 

Nyala peered around the edge of one of the many doors within Fortress Al-Mir. Something big was going on. Something she didn’t want to miss. The two months she had spent with that miserable Master taught her a few things. Maybe things more important than anything she had learned while still at Hallow Hill.

Knowing what was going on was important. Vitally so. Being able to anticipate the Master’s mood and plans for the day let her adjust herself to be exactly what he had wanted to see. Knowing saved her from several beatings that others hadn’t been so lucky to avoid. Not all of them, unfortunately, but enough that she had managed to get away with bruises whereas the others came away with scars or clipped ears.

Fortress Al-Mir was different. She knew that now. Ever since that outing a few weeks ago when she had stolen the knife from the market. Somehow, even with his back turned, he knew the instant she laid her fingers on the blade. She had thought she was going to die then and there. There would have been nothing she could have done about it. Yet, instead, he had given her his dagger just so that he could return the knife she stole to its proper owner.

He even said that she could leave if she wanted. Go home to Hallow Hill.

She couldn’t go back. Hallow Hill was a secret. Those who left weren’t allowed back. Even though she hadn’t wanted to leave, she figured she wouldn’t be welcome leading people back to the Hill. Not that she could if she wanted to. She didn’t know where it was. The people who had taken her away had thrown her into a cage with a sack over her head, dragging her away. She couldn’t even retrace her steps.

Until she figured out what she was supposed to do—what she was going to do—Nyala didn’t have anywhere else to go. That didn’t mean she was going to sit around in her room like a child. Knowing was important even if the people here weren’t going to beat her. Especially when something so big was happening.

There were people here now. Many people. At least a hundred, though with them moving around in the large room, Nyala wasn’t able to count exactly. Most looked young. As young as she was, if not younger. There wasn’t a single person in the room who looked too old. Not even middle-aged.

Beyond their ages, Nyala couldn’t help but notice the state the newcomers were in. Everyone looked half-starved and quite a few sported fading marks, minor scars, and missing bits of hair. Not that odd, all things considered. Travel was dangerous and hard work could leave bruises on the careless. Yet there was one thing that Nyala’s sharp eyes picked out above all else.

Without exception, every one of the newcomers had thick rings of black and blue bruises around their wrists.

That was familiar. With one hand clenching tight to the sheath of her dagger, Nyala’s other hand rubbed her wrists, feeling the phantom pain of heavy shackles weighing her down.

Narrowing her eyes, Nyala focused on the faces, trying to discern why there were slaves here and whether or not she should finally try to flee. She hadn’t been able to find any exits during her stealthy explorations of this place but there were plenty of doors that wouldn’t open for her. However, looking over the crowd, she started to feel the tension in the back of her neck relax.

She knew what expressions slaves wore. The downtrodden, hopelessness of being taken from a village that had either been destroyed or that they would never see again. She had seen it herself on more faces than she could count. Probably her own face as well.

Instead, among this group within Fortress Al-Mir, there was an undercurrent of hope. It wasn’t exactly joy. Plenty, especially the youngest among the group, still looked frightened as they watched with weary eyes. They weren’t slaves. At least not anymore.

They were like her.

Which was something that might have been more obvious if she looked at their actions rather than their appearance.

The more familiar orcs were moving about the room along with that monster that made Nyala shudder every time their gazes met—a disturbingly common occurrence given she had eyes everywhere on her body. They moved through the room, setting up large tents spread about. It was a bit strange to put tents indoors. She didn’t know why they didn’t just build rooms. She had seen those smaller monsters digging this place out over the past week, using some kind of magic to make tiles and brick walls that would have sparked envy in any builder back at Hallow Hill.

The older newcomers were helping the orcs and that monster, putting up tents themselves as well as bringing in low cots for sleeping, chairs, and even some tools like the kind a carpenter would use. Maybe they were planning on building more permanent dwellings.

“What are you doing out here?”

Nyala yelped, jolting as she whirled around. It wasn’t easy to sneak up on an elf, not with their hearing, yet she must have let herself get too distracted with the newcomers. Spinning around, clutching her blade tight with one hand on the hilt and the other on the sheath, she found herself faced with someone her height. At first, she thought it was a human child. Elves typically grew at a much slower rate compared to humans until their middle-late teenage years, at which point they would have a sharp growth spurt and put on several heads of height over a year. Nyala had yet to hit that spurt so someone her height could be even a few years younger than she was.

She quickly noticed a few things wrong with that assumption. This person had pointed ears, though not long like an elf. She had a round head with thin, slightly wavy pupils. Her bright red hair defied gravity as it stuck up, making her look taller than she actually was.

“You’re a gremlin.”

The gremlin smiled, showing off sharp teeth. “How come you’re not with the others?”

“Others?” Nyala blinked, stiffening as she realized she was standing fully within the doorway. More than a few of the newcomers were looking in her direction. Crushing her lips into a thin line, Nyala turned away and started walking in the opposite direction from the gremlin.

“Hey, wait! I don’t think you’re supposed to be walking around on your own.”

“I’m fine,” Nyala snapped back, breaking into a hurried jog.

“Arkk said he wanted you all together until he had a chance to speak with everyone. I don’t think you’re supposed to be walking around with this knife either. It’s dangerous, you know?”

Nyala blinked. This knife? Glancing down to her hands, she lurched to a stop when she realized both were empty. Spinning around, she glared at the gremlin. The demihuman stopped a few paces back, holding the dagger in one hand as she examined the blade.

“Not the best blade I’ve seen. The edge is a bit dull and the tip is chipped. It has seen some use. I would guess mostly at cutting thick hide but there are a few notches here that look more like damage from metal against metal. A hunting dagger used in combat? That’s my guess.”

“Give it back.”

The gremlin snapped the blade back into the sheath. Looking at Nyala for a moment, she grabbed the edge of her long jacket. It was a brown leather thing that looked worn beyond reasonable use. From the waist down, it was less a jacket and more long ribbons of leather that hung down just below the gremlin’s knees. However, that wasn’t an intentional design choice. The ribbons looked torn and ripped, likely over a great deal of time. Pinched between her fingers, the gremlin pulled open her jacket.

Nyala’s eyes boggled at the display underneath. She wore a matching leather corset that wrapped around her middle. On it, a dozen needle-sized shafts of sharp metal lined her corset, making her into a facsimile of a metal skeleton. A long bandolier hung from shoulder to hip, covered with thicker blades. The entirety of the inside of her jacket looked made up of nothing but knives arranged back and forth in rows.

“I think I’ll keep hold of it until I have a chance to talk to Arkk,” she said, moving to slip the dagger somewhere among the mess of other blades. “Why don’t you come back—”

Nyala lunged at the gremlin. That was her dagger. Arkk had given it to her so that she could defend herself. It rankled how easily it had been taken from her but she wasn’t about to sit around and let the gremlin keep it. He promised her lessons. She would never get those lessons if he thought she was so useless that she couldn’t even keep hold of his gift.

The lunge caught the gremlin off guard. They both went to the floor, Nyala on top with the gremlin twisting underneath. She grasped at the dagger, fully prepared to wrench it out of the gremlin’s grip, only for the gremlin to let go with hardly a fight. Nyala didn’t let her surprise get the best of her. Springing off the floor, she backed away, not taking her eyes off the gremlin.

“I’m all for a roll-around as much as the next woman but you’ve got to give me some warning,” she said, straightening her jacket and corset as she got to her feet. “You almost skewered yourself. And not on anything fun.”

Nyala didn’t say anything back to the gremlin. She took a step back, drawing the dagger and pointing its tip toward her enemy. Only to get the gremlin rolling her eyes.

“You’re holding it all wrong.” The gremlin produced a blade from somewhere inside her jacket. She spun it around her finger twice before gripping the hilt. The way she grabbed it was backward. If her arm were out with her thumb up, the blade would be pointed at the ground. “Like this,” she said, taking a step forward.

Nyala took a step back. She didn’t turn and flee from the much more experienced gremlin. The gremlin could probably have flung one of those daggers right at her if she wanted to hurt her. More importantly, Nyala’s sharp ears picked up on a set of familiar footsteps approaching from the large room with all the newcomers.

“Someone your size needs all the power you can scrape together,” the gremlin continued, oblivious. “You’re more likely to pierce light armor with a heavy downward slam than any wimpy jab or slash the way you’re holding it. If you—”

“What is going on out here?”

The smile on the gremlin’s face froze. She turned around, using the movement to hide the dagger back under her jacket, and faced an irritated Ilya. “I saw this one sneaking about,” she said. “I tried to bring her back but she got a knife from somewhere and I thought she needed a few pointers.”

“Lexa… Nyala is not one of our recent arrivals,” Ilya said, lips tight. “I hope you weren’t threatening her.”

“No! Of course not. I’m a thief, not a monster,” the gremlin said, turning to Nyala with an expression that pleaded for affirmation.

At the movement, Ilya’s eyes flicked up, pointedly looking at the dagger in Nyala’s hands. “What did Arkk say when he gave that to you?”

Nyala flinched, slipping it back into its sheath. “Not to use it on anyone at the fortress.”

“Then why is it out? Was Lexa threatening you?”

That pleading expression on the gremlin boiled over into silent, panicked begging. The gremlin hadn’t threatened her… Not if she really thought that one of the newcomers was running around with a knife. She could still say so and Ilya would surely believe her story over the gremlin’s… Which the gremlin knew, judging by her expression.

“Arkk also said I could seek lessons from someone if he couldn’t find the time. I saw how many daggers she had and figured she knew how to use them, so I asked.”

“Like I said, I was just giving out a few pointers,” the gremlin said, quick to latch onto the provided excuse.

Ilya looked between them. It was the same expression Nyala had seen on her mother’s face when she had been caught fighting with her brother only for both of them to claim that nothing was happening. Nyala smothered the painful feeling in her stomach that welled up at the thought of Hallow Hill and quickly moved forward.

“Lexa promised to teach me how to fight.”

The gremlin raised an eyebrow but didn’t offer any corrections to the statement, merely shrugging and nodding her head.

With a slight shake of her head and a faint sigh, Ilya turned. “I see,” she said, not sounding too happy about the prospect. “Worry about that later. There are a lot of new people here and a lot of them are scared or uncertain. Your experiences here could help reassure them. It would also be good for you and Yavin to meet them. Why not fetch him and meet us back here? It would be good for Lexa to meet him too so that there aren’t any other misunderstandings.”

Lexa let out a lame chuckle, running her fingers through her red hair.

Nyala stared at her for a moment before turning away to head back to her room. She didn’t know if she would get lessons from the gremlin. She didn’t know if she wanted lessons from the gremlin. A part of her hoped so. Or hoped that the newcomers would need a lot of attention.

Anything that would help distract her from thoughts of her lost home.

“It seems… the consul have… uh… canceled on the day’s meeting,” the nervous attendant said, shifting awkwardly before remembering something. “Your Highness,” he quickly added.

Duke Levi Woldair didn’t outwardly show his irritation in the attendant’s mannerisms or lack of decorum. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne. The repetitive thumping of each finger against the near-black wood was more than enough to make the attendant flinch over and over again.

“Cancelled.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“It doesn’t surprise me that those barbarians have such pathetic manners.” The Duke stood from his throne and began walking back and forth in front of it, one hand tucked against his back while the other held tight to the ermine cloak draped over his shoulders. “They barge into our domain, demand an audience, and then renege? Did they offer any excuses or request an alternate meeting time?”

“I… don’t think they are interested in any further meetings.”

The Duke stopped and slowly turned his head. “You don’t think?”

“When the escort arrived at the consulate, they found it abandoned. Your Highness.”

“Abandoned? Was it an attack?” the Duke asked with a hint of nervousness entering his tone.

The attendant shook his head, looking like he wished it was. “No. Just deserted. From piecing together reports of those in the neighborhood… it seems as if the consul and their retinue departed Cliff in the middle of the night. About a week ago.”

The Duke froze, locking in place with an expression that would frighten a battle-hardened orc. He took a step forward, pointing at the attendant. “You—” He didn’t get any further before a lithe set of fingers gently graced his elbow. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. “Get out,” the Duke said, voice soft. “Out!” he said, louder. “All of you.”

No one needed telling twice. The guards, attendants, and advisors all vanished, slipping out of the long throne room through the nearest exits. When the last door slammed shut, the Duke sank back onto his throne, cupping his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Why? Why now? Things were going so well. The banquets, the lavish gifts… Relations with the Evestani Sultanate have never been better. I was set to marry the Sultan’s second daughter!” His fist slammed down onto his thigh. “Then the ambassadors departed. Communications turned hostile. Troops started amassing on the border, demanding entry. The special consul they sent in won’t even meet with me to tell me why. What changed? Was it something I did?”

Alya licked her lips, not sure what the best response would be. With her hand on his shoulder, they had been well on their way to forging a lasting peace between two nations that had been at war time and time again throughout her lifetime. Just when the end had come within sight, with the Princess and the Duke’s marriage only needing a date for the ceremony… this happened. “You treated them with dignity and respect. You offered a wealth of gifts… peace…” she said, trailing off, entirely at a loss of how to salvage the situation.

“And they have thrown that peace in my face,” the Duke said, thumping his head back against the high wall of the throne. “Winter is starting. They won’t march an army this time of year. Their soldiers would die of frostbitten limbs before crossing half of the Duchy.”

“Then… perhaps there is still time. We have a few months to figure out—”

“Is there a point?” the Duke snapped, angry eyes meeting her silver eyes. “They have proved themselves the barbarians we knew they were. Unable to carry on a meaningful dialog when whatever happened upset them so much.”

“The point is to avoid another war…”

“I feel we have crossed that bridge,” the Duke said, shaking his head. “We have three months of winter. Not to guess at the motivations of their childish sultan and bow down to his temperamental whims, but to prepare.”

“If we could just speak with Princess—”

“And how do you propose we do that?” the Duke asked, shaking his head. “She is deep within the Sultanate, likely locked up by her mad father for daring to consort with me.”

“Her father endorsed the marriage!”

“Her father is the one gathering an army on our border!” The Duke stood, flourishing his ermine cloak as he stepped away from the throne. He paused and turned his head. “We tried,” he said. “We failed. Perhaps our nation’s children will have a better chance. For now, we cannot afford to continue as we have been. We have to prepare or they will never get that chance.”

Alya leaned back against the wall where she had been standing just to the side of the Duke’s throne, watching the short man approach the main entryway with a forlorn look on her face.

“Fetch the messenger harpies,” he barked as he threw open the door. “And someone get White Company here as soon as possible.”

The strength in her legs faltered, leading to her slumping down onto the throne. She put a hand to her forehead, wondering much the same questions the Duke had asked. Why now? What happened in the last four months that threw away all their hard work and effort over the last fifteen years?

 

 

When Arkk witnessed the destruction left behind by the fire tornado, he thought it might have been a bit much. A little overkill. The ground around where the main tent had been was a smooth, glassy surface sprinkled with globs of metal that might have once been weapons. There was effectively nothing left of it.

The three smaller circles didn’t have quite the same level of destruction. They should have been smaller fire tornados but the area where the circles had been looked more like they had exploded than burned. The thought of having screwed up the ritual circles made him grimace a bit. He thought he was getting better but something hadn’t gone as intended despite the effectiveness of the destruction wrought.

Crouching down beside the body of Kazz’ak, Arkk found himself wondering if the fire tornado hadn’t been enough. He could have gone with different methods. Originally, especially after spying the higher-quality weapons, he had thought to simply ward off the area with protective spells to save them for either use or sale later on. In the end, he decided to go large and flashy with a tornado of flames for the sole purpose of intimidation. An awe-inspiring, overwhelming force designed to shock as many of the slavers into submission as possible, preferably before they realized that there were only twenty orcs present.

In fairness, it had mostly worked. The other orcs were currently clamping the slavers’ own manacles around the wrists of the sixty or so who had surrendered plus some who hadn’t surrendered but had been too wounded to continue the fight. Arkk took a bit of vindictive pleasure in knowing that their tools were being used against them. Still, Kazz’ak’s body marred that satisfaction.

Kazz’ak wasn’t the only casualty but he was the only fatality. The Flesh Weaving spell had helped get most of the others if not better then intact. It couldn’t do anything for a dead man.

“It’s his own damned fault.” Rekk’ar spat—not on the body, just off to the side. The anger in his voice, for once, wasn’t directed toward Arkk. “Ran off, treating this like a raid against farmers, not against other raiders.”

“I’m sorry,” Arkk said. “I…”

“Bah. He was always causing trouble. I warned him that his trouble would catch up to him. Idiot.”

Despite Rekk’ar firmly laying the blame at Kazz’ak’s feet, Arkk couldn’t shake the sensation of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Even if it wasn’t his fault, Arkk still felt that he could have done something. Found him faster to heal him before he died of his wounds, supported him before he wound up injured, or just instilled better discipline in the orcs to keep him from having run off in the first place. It was compounded by the fact that, through his link with his employees, Arkk knew where they were at all times and could even tell if they were in trouble. In the heat of combat with the slavers, practically everyone had been in trouble, wounded, or otherwise in need at some point.

He had simply failed to notice that one person needed assistance more than anyone else.

It was true that Kazz’ak had caused more than his fair share of trouble. Arkk would have twenty names on his list of favorite orcs before Kazz’ak. Yet, the orc was still one of theirs. Part of Fortress Al-Mir. Losing him…

Arkk clenched his fist, trying not to let his anger show lest Rekk’ar think it was directed at him. He took a breath. “Are there customs that should be observed?” he asked, soft tone feeling forced. It was probably something he should have asked following the barrows incident—there had been a number of dead orcs then as well—but those had been enemies and raiders. Kazz’ak was theirs and deserved better than to be left behind in some forgotten tomb.

The anger in Rekk’ar’s features slowly waned as a thoughtful expression moved to fill the vacancy. “Kazz’ak has no children. His mother is not among our group and I wouldn’t know where to begin searching for her. It would be best to bury or burn his body with his weapon over his chest.”

“Mother? She would take his belongings after his children?”

“We honor our mothers,” Rekk’ar said. “My mother was named Jarra. In honor of the one who carried me, I carry a portion of her name on mine.”

“The ’ar?” Arkk asked, receiving a nod in return. “Dakka, Orjja, and the other women don’t follow that.”

“Women are expected to carry children of their own. They don’t need to carry their parents as well.” Rekk’ar shrugged. “It’s all nonsense. Even I think so. But it is tradition and most orcs—at least those raised among orcs—will follow it.”

“I see. What about your father?”

“Men are independent. Expected to have their own things and not need the charity of others. Women aren’t helpless by any means but they do lose time carrying us. If a child dies, that time is returned in the form of their gear, property, or other valuables.” Rekk’ar paused, lips twitching into a frown as a thought occurred to him. “Of course, we’re raiders, now mercenaries. There is a little less respect among us. I would say looting the body is a custom as well.”

“No,” Arkk said, voice firm looking back down to Kazz’ak. “We’re not so destitute that we need to salvage from our dead.”

Rekk’ar gave Arkk a curt nod of his head. “I’ll have some of the others wrap him in one of these tent tarps.”

“We’ll bury him outside Moonshine Burg. I’d suggest the fortress but we’re trying to keep our above-ground presence minimal. Not to mention the possibility of accidentally digging into a grave…”

“Unpleasant.”

“And disrespectful,” Arkk said, turning away from Kazz’ak’s body. He looked out over the utterly ruined encampment in the morning light.

None of the tents were still standing. Most had been knocked down as a result of the spell he had cast. In the time since, the orcs had gone around, piling up the tents off to the corner of the compound to make sure no stragglers were hiding underneath. Bodies littered the ground, sporting a variety of wounds. Some arrow, some blade, others had been electrocuted or burned—either by Agnete or the tornado.

The eighty-one survivors, currently kneeling with their faces pressed to one of the walls, weren’t entirely unharmed. Arkk had been a whole lot less interested in healing their wounds compared to those of his employees. He had only fixed the most life-threatening wounds. Particularly those inflicted by Lyssa. The werecat, as far as he could tell, hadn’t killed anyone. She had mauled them, ripping their faces and skin to shreds or lashing them with the chains still around her wrist before moving on to her next targets.

There were a few crumbled stone statues scattered around as well. Even a few up near the wall where the others kneeled. There had been a brief moment when those who surrendered realized that there weren’t that many individuals among Company Al-Mir. Some had tried to get the rest to rise against them. A hundred against twenty.

Seeing those instigators turned to stone and then shattered with a light shove stalled most thoughts of overthrowing them. Doubly so now that most of the slavers were in shackles and the rest soon would be.

Looking away from the slavers, Arkk turned his attention to those enslaved. Ilya, Dakka, Agnete, and Lexa were slowly freeing those who had been captive inside the larger buildings. There were beastmen, humans, and demihumans alike. Beaten down, weakened, and even completely starved in some cases. Olatt’an was distributing some of the food stores here.

Arkk eyed a few of the elves, wondering if they knew anything about the mythical Hallow Hill that Nyala had mentioned. The young elf didn’t know anything about it—or wasn’t willing to divulge what information she did have. She wouldn’t even tell him what kind of trees grew around the place. There was some kind of law about not discussing the place with outsiders.

Would one of the elves here know of it? Would they tell him about it?

He made a note to ask. Not now. It could wait. It could wait a long while, even. Let them get back on their feet, rest, eat, and recover.

Arkk wasn’t sure what to do with all the people. There were a lot. Both slavers and slaves. The slavers would go back to Moonshine Burg. The local garrison could deal with them there. He figured that most would be put to death. Less because it was the law and more because winter was settling in. Feeding an extra eighty unexpected mouths throughout winter was simply impossible, even for a larger burg. Their criminal status meant they were expendable.

The freed slaves, on the other hand, were a more complex issue. The burgs couldn’t just kill them even though they posed a similar problem. Winter food stores, especially with the Duke’s taxes, couldn’t sustain so many additional people.

Some of the slaves had been taken from roads—travelers that passed through the wrong place at the wrong time. Most of those could probably go back to their villages or homes. Others, however, suffered the same thing that happened to the elves Ilya had been looking for. The slavers took who they could and killed the rest. There wasn’t a place to return to. They had nothing. No belongings, no family, no home.

Arkk hadn’t thought about it before launching this raid. It wasn’t until he started thinking about how the slavers would be handled that he figured the same problem applied to the slaves as well.

He would have to wait and see what Moonshine Burg’s garrison had to say on the matter. Maybe they would try to split them up, scatter them to every village in the area. Having grown up in a small village, Arkk well knew that even a handful of unexpected mouths to feed could put an awful strain on the stores. It was entirely likely for the locals to find themselves less compassionate and more resentful of being saddled with others. Even in his most recent visit to Langleey, they had commented on a lack of food and they actually had less mouths to feed than normal.

There was a solution. A simple one, in fact.

Fortress Al-Mir’s food production could be expanded easily. It would take an expenditure of gold but even with the construction of the temple and the renovations he was going to have to make to it because of Savren and Zullie’s redesign, the gold required for food production was almost insignificant. He was already digging out space to better control the area around the Cursed Forest. Some of that space could be used for them. Even if they didn’t join Fortress Al-Mir, thus locking them out of the living space magic, they would at least have a warm place to live with a roof over their heads.

Was it ideal? Not really. They would all head back to Moonshine first. Anyone who could be offloaded back to their original villages would be. After seeing who and how many were left, Arkk could make a more informed decision.

In the meantime, he had to transport everyone back to the burg. There were far too many to efficiently use teleportation circles and he didn’t want outsiders to know of them anyway. Turning again, Arkk allowed a small smile as he spotted the tall stacks of cages on the massive carts. If they could get those rhinos back, transportation would be much easier. Maybe not pleasant, especially for the slavers, but that was more than they deserved.

“Lexa,” Arkk called out, drawing the attention of the short gremlin.

After patting a younger elf on the back, she bounded over, leaving the former slave to Ilya. “Something you needed, boss?”

“Take one of the horses. Head back to Porcupine Hill.”

Lexa drew back. “You’re firing me?”

Arkk shook his head. “Not unless you want to go. No. Rather, I’d like you to tell Katja that we’ve succeeded. In addition, I would like to meet with Katja.”

“To take her head? I got ya. Shame but—”

“No,” Arkk said, stopping her before she could continue. “I checked at the burg. There aren’t any bounties on her head. Or any mention of Porcupine Hill, for that matter.”

Which was a bit suspicious, in Arkk’s opinion. Katja, according to Edvin, was a powerful figure in the area. Enough so that the Duke’s men left her alone. Still, Arkk would have figured that there would at least be a notice of Kat’s Bandits for mercenary groups, even if it was only a formality. Edvin’s former group had a fairly sizable bounty prior to Arkk collecting it.

What had Baron Doble said? He made some deals with the local bandits to keep their activities at a reasonable level.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Lexa said with a shrug. “Hardly raid anything these days. Just take in tribute from the other groups around. The times we do raid… well, it’s just business.”

“Business. Raiding people?”

“Oh certainly. Maybe it is business our customers aren’t too happy to receive but we try our best anyway,” she said, grinning with her sharp teeth. Looking at the expression on Arkk’s face, her grin slipped. “Don’t know what nonsense Edvin has been filling your ears with. I know Marv was an utter bastard who didn’t leave many survivors but Kat always said that kind of thing was bad for business. Best leave travelers alive so that they’ll travel again, thus bringing more business to our territory. Sure, we might slit a few throats—who doesn’t?—especially of those who fight to the death.” Leaning forward, Lexa put the back of her hand to the side of her mouth in a conspiratorial whisper. “Then again, Coin-Bags who order their guards to fight to the last usually get stabbed by their own men before we can even get close. They hand over their goods and we let them go in exchange.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just saying…” Lexa said with a shrug. “If you’re ever interested in making some extra coin on a slow mercenary day, I know all the tips and tactics.”

Arkk… honestly didn’t know what to say to the gremlin. Or rather, he did. “No, Lexa.” It was just that he was flabbergasted that she would come out and say all that. Here they were, sending off slavers to the garrisons and she was suggesting they engage in a little highway robbery?

He could only shake his head at that.

“Suit yourself,” Lexa said, starting to turn away. She paused and turned back. “Wait, what was I supposed to do again?”

“You didn’t let me finish. This is related to the matter you overheard. I’d like to purchase the services of some spellcasters.”

Lexa put on a pout. “More than me?”

“A couple.”

“Kat isn’t going to be happy about losing me, let alone other spellcasters.”

“First, I don’t want to hire a bunch more bandits. This is a temporary affair. Loan us some spellcasters for a few days, help with the ritual, and then head back with a sack of money. And… maybe don’t tell her that she lost you,” Arkk said with a small frown. “At least not while surrounded inside Porcupine Hill.”

“Nothing is hotter than a man who cares,” Lexa said, making doe-eyes up at him.

Arkk just rolled his eyes. “I’m sure some of the others would be more receptive to your advances.”

“Ah, but sleeping with the boss usually comes with advantages that the rank and file lack, even if they aren’t lacking,” she said with a wink.

“I… don’t think you’re supposed to say that part.”

“What can I say? I’m an honest thief.”

“Uh… huh. Right. Do you think Katja will agree?”

Shrugging off a flicker of a pout, Lexa said, “No idea. Don’t think anyone has offered this kind of arrangement before. No harm in asking, right?”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

Processing the prisoners and the freed slaves was taking a lot longer than even Arkk had expected.

After confirming the veracity of his claims, the Moonshine Burg garrison had delivered a modest bounty to the stayover. It wasn’t much, at least not compared to the coffers of Fortress Al-Mir, but it was substantial enough to make his crew happy after dividing it up among them. They had spent the last five days partying, tossing it all away on food, drink, intimate company, weapons, even some furniture that they wanted to take back home. As long as they weren’t getting into trouble, Arkk was happy to let them run amok.

The gorgon and Agnete, less interested in partying, had already gone back. The former had been away from their heated rocks for too long while the latter simply said that she had matters to think on.

Arkk probably could have returned as well, leaving Ilya in charge of what needed to be done in this burg. However, upon returning with the captives and freed slaves, he had pulled those in charge of the garrison aside and let them know that he could provide lodging through the winter for anyone who didn’t have anywhere else to return to. As the leader of Company Al-Mir, he felt it was important to be seen and noted as an active participant in providing aid. The last thing he wanted was to take everyone back to the fortress only for them to feel like they were being kept prisoner once again in some underground dungeon.

As for the slavers…

A hooded man on the wooden platform down below pulled a lever. Five trapdoors opened as one and Edvin started making choking sounds. The man rubbed at his throat, squirming as he stood next to Arkk, watching the display in the courtyard below with undisguised disquiet.

“I think… I should rethink my opinions on beheading,” Edvin said. “A nice clean chop to the throat sounds a lot nicer—and quicker—than that. That guy’s neck didn’t even break. Look at him kicking and squirming… I think I’m going to be sick.”

Arkk… didn’t necessarily disagree. He wasn’t very happy to watch either. The only reason he was here at all was that he felt some responsibility for having been the one to bring them here. He had known that this was coming, even before they had been loaded up on their prison carts. He didn’t disagree with the actions being carried out down on the gallows. That didn’t make it easier to watch.

“Weren’t you in a murderous band of highwaymen?” Arkk asked, mostly as a distraction. He had brought Edvin here specifically to clear his name. If at all possible, Arkk didn’t want more people with wanted posters in his employ. The goodwill they had garnered here was enough to get the burg to rescind the bounty on Edvin’s head.

Given that the man hadn’t run off in the middle of the fight, Arkk figured it was an adequate reward. If only he could do the same for Rekk’ar and Olatt’an. Unfortunately, they were wanted by practically the entire Duchy, not just one burg out on the outskirts.

“Well, yes. I wasn’t a highwayman though. Just the man who could get things that other people couldn’t. We didn’t use nooses either. As my mother always said, these burgs are so uncivilized.”

“It could be worse,” a new voice cut in.

Arkk stiffened, looking to the balcony door. A woman strode across the platform, wearing a slim black and red outfit. She had a sword affixed to either hip and a long red cloak draped over her shoulders like a cape. Her face wasn’t immediately familiar to Arkk. The black, animalistic stripe tattoos on the dark skin of her bare arms and face clued him into her identity.

Katja. The Bandit Lord of Porcupine Hill.

While she was only slightly shorter than Arkk, the hulking man at her side made her look even smaller. He had graying hair and a withered look to his face but more muscles than half the orcs in Arkk’s employ. Muscles he showed off with a lack of a shirt.

Arkk almost missed Lexa at Katja’s other side, the short gremlin gave him a waist-high wave of her hand and a nervous grin.

“If I had my way, the wurms would be chasing you across the desert,” Katja continued, ignorant or ignoring of the look Arkk was giving her. What was a bandit lord doing walking around so openly in the middle of a burg?

“Ah… well…” Edvin shifted where he stood.

“I see you failed to take my advice,” Katja said, turning her amber eyes onto Arkk.

Arkk had to resist the urge to rub the back of his neck. His suit, a black coat not too dissimilar to that which the inquisitors wore, was the nicest thing he had. Yet he still couldn’t shake Hawkwood’s words about him not quite fitting in. Facing someone so well dressed—and so full of confidence in waltzing right into a garrison—had him feeling inadequate once again.

“Technically,” Arkk said, drawing in a breath to buy a moment to calm himself down, “Edvin fulfilled his end of our agreement. I can’t just toss him into a pit for no reason.”

“I’m sure he will give adequate cause before long.” Her eyes flicked over the balcony, looking down on the garrison courtyard with a cool expression on her face. “Those are the slavers?”

“We captured just under half of what was at the outpost. Those five represent the first of those the garrison has decided to execute for their crimes.”

“Half,” Katja said, glancing down to Lexa for a brief moment. “There were two hundred according to reports. The rest escaped?”

“Dead. Died in combat.”

“Casualties on your end?”

“Just one.”

Katja’s eyebrows slowly crept up her forehead. That impressed her. Though she didn’t give away much in her expression, there was a slight tension. Nervous? “I see,” she said. A single blink and all signs of nervousness vanished. “I underestimated you. I expected a fight, deaths, and hopefully some damage to their outpost. Enough for my men to slip in and finish the job.”

“Company Al-Mir is good at what it does.”

“Indeed. And now Company Al-Mir wishes to make deals with bandits?”

Arkk took a moment to look around. He and Edvin hadn’t been the only ones up on this balcony. The baron of Moonshine Burg stood apart, leaning over the balcony’s railing next to the captain of this garrison. Several guards were stationed around as well. None offered significant reaction to Katja’s initial approach and none reacted now that she had mentioned her… profession.

Company Al-Mir being able to take on the slavers made her uncomfortable. Her brazen appearance in the middle of a large burg had him nervous in turn. He had expected Lexa to come back with a date and a time to meet at Porcupine Hill. Not this.

“I understand you have spellcasters in your employ,” Arkk said, not bothering to drop his volume. Trying to do so wouldn’t help if they put any effort into listening in and it would only make him look more suspicious. “I’m working on a contract that will require a few more than I have in my employ.”

“I loaned you Lexa because your aims served my goal. This does not.”

“I am prepared to compensate them for their time.”

“Compensate me for their time, you mean.”

Arkk pressed his lips together before nodding his head. “Of course.”

Katja flashed her pearly white teeth. “Then we can discuss business.”

The Baron of Moonshine Burg gave Arkk a small smile as he poured amber liquid into a pair of short glasses. He slid one through a narrow canyon made from stacks of papers on his desk, leaving it in front of Arkk. The other, he picked up and downed in its entirety before Arkk even had a chance to reach for his.

“I like when things are peaceful,” the Baron said, immediately pouring himself another drink.

Baron Doble. So far, they hadn’t interacted much besides Arkk’s initial meeting with the man. Arkk had dealt with the head of the garrison for all bounty-related topics. Now, he had been asked to join the Baron for a quick discussion.

Arkk wasn’t quite sure where this discussion was going. To be polite, he picked up the offered glass and took a small sip. It burned a bit with that same smokey taste. Not an easy drink to down at all. “Peace is nice,” he hedged.

Doble didn’t drink his fresh glass, holding it at the level of his chest instead. “But?”

“No buts. I would prefer it if things were peaceful. Company Al-Mir tries to do its part to keep the peace where we operate.”

The Baron let out a tittering laugh, filled with sarcasm. “A mercenary preferring peace?” he said with another laugh. “I know your type. You feed off the troubles of others. If the world were peaceful, you wouldn’t exist.”

“I doubt the world can be peaceful as long as people exist,” Arkk said with a sorry frown. “Someone is always going to hate someone.”

With the slavers done for, he was planning on heading back to Fortress Al-Mir to figure out what needed to be done with the ritual and maybe see if he could figure out any other high-profile jobs that would draw the eye of the inquisitors. Preferably jobs far, far away from Moonshine Burg, Kajta, and the Pious of the Golden Order. Then there was Hawkwood’s invitation to consider.

“If anything, I hope we’ve made your corner of the Duchy a little more peaceful,” Arkk said instead of arguing, eyes roaming over the man’s desk. What were all those papers for anyway? It looked like a lot of reports from forward scouts. Moonshine Burg was right on the border with the Evestani Sultanate. He had mentioned troubles last time but Arkk hadn’t paid too much attention.

Having felt the stares of those from the Golden Order, Arkk was a little more concerned.

“I suppose I should thank you for that,” Doble admitted, grudgingly. “The larger burgs up north couldn’t handle them. Then they moved down here. They weren’t playing nice.”

“Like Katja plays nice?” Arkk asked, lifting his eyes from one stack of papers. He was curious about why the bandit was allowed to wander around so freely.

Doble let out a withering sigh. “I don’t know how they did it wherever you crawled out from,” he said before pausing to take in about half his drink. “Here, we have more concerns than just local matters. The ’Stani’s like to poke us now and again. Plant their flags on our rightful territory until they get pushed back. We’ve too much to deal with keeping them away from the villages under our domain to worry about more internal matters. My deal with Katja keeps things peaceful.”

“Highwaymen and marauders are peaceful?”

“She is supposed to keep the various bandit tribes in line.”

“Like Marv’s group of bandits.”

The Baron nodded his head, frowning. “It isn’t a perfect system. That issue was one Katja and I were planning on dealing with. She was certain they were testing waters, trying to decide if it was possible to usurp her leadership. You simply provided a more immediate solution.”

“I see…”

“Rest assured, it isn’t a deal that I enjoyed making,” the Baron said, pouring a third glass of alcohol. “As long as they aren’t causing too much trouble, we look the other way. We have to look the other way despite this deal, so it is advantageous towards us.”

Arkk hummed, looking down again. As his eyes roamed over another stack of papers, a wax seal caught his eye. Although broken open so that the Baron could read the letter within, the striped heraldry of the Duke stood out. Part of the letter was sticking out from the stack it was in as well. He couldn’t read the entire thing with it half shoved into the stack. What he could read made his eyes widen.

Duke Levi Woldair cordially invites Baron Sten Doble to— Contained within, you will find four inv— Wishes you good travels and—

Arkk’s eyes snapped up. The Baron, between glasses again, had said something. Arkk wasn’t quite sure what. Instead, he frowned and made a show of approaching the window. “Is the Evestani Sultanate really that aggressive that you have to constantly worry?”

“They poke and they prod. Testing the men on the front lines. No real skirmishes break out but there is a tension that no one denies,” the Baron answered, thankfully moving on from whatever he had said while Arkk was distracted. “Last few years haven’t been so bad. I gather the Duke had been making headways toward peace. Proper peace. Still, the old guard that got pushed back in the last war are bitter about being fended off. Wouldn’t surprise me to find a legion gone rogue if they spotted a weakness. It got particularly bad about three months ago. I’m hoping the winter cools them off. Don’t get much snow out here but it does get cold enough for an army to lose their toes to frostbite.”

Arkk let out a small shiver. While the ambient temperature had dropped over the last few weeks, the shiver came from memories of the few cases of frostbite he had seen around the village in years past. Fingers or toes completely blackened to the point where they had sometimes cracked and fallen off. Old Pucy’s entire hand had been lost after falling drunk out in the cold. His nose, ears, and feet hadn’t been any better. Then, in barely a week, his arm had swelled with rotten flesh. He hadn’t survived.

“Well,” Arkk said. “If your… deal works for you, I don’t particularly care. There isn’t a bounty on Katja’s head. None of my business.”

“Of course not,” the Baron said with a mild glower. Did he want someone to take out Katja? Arkk honestly couldn’t tell.

“Company Al-Mir will be departing someday soon and we don’t currently have plans to return. However, if you do have more trouble with slavers, feel free to send a missive. Not sure where we’ll be heading but I can bet that Hawkwood of White Company in Cliff will be keeping an ear out.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Nothing else keeping us here. Unless you had another job that pays well enough to occupy our time?”

“No. No. I just…” The Baron let out a sigh, setting his glass on the desk. Arkk’s eyes flicked to the Duke’s letter before snapping back to Doble. “That is a relief.”

“Was our presence so terrible?”

“When you so handily exterminated that first group, I admit to growing concerned. I’ve heard of mercenary groups that will effectively oust burg leadership in favor of themselves. With you making deals with Katja, I grew concerned that you and she were plotting something.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, shooting a glance down at his glass. For a moment, he worried that the Baron had decided to poison him in his paranoia. Arkk dismissed the notion. The Baron had been drinking from the same source and there had been nothing in the glass beforehand. Even still, Arkk felt that the one small sip he had taken was more than enough. He set the glass down.

“I meant what I said to her earlier. I need spellcasters and she can provide.”

“Could have been code,” Baron Doble said, taking a seat. “I hardly believe even a foolish bandit would plot against me within earshot. I was worried I’d have to make deals…” Shaking his head, he looked up to Arkk. “Never mind. So long as Company Al-Mir clears out within the week, we’ll have no problems between us.”

“I’ll have my employees packing before nightfall.”

The Baron nodded his head before motioning toward the door. Arkk watched a moment as the man picked up a paper from one of the stacks.

Leaving the man and his potential poison, Arkk hurried out of the room. He made his way out of the keep, avoiding any further discussions with anyone. At least until he reached the main gate. There, he found someone leaning against the wall, waiting for him.

Lexa flashed him a sharp-toothed grin. “He hand over a big sack of coin?”

“The garrison already paid us,” Arkk said, looking down at the gremlin.

Her smile vanished. “Thought you were bullying concessions. Kat always said he was a pushover.”

“Don’t speak so loud right in front of the keep,” Arkk said, shooting a look at the gate guards. Placing a firm hand on Lexa’s shoulder, he led her a short distance away. She quickly brushed him off.

“I’m not a child.”

“You’re a thief. I like you in my sight.”

“I’m your thief. Remember? I wouldn’t steal from my employer.”

Arkk doubted her words completely. Still, he smiled and said, “True. As long as my coin is good, right? Speaking of, how would you like to earn another bonus for a task suited toward your skills?”

Lexa’s eyes positively gleamed as she stood a little straighter. “Something out there you can’t buy with your pockets of gold?”

“Just a letter I’d like to read, actually,” Arkk said, looking back to the Moonshine Burg keep. “Let’s find somewhere a little more private and I’ll tell you what I need you to do…”

 

 

When Arkk had been told that the slavers were held up in an old military outpost, he had expected some kind of fortress. Like the garrison at Cliff, with tall stone walls and observation turrets at the corners, or even like the bandit encampment and its imposing spiked defenses and tall wooden walls. Instead, he was greeted with a squat brick wall that he could probably see over just by jumping—Ilya and the orcs wouldn’t have a problem in the slightest. The wall wasn’t even thick. Shoving his shoulder against it a few times might not make it move but gather up three orcs and put them in roughly the same spot? They would knock it over in a few seconds.

Although the wall was unimpressive, it was a large compound. In the war, it must have been used as a staging point. A whole army could fit inside those thin walls. Given the wide open area lacking in buildings, they likely would have been expected to use tents. That was what the slavers were doing now, in any case. There were a few actual structures, all of which had been built into the walls. It was within those that most of the slaves were being kept.

Scrying on the camp for the previous day got them some information. There were about one hundred and fifty slavers present, all outfitted for combat. They had about an equal number of slaves crammed into the buildings. Most were occupying floor space but there were a number chained to the walls—presumably troublemakers.

Out in front of the outpost, which sat on a fairly flat plain covered in a light dusting of snow, was something Arkk had never seen before. Four great beasts, each towering over the rest of the outpost. Their massive bodies, covered in thick, rough hide, looked like they could crush an orc and barely notice what they stepped on. Even from his vantage point well away from the outpost, Arkk could feel their steps as they meandered about their makeshift pasture. More imposing were the large spiked horns that jutted up from their snouts.

Despite their awe-inspiring appearance, they didn’t look like they were used in combat. The pasture was right next to four equally massive carts. He wasn’t quite sure how big they were—the size of the beasts nearby was playing havoc on his sense of scale—but each of those carts contained twelve rectangular metal cages. Judging by their profession, those cages were probably the size of humans, if not orcs.

“Rhinos,” Olatt’an said, unprompted. “I’ve encountered the beasts before. They look frightening, but they are surprisingly docile. Unless you provoke them. In that case, you’re going to have a bad time.”

“I bet,” Arkk said, lowering the crystal ball to look across the plain with his own eyes. Despite the size of the beasts, they weren’t quite as easy to spot. Their black hides blended in with the night too well. “They’re why we’re approaching from the opposite side. It’s just that feeling the ground as they move… Avoid them if possible.”

“And if it isn’t possible?” Rekk’ar asked.

Olatt’an snorted. “Run.”

“Can the gorgon stone them?” Arkk asked, looking to Zharja.

The black-scaled gorgon let out a long, thoughtful hiss before slowly shaking her head. “Their eyess are on sseperate ssidess of their headss.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yess,” she said, offering no elaboration.

“As I said, they’re not aggressive beasts. Make noise and they’ll likely scatter,” Olatt’an said. “The ones you have to watch out for are the slavers whipping them into a frenzy.”

“Right. Lexa,” Arkk said. “Change of plans. You’re going to protect the rhinos. Take out anyone who looks like they’re trying to get them fighting us. Can you manage?”

“Sounds easier than what you wanted me doing before,” the gremlin said with her sharp-toothed grin.

“Good.”

“Mind if I head out? Bit of a trek to the opposite side of the outpost with these short legs of mine.”

Arkk nodded his head. “If things seem calm or you take out everyone heading to the rhinos, go back to the original plan, if possible. Otherwise, just cause as much havoc as you can.”

“Righty-oh,” Lexa said, tapping her fingers to her brow in a sloppy salute. Turning, she hurried off into the night, making even less noise than Ilya as she ran.

Arkk watched her go for a moment, frowning.

“Can we trust that one?”

Arkk shrugged at Rekk’ar’s question. “She accepted a coin, so she is a proper employee.” This meant that Arkk could watch her no matter where she was, though that was a secret he was still keeping from everyone except Vezta. “If she does turn traitor, I imagine it will be as a spy for Katja later on. Katja wants these slavers gone. I doubt we have to worry about her sabotaging us right now.”

“I’ll be keeping an eye on her.”

“You keep an eye on a lot of people,” Arkk quipped. “Running out of eyes?”

“And you’re too trusting. Even with one eye on others, I’ve still gone one to watch where I’m going. If you take a knife in your back, that’s your only back.”

Arkk pressed his lips into a thin line, staring at the green-skinned orc for a long moment. It took a moment to parse that analogy and he wasn’t sure that it was any good. Even if it was, it didn’t exactly apply to him. The power of Fortress Al-Mir let him observe his employees from anywhere at any time, effectively granting him an infinite number of eyes. Even that wasn’t necessary given that the Heart should alert him if anyone tried to betray him, much as it had warned him that a prisoner bond broke. Technically, he hadn’t tested that feature yet.

Yet…

Looking over Rekk’ar’s shoulder, Arkk found Edvin gesticulating wildly as he chatted with a nearby orc. From the way he was acting, the highwayman was regaling the orc with a tale of intense battle. Probably a very tall tale.

Well, there was a first time for everything.

Testing that betrayal warning was half his reason for keeping Edvin around at this point. Nobody had a positive word to say about the man and Arkk felt betrayal was inevitable, just as soon as Edvin felt he could get away without being chased down. Perhaps during a bout of intense combat.

Which was fine. The man had no important role to play this evening. As long as he didn’t try to literally stab Arkk in his back during his flight from their organization, Arkk was content to use him as a test.

Movement drew Arkk’s eyes away from the potential deserter, back toward the outpost. Ilya, long silver hair tied up in a small bun to keep it out of the way during the fight, came running up to their encampment. She gave Arkk a sharp nod of her head, fingers tightening around the grip of her black bow.

“The watch has been taken out,” Ilya said.

“No one noticed?”

“Not yet.”

“Good,” Arkk said, standing and turning.

Twenty orcs stared back. Almost every orc from the fortress. Six gorgon stood among them—the four he had originally brought along with two more he had invited over just to make sure everything went smoothly. Vezta wasn’t present. Neither were Savren or Zullie. After discussing the strategy with his advisors, they judged their presence unnecessary. Arkk would rather have them working on making the adjustments to the ritual anyway. It seemed like it was going to take longer than expected so the more time they had to work on it, the better.

Agnete hung close to him, the heat she put off strangely comfortable in the chill night air. She hadn’t said much and didn’t look like she was going to say much. Somewhat like Edvin, this was a test for her. Arkk had the little ice marble safe in his pocket, just in case, but was hoping he wouldn’t need to use it.

There was one additional member of their group tonight. One who had only been made an employee this morning. Standing hunched over just apart from the rest, a werecat with mangy orange fur had her lips parted in a permanent snarl. Although her face was mostly humanoid, her sharp teeth and heavy breathing had the orcs nearby shooting wary glances in her direction. That wasn’t helped by the way the moonlight gleamed off her orange eyes, making them glow bright despite the lack of any other light source.

She wasn’t fully healed. The end of her tail and one arm were wrapped up in white linen. The arm that wasn’t bandaged had a thick chain dangling from her wrist. Thus far, she had resisted any attempts at having it removed. Her body was far thinner than Arkk had seen among the few werecats around Cliff City, making him think that she still needed to eat a lot more.

She didn’t talk much. At least she wasn’t trying to attack them. Arkk had a small doubt in the back of his mind that Savren’s mind magics had a permanent effect but the warlock insisted that he had only calmed her. Prying out her name, Lyssa, had taken some effort which did serve to reassure Arkk. The only thing she wanted, as far as Arkk could tell, was a chance for revenge.

As long as her feral fury was aimed at his enemies, Arkk was happy to facilitate that revenge.

“Everyone knows their roles,” Arkk said, looking over the orc-dominated group. “I’d give a rallying speech but you don’t want that, do you? Watch each other. Help each other. Come back alive. That’s all I’ll say.

“Olatt’an. Get your group in position. Rekk’ar, Zharja. Get moving. Dakka, Agnete, with me. Everyone, wait for my signal.”

Orders given, the three groups split off from one another. They weren’t going far, but they had a plan. Olatt’an was in charge of a handful of orcs who wielded crossbows, Ilya as well. Rekk’ar commanded the majority of the orcs this time instead of Dakka, solely to make sure that he had an important role. The gorgon followed Zharja—Arkk felt that having one of their own give them commands was for the best—but they were mixed in with Rekk’ar’s group along with both Edvin and Lyssa.

Arkk with Dakka and Agnete as bodyguards were on their own for the moment.

Each corner of the compound, while lacking tall brick turrets, did have elevated wooden platforms that allowed guards to keep watch on their surroundings. With Ilya having taken out all the guards on watch on this side of the compound, Arkk had little to fear from simply walking right up to the wall. It was even more pathetic up close. How long ago had it been abandoned? Thirty years or so? Some parts of the crumbling wall looked like they had been patched up recently. Even still, it was in a sorry state. Maybe the slavers didn’t intend to stick around. Maybe they just hadn’t gotten to it yet. In Arkk’s opinion, securing the outpost would have been among the first tasks he would have ordered unless something truly vital was needed. Like food.

Given how many people were inside the walls, maybe securing a source of food was a dire problem.

Whatever the case, the decrepit architecture worked to his advantage tonight. Over the years, the windswept plains had piled up dirt at the base of the wall, giving him even easier access than he would otherwise have. It took no effort for him or Agnete to vault over the top. He was a little worried that Dakka, being much larger than they were, would break the wall and cause a bunch of noise when she followed. She did stumble a bit but a steadying hand from Arkk kept the noise to a minimum.

Neither said a word. Arkk remained silent as well. Not now, not this close to their opponents. They simply nodded and moved.

The inner compound was a field of tents. Varying sizes of canvas-covered dwellings covered the empty… was it a courtyard? Given the lack of buildings, except for the two built into the one wall, this must have been how it had been used during the war. A hastily constructed outpost to serve as a waystation or logistical stopping point. Not a permanent dwelling or fortification.

Arkk had memorized the route he planned to take during the day’s scrying. He slipped between a few smaller tents, took a circuitous route around the array of barracks tents, and finally stopped at one of the larger tents toward the center of the compound. He held open the flap and let Dakka duck inside. Tossing a glance around, making sure nobody had seen them, he followed.

Dakka had explained a little bit about how she and the other orcs operated while raiding. Everyone had their own gear and weapons, mostly looted, and never parted with their belongings. They each maintained their blades and armor to the best of their abilities. Sometimes, heavier damage might require going to someone who knew more, but it was best to have something valuable to trade. Otherwise, anytime they did part with their gear, they were at risk of having stuff stolen by the others. Though she had admitted that maybe that was something unique to her situation, being the runt of the group.

Here, among the slavers, the situation seemed different. In this large tent, several wooden racks contained a vast plethora of weapons and armor. Chains, whips, swords, pikes, bows, quivers and arrows, and plenty more besides. Arkk was sure there would be plenty of weapons among the sleeping slavers but if they could deny this communal armory, that might result in a whole lot more people surrendering. The more who surrendered, the less likely something would go wrong.

Pulling out a moderately sized metal rod, Arkk started dragging it through the dirt. It wasn’t the most complex of arrays. The tracking spell was probably at a higher level. Still, it was something he wouldn’t have been able to create before Zullie’s lessons. It wasn’t something he had just copied from a book. Rather, he had specifically designed this ritual just for tonight. That alone made this a bit more special.

Especially with what he was about to do next.

Agnete simply watched. Although magically powerful, she didn’t actually know much about magic. Her flames were more akin to beastman magic. Rather than require incantations or complex designs to use, her flames were more instinctive. And limited. No matter how hard she tried, she wouldn’t be able to conjure a lightning bolt. As such, her curiosity over the pattern he was drawing was understandable.

After dragging a line from the circle at the center of the tent to each of its corners, he quickly approached the front flap. Dakka, who had been peering outside from a thin crack, gave him a nod of her head. He couldn’t see her face, hidden underneath her imposing black helmet, but the nod was enough.

Darting outside, he quickly ran to one of the exterior corners and started dragging the line out to another tent. This tent held more weaponry, some of a much higher quality than the others. He figured the leaders of the slavers would keep the best gear for themselves—and, importantly, on their persons—but getting rid of this would help.

It was a bit of a shame that he couldn’t take them for himself. He didn’t need the weapons and armor, not right now, but while Company Al-Mir had started as a front for getting into one of the Duke’s parties, the idea of running a mercenary company had grown on him. Arkk actually felt like he was doing good out in the Duchy, unlike some other elements he could name. Sure, he still planned to get rid of the Duke if he could and then there were the complications of tying his company to the fortress—not to mention Vezta and the Calamity stuff—but the thought of expanding Company Al-Mir into a proper mercenary force did appeal to him and weapons would help with that.

It was a bit disappointing that they had such little luck in recruiting from Moonshine Burg. Most who were capable of mercenary work were already employed with the garrison and didn’t have much interest in traveling. A few, Arkk had turned away simply because they looked more like accountants than proper fighters.

Finishing the ritual circle at the smaller tent, Arkk returned to the main armory tent and dragged out two more lines to either side of the largest barracks tent. He worked in silence, taking even more care here to not wake anyone on the other side of the thin canvas wall. This part of the job did have him feeling a little conflicted. He wouldn’t describe any fight he had been in as glamorous or honorable. Those were words for bards and stories. Still, fighting someone in proper combat was a far cry from what he was doing. Then again, thinking about the state of Lyssa or those slaves over in the buildings across the compound offered some solace.

Arkk started back toward the armory tent for the final line when a footstep that wasn’t his or Dakka’s ground against the earth.

“Hey! What are—”

Turning, Arkk made it just in time to watch a headless body thump against the ground. The decapitated head, flung from the blade of Dakka’s axe, slid along the ground until it caught on the canvas of a nearby tent.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Arkk didn’t even breathe. As he listened to his surroundings, he did a quick check-up on all the others through their employee links. Olatt’an and the others in the ranged squad were perched atop the actual buildings, ready to support those on the ground while also keeping slavers from going after the slaves in retaliation or for hostages. Rekk’ar, Zharja, and the others were over the wall at the end of the compound, just awaiting his signal. Lexa was in the process of wiping blood from a short dagger on the body of a man who had his throat slit. Some kind of magical haze surrounded her. It wouldn’t render her invisible but combined with the dark of the night, she might as well have been.

In the tents in Arkk’s immediate vicinity, he could hear rustling. Stirring. Whether it was the man’s words or his body hitting the ground, Arkk doubted they would have long before the entire camp was on high alert.

“Hurry,” he hissed, taking off in a run toward the large tent. Far less concerned with stealth and far more concerned with speed, he dug the metal rod into the ground and continued running, marking a trail behind him. Dakka, wearing armor, was much louder than he was. It wouldn’t matter much in a few moments.

Reaching a safe distance, Arkk quickly swept the metal rod around in a hasty circle. He inscribed symbols into the dirt out in the open, not far from the same wall he had climbed over to enter the compound. Already, shouts of alarm were going up in the distance. Torchlight started flickering against the edges of the tent canopies.

Finishing the last sigil, Arkk flung the metal rod aside and stepped into the circle. Taking a deep breath, he flooded his magic into the ring.

A bright violet light lit up around his feet, infusing all the markings he had just drawn before darting off along the line he had dragged in the direction of the armory tent. He couldn’t see it but he knew it was doing the same thing there. The light would spread through the large circle before it darted off to the three other circles he had drawn. And then…

The ground shook and a brilliant red-yellow column of twisting fire erupted in the center of the camp. A rush of wind followed the light, blowing tents over as it passed. Even Arkk, expecting this result, found himself knocked backward. He hit Dakka’s breastplate, letting out a grunt of mild pain. The orc, larger and sturdier, did not stumble or stagger. She simply clamped a hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he had done for her at the wall.

“Beautiful,” Agnete whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at the tornado of fire.

Arkk shot her a look before shaking his head. “Let’s meet up with—Electro Deus!” A bolt of lightning slammed into a man who had climbed out from under one of the toppled tents nearby. “Let’s get to Rekk’ar.”

“I… am allowed to purify anyone who gets in our way, am I not?” Agnete asked in a wispy cadence. She reached a hand toward the tornado, siphoning off a thin stream of fire, twisting it in the wrong direction of the spinning column of flames. It wrapped around her hands and arms, burning away her long cloak’s sleeves.

Arkk, nervously wondering if he should have used a different spell to take out the armory, slowly slipped a hand into his pocket. The icy touch of the marble brought some reassurance that he would be able to handle the situation if the purifier went berserk. “Just don’t harm our own or the slaves.”

“I… often lose control in the presence of intense fire… but…” It took obvious effort to tear her eyes from the flames in her hands. Those glowing embers slid into place, locking onto Arkk’s bright red eyes. “Something is different this time.”

She flicked her wrist, sending a stream of flames in a lazy arc at a screaming man wielding a spiked cudgel. His screams turned from anger to pain. The fires gained a bluish hue and the heat intensified. The man crumbled as he burned, cries cutting off abruptly.

Arkk grimaced at the likely painful death. Even Dakka shifted in obvious discomfort. Agnete simply flicked her wide eyes over to the body before flicking them back to Arkk.

“I shall endeavor to keep control.”

Resisting the urge to lick his heat-dried lips, Arkk nodded his head. “See that you do.”

“And I thought the gorgon were unnerving,” Dakka muttered barely loud enough for Arkk to hear. “You ever think about blinking once in a while?”

Arkk nudged the orc with his elbow. He hit hard armor but Dakka would still have felt it. Agnete didn’t seem to have heard anyway. Or, if she had, she wasn’t paying the quip any mind. Her eyes were scanning the collapsed tents, looking for any other threats. Any others for her purifying flames.

Taking a breath, Arkk nodded his head. “Let’s move.”

 

 

 

“You received some letters. Came in by Swiftwing Harpies.”

Arkk barely stepped out of the newly fashioned teleportation circle inside the Moonshine camp before being practically assaulted by Ilya waving a set of neatly folded letters in front of his face. One letter had an obvious seal stamped into wax while the other only had a glob keeping it closed. Taking them, he frowned down at both for just a moment before tucking them into his inner jacket pocket.

“That’s good. It means people know we’re here.”

He didn’t have time to examine them. Arkk had to step out of the teleportation circle and further into the large tent set up outside Moonshine Burg. The ritual circle pulsed and Agnete appeared within its confines. The temperature of the tent immediately shifted from a chill winter’s morning to a hot summer afternoon, making Arkk, Dakka, and several of the other gathered orcs break out in sweat.

Rekk’ar, already present having come through the teleportation circle before Arkk, just crossed his arms. He was finally out of that sling. It was thanks to him that Ilya and the others had gathered.

While at Fortress Al-Mir, Arkk made a sudden realization. Rekk’ar had left the fortress only once since first being hired. That one time had been a temporary departure when Arkk called for reinforcements at Darkwood, defending the town from the other Keeper. There was always some problem going on but Rekk’ar spent his time at the fortress, making sure to keep everything in line. It was high time that he got out to fight and war and just get a breath of fresh air. Maybe it would make him less cranky. With Vezta staying back at the fortress with the two warlocks and their research—and the fortress being nearly empty—Arkk was hoping this little excursion would help alleviate some of Rekk’ar’s concerns in addition to getting him out and moving about.

Agnete, on the other hand, was here solely because she wanted to be here. Arkk hadn’t offered. She had asked. She wanted to see how Arkk ran things, what kind of person he was outside their limited prior interactions, and how the others in his employ acted. Arkk didn’t have much of a reason to keep her in the fortress. With her abilities, it would only make their upcoming task all the easier to accomplish.

“Come along,” Arkk said, moving from the large tent across their small camp on the open plains and to a smaller tent with several cots set inside.

Arkk looked around the new tent, locking eyes with Edvin and the gremlin at his side. Lexa. The only non-employee in the area.

Gremlins stood shorter than most other races. Half the height of an average human left the gremlin utterly dwarfed by all the orcs filing inside, though her spiked mass of bright red hair helped to make her look a little less short than she actually was. That probably wasn’t the only reason she looked distinctly uncomfortable. Being the only fully-fledged bandit among a group of mercenaries had her clearly on guard. Not that there was much she would be able to do if Arkk did suddenly decide to throw her to the local garrison.

Looking away from the two, Arkk found Ilya’s silver eyes. “Report,” he said. “Did you find the slavers?”

Ilya shot a glance in Lexa’s direction as well, nodding at the same time. “We managed to track them down two days ago. They are about two days out from here, making their home in an abandoned outpost from the last war as Lexa indicated.”

“Would it be too much to ask for the Duchy to hold onto its territory?” Arkk asked with a sigh. “I suppose this isn’t the first time we’re cleaning up the Duchy’s mess. Were you able to scry on this outpost?”

Grimacing, Ilya nodded her head. “It… It isn’t pretty. The outpost has an entire dungeon set up. Probably for holding onto prisoners from the war but… now… it’s holding onto slaves. They have these massive carts drawn by massive horned creatures. Each cart has stacks upon stacks of large metal cages. I think they take them around to the places they raid, fill them up then drag them back here. Some of the slaves are treated better than others—probably the ones they want to sell for looks rather than labor—but it is a mess all around.”

“How many slavers?”

“There are about two-hundred cots in their barracks.”

“Two hundred?” Arkk repeated with a frown. That… was a fair amount. They only had eighteen orcs now that Rekk’ar and a few of the others who had been at the fortress were with them. Plus himself, Ilya, four gorgon, and Agnete. And Edvin, he supposed, though he wasn’t going to expect much from the highwayman.

He had fought off about that many goblins when he first met Vezta. That had been an entirely different situation, with them all rushing toward him—meaning only a limited number could engage with him at any given time—and him not having to worry much about innocents getting in the way. Here, they had slaves who would turn into hostages the moment things took a dive for the slavers.

For a few moments, he considered returning to the fortress to retrieve Vezta, Zullie, and Savren. Maybe the other gorgon as well. Looking to his side, where Agnete had taken up a position a little too close for comfort, he shook his head. Himself, Ilya, four gorgon, and Agnete were probably enough to take on eighty entrenched slavers on their own. Sure, most of that might have been Agnete, but still…

“Dakka,” Arkk said, looking at the orc. She stiffened under his gaze, back straightening. “You’ve been informed of the situation?”

“I was watching them scry it, Sir.”

“Good. Take Rekk’ar and Agnete, get them fully up to speed on what is going on and start coming up with strategies. Vezta and our warlocks are available if we feel it is necessary. I’ll join you shortly.”

Dakka’s eyes shifted over to Rekk’ar. There was a certain pride to her gaze as her lips curled into a smile. “Yes, Sir,” she said.

“The rest of you, get everything ready to move. Jorr’or, check our food and medical supplies. Make sure we have some extra of both, enough to help anyone we rescue. You have full authority to take as much gold into town as is required to procure the necessary supplies.”

The orc who had acted as quartermaster on this excursion nodded his head before turning to the flaps of the tent. Everyone else filed out in short order, leaving just Arkk and Ilya behind in the large barracks-like tent. It wasn’t the best home base, but they didn’t have anywhere else unless they wanted to take another hop to the stayover. Although more effective than walking, moving people one at a time through the teleportation circle wasn’t a very effective means of travel or he might have suggested they return to Fortress Al-Mir every night. It was just easier to rent out the entire stayover and use this camp.

“Vezta didn’t come back with you?” Ilya asked as they took a seat on one of the nearby cots.

“There were some problems with Zullie and Savren. Wanted to make sure they didn’t end up killing each other, so she’s mediating.”

“Problems?”

“Disagreements over changes to the ritual circle. As interested as I am, I didn’t ask. Too much other stuff going on. After setting Vezta to loom over their shoulders, they actually started cooperating instead of just arguing about it. I sat in on a few of their sessions but…” Arkk hung his head. “It’s complicated. I wish I had more time to fully learn everything but I’ve got to run around plotting assaults on slavers.”

Lips pressed together, Ilya reached out, resting a hand on Arkk’s knee. “This is important too. Just think of all the people we’re helping. And all the people who won’t have to worry about being raided in the future because these slime will be dead.”

“I know,” Arkk said. “I’m not saying it isn’t important or we’ll leave those people.” Shaking his head, Arkk focused. “With the inquisitors lurking in places we can’t scry, I just was hoping we could find some spellcasters out here. Sadly, I doubt many, if any, of the slaves will be casters.”

“What about—”

“I can cast spells.”

Arkk blinked and looked over Ilya’s shoulder. Lexa leaned up against the central pole holding up the tent. The short gremlin hadn’t left with the others and Arkk hadn’t even noticed. He was so used to looking up that he had entirely forgotten to look down, despite having singled her out earlier. It didn’t help that she had half-hidden behind the large pole, barely visible from his position.

Discussing sensitive things without fully securing the area…

“You can cast spells?” Arkk asked, trying to maintain a neutral tone of voice.

“Nothing flashy,” the gremlin said, grinning with sharp teeth. “A few tricks here or there. Distract a mark or make me harder to notice. It worked on you. Useful, right?”

Arkk narrowed his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t simply overlooked the gremlin. “And you’re offering your services.”

“Consider this my demonstration of ability.” Shoving off the pole, Lexa walked around it and stopped in front of Arkk. “I’m a thief. Best in the business. At least around these parts. I can slip through cracks most others wouldn’t even notice, I can hide in plain sight, and I can nick valuables right out from under people’s noses.” Pulling a hand from behind her back, she waved two familiar letters back and forth.

Arkk stiffened, reaching into his jacket even as Ilya’s arm shot out. She snatched all the letters from the gremlin’s small hand. Not that the gremlin even tried to withhold them. Lexa just flashed her sharp teeth again.

“When did you—”

“Magic,” Lexa said, wiggling her fingers. “Not going to say more than that unless you hire me.”

“Bad first impression,” Ilya snapped. “What else have you stolen?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. I did snoop around,” she admitted. “Peeked into a few bags here or there. Spotted some interesting magic circles in the guarded tent… Left everything right where I found it.”

Arkk stiffened at the mention of the teleportation circle. That was one of his biggest advantages and not something he wanted to give up. Especially not to bandits.

“Sure you did.” Ilya’s disbelief came through as clear in her tone as it was written on her face, patting herself down to check that she wasn’t missing anything else.

Arkk held up a hand. “And you’ve, what, tired of your thieving career? Want to turn over a new leaf?” If she wasn’t offering to work for him now… He wasn’t quite sure what he would have done. Secrecy was security and security was paramount.

“Never. My skills are handy no matter the situation. Handier than a bunch of ex-raiders, anyway. Now I hear you’re in the market for spellcasters too? That just makes me more valuable.” She laughed a sharp, high-pitched laugh. “Don’t get me wrong. I love what I do. Kat’s Bandits are a nice family—Kat is sexy and perfectly happy to share herself with anyone who pleases her—but after snooping around here and seeing how much coin you’ve got to throw around? Well, if I knew how well being a mercenary paid, I’d have joined a company years ago.”

Of all the topics he had discussed with Hawkwood during his visit to Cliff City, pay had not been among them. He honestly doubted that most other free companies could afford to give a gold coin to each employee every month. Fortress Al-Mir put him in a league of his own when it came to what he could offer his workers.

“You can’t just—”

Holding up a hand, Arkk stalled Ilya’s retort. “What assurances would I have that you aren’t going to take the coin and run back to your outlaw friends?”

“We’re not hiring another criminal, are we?” Ilya asked before Lexa could say anything.

Arkk shrugged. “We already knew we weren’t going to find any spellcasters in good standing. That pretty much leaves only criminals.”

“If I’m working for a free company, I’m not a criminal, now am I?” the gremlin grinned. “As for assurances… the only assurance out there is gold. As long as the gold keeps coming and nobody offers me a better deal, I’m yours. For whatever. You. Want.” Lexa hooked a finger over the front of her bodice and lightly pulled, showing off just enough skin to be enticing without showing off everything.

Arkk locked his eyes with her hazel slit pupils and frowned. “I’m not in the habit of abusing my employees like that.”

“It isn’t abuse if—”

“I also prefer women who are taller than me.”

Ilya, who had been glaring at Lexa, shifted her glare over to Arkk before moving back to the gremlin. She stared back and forth like she wasn’t sure who was more deserving of her ire. When Arkk flashed her a smile and winked, she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Ah,” Lexa said, looking between the two as she slumped her shoulders. “Kind of rude to put it like that but maybe I can change your mind later. I’m more after the gold anyway.”

Reaching into his pocket, Arkk withdrew a single gold coin. Holding it up, he watched as Lexa’s eyes went wide, following its motions like a cat ready to pounce on a rat.

“I’ll hire you,” Arkk said, moving the coin back and forth. “A gold coin a month, plus bonuses for combat or other situations that require your skills or presence. While employed, you don’t steal from regular people or anyone else under my employ.”

Although her eyes kept following the gold coin, her head turned slightly toward Arkk. “No one? What defines ‘regular people’? What about rich idiots begging to have some of their wealth redistributed? The tax collector, maybe? Does it count as stealing if they’re dead?”

“No murdering people either,” Arkk said, narrowing his eyes.

“I didn’t mean that. Just suppose I’m walking around, minding my own business, when I stumble across an old mausoleum filled with all kinds of shiny things…”

“Look. I just don’t want you acting like a thug. I’m still trying to build up Company Al-Mir’s reputation. If you do anything to tear that down, we’re going to have a problem. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

With a slight sigh, Arkk held out the coin. It vanished from his fingers in the blink of an eye and disappeared down the front of her shirt—she must have had a pocket sewn in there—not via magic, just the quick reflexes of the gremlin. While Lexa didn’t seem to notice, Arkk felt the minion bond form between them.

“Don’t worry,” Lexa said, eyes back on him while she showed off her sharp-toothed grin. “You won’t regret this.”

“I hope not. Now get prepared to head out with the others.”

“You can order me around however you want,” she said, turning on her heel.

Arkk watched her go, making sure she didn’t slip off to spy on them a second time. She must have known that he was watching because she started swinging her hips in what Arkk had to hope was an exaggerated manner. It couldn’t be comfortable to walk like that all the time.

“Lexa,” Arkk called out before she made it to the tent flaps, a thought occurring to him.

She paused and turned, raising a bright red eyebrow.

“Are there other spellcasters among Kat’s Bandits?”

“Oh yeah. Kat herself is one. Then there’s Roland, Hestia, Marg, and maybe a few others? Not sure how good they are. None of us have any professional training. Just the books we… liberated from our customers.”

“I see…”

“You want a full list? Every spell they know—or every spell I know they know, anyway.”

“Later, perhaps.”

“Sure thing.” With one last sashay, Lexa slipped out of the room.

Arkk hummed to himself, mind churning as he considered possible future interactions with Katja and her crew. With these slavers being a thorn in Katja’s side, taking them out should engender some feelings of gratitude. He wasn’t sure that they would all be as willing to jump ship—especially not the leader—but if he could borrow a few spellcasters for however long the ritual would require…

“You aren’t seriously thinking about hiring them all, are you? I can’t believe how many criminals we have working with us.”

“If they’re working for us, they aren’t causing problems for villages and travelers.”

“That’s the same logic we used on the orcs and Savren and the gorgon and now these thieves. I’m not sure how much I like that argument.”

“It’s all gone well so far,” Arkk said with a shake of his head. “We’ll talk it over later. I doubt they’ll all even want to join up. For now, I’m curious about these.”

Holding up the letters Ilya had handed him, he broke the wax seal on the one without a signet stamped into it. It was the thickest of the two, containing a great many pages. Sketches and diagrams of buildings and murals. The front letter, after Arkk skimmed it, filled him in on what it was all about.

“Ah. That expedition we helped with. This is the historian getting back to me.”

“Back to you?”

“I waived half their pay in exchange for details on the ruins they were heading to. I thought it might have been another fortress like Al-Mir. Judging by this giant pit, I might have been right, though it fits with Vezta’s description of a dead fortress. Interesting but not all that exciting. I’ll look over his other notes later.”

The next letter, stamped with the upward chevron seal of White Company, was a letter from Hawkwood. This one wasn’t a particularly long letter but the content had Arkk sitting forward in his seat.

“It seems like we have made a splash among those who pay attention to mercenaries. Hawkwood is congratulating us for saving Silver City and ridding Savren’s magic from Hope. He’s mentioned us around and…” Arkk pressed his lips together. “Seems like he wants to invite us to a small dinner in Cliff, accompanied by several other mercenary company commanders.”

Ilya crossed her arms, closing her eyes. “Is that all?”

Arkk flipped the letter over, checking the backside, before shrugging. “Looks like it.”

“It’s a trap. The inquisitors got to him. Or the entire letter is forged.”

Arkk drummed his fingers on his knee. The thought had occurred to him but… “I don’t want to believe that.”

“What else could it be?”

“Just what it says. I’ve had several correspondences with Hawkwood since we met for the first time. He mentioned things like this before. All the company leaders are friends, though some consider other companies to be friendly rivals. It’s… not out of the ordinary to be invited along with them.” Arkk paused then looked Ilya in her silver eyes. “We have been making a name for ourselves.”

“Even if the inquisitors have nothing to do with it, they are still there. You can’t seriously be considering going. They won’t just ignore you.”

“They might,” Arkk said, knowing damn well they wouldn’t. “I asked John to visit Stone Hearth and Smilesville while I was back at the fortress. Neither place has any bounty, notice, or other declaration of interest regarding me, Company Al-Mir, or even the Cursed Forest.”

“Because they’re trying to draw you in with this letter!” Ilya snapped standing up. “Arkk. Ask any of the others. Rekk’ar. Olatt’an. Vezta. Zullie. Savren. Dakka. Edvin. They’ll all tell you this is a trap.”

Arkk closed his eyes, nodding his head. He did not doubt that. He wasn’t even disagreeing. He didn’t think… He hoped that Hawkwood hadn’t tried to trap him. That didn’t mean that the inquisitors wouldn’t hear about his arrival and try to do something then.

Still… This could well be the last chance they had to visit Cliff without being labeled as heretics or traitors. The last chance they would have to get Alya out of the Duke’s manor while still able to freely move about the city. If he brought up that point, Ilya might change her mind.

He wasn’t sure if he should or not. She might insist they go, which Arkk wasn’t sure he wanted. Or she might not, feeling she would have to abandon her mother. Arkk didn’t want that either. It wouldn’t be a good feeling.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Arkk said, folding the letter and sliding it back into his pocket. He would have to think it over. “It doesn’t matter now. We’ve got this counter-slaver operation to deal with.”

Ilya stared a moment before letting out a small breath, blowing a loose lock of her silver hair aside. “Twenty-five versus two-hundred, can we do it?”

“To be honest, unless these slavers have a secret inquisitor up their sleeve with an ice marble, I think Agnete could handle them entirely on her own.”

“Without incinerating the slaves?”

Arkk pressed his lips into a thin smile, lightly touching the round lump in his pocket just to make sure that hadn’t gone missing. “That’s why the rest of us are going.”

 

 

Tracking down the slavers was taking longer than Arkk had hoped for. The land outside Moonshine Burg was vast and empty. Old outposts dotted the plains, most long abandoned, relics of the old war.

Arkk stared down at Lexa, a gremlin who barely stood tall enough to reach his waist, with a frown on his face. On loan from the leader of the bandits, she wasn’t a proper employee. That had Arkk a little on edge in her presence. The way she looked at him, large eyes roaming over his shoulders and arms, had him a little more on edge. He didn’t get the feeling that she was likely to stab him in the back from the way she stared, more like… she was interested in him.

“So these things are so handy. Is it true they can see anywhere?” she asked, peering into a blank crystal ball. “Anywhere?”

“Yes,” Arkk lied. He didn’t want the weakness of churches or whatever the inquisitors had done to themselves to become widely spread information.

“Like… inside the quarters of your boss?” Lexa grinned, sharp teeth on display as she ran a hand through her spiked mass of bright red hair. “How do I get me one of these?”

“I doubt Katja would appreciate that.”

“Nonsense. She invites me in at least once a fortnight.”

Arkk shook his head. “Just find the slavers. That’s what you’re here for. Nothing else.”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. The guy Kat captured wasn’t too specific about which of the old outposts they’re squatting in. When she told me to guide you around, I thought we’d be walking to check each one. Not kicking back and relaxing with a garrison-provided map of their old outposts and this sweet ball.”

“This is the second time you’ve mentioned capturing one of the slavers,” Arkk said, sharing a pitying look with Ilya. The elf was going to be the one making sure Lexa stayed on task, backed up by Dakka and two other orcs. He did not envy them. “Why don’t we try interrogating him?”

“Oh sure!” she said with a dark grin. “It’s been a few weeks but I’m sure a competent necromancer would be able to ask a few questions. Might be tough getting his remains back from the wurms though.”

Arkk shook his head slowly. “Never mind. Is there anything else you need besides the map and crystal ball?”

Her grin turned sly as her eyes roamed up and down Arkk. “Wouldn’t mind you sticking a little close by. Maybe a few more orc guards too,” she said, casting a lecherous glance around the small room of the tent they had set up a distance outside Moonshine Burg.

Neither she nor Edvin were allowed inside the city proper. Only Edvin was wanted by the garrison, Arkk had checked, but he didn’t want to risk being associated with her either.

Arkk stared a moment before flicking his eyes up to Ilya, meeting an utterly ferocious glare. He had known her long enough that he could figure out some of what she was thinking. Right now, it was something along the lines of ‘Please don’t leave me alone with this gremlin. I’d rather have Edvin here! Or even the Duke! Arkk! Please! Don’t go!’. With a silent apology, Arkk turned and stepped out of the tent without another word.

Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, Arkk shook his head. It would be fine. Probably. Dakka was there to make sure no one got hurt. The fact that the orc had been trying to suppress chuckles didn’t mean that she wouldn’t do her job.

With that operation underway and no immediate tasks from the local baron to see to, Arkk figured it was high time to attend to one thing he had been neglecting thus far.

“Worried, Master?”

Arkk glanced up to find Vezta approaching, steps demure as she maneuvered around a pair of gorgon who were enjoying the heat of the sun despite the cold air. All they needed was a small wall around them to keep the direct breeze off their scales.

Vezta came to a stop in front of him, the heels of her boots clicking against the floor. She cocked her head to one side, looking at him before deliberately flicking her eyes over his shoulder at the closed tent flaps.

“I don’t want to hear a word about recent hires,” Arkk said, moving away from the tent so that the occupants wouldn’t hear. “I didn’t even hire the gremlin.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Vezta said, a thin smile spreading across her face.

“But… speaking of new hires… I want you to meet Agnete properly.”

The smile on Vezta’s face froze in place. “I am not sure I am enthused with that idea any more than I am enthused with her presence at Fortress Al-Mir.” She looked down at her arm. Or the spot where her arm should have been. It did look better than it had immediately after the inquisitors injured her but still wasn’t back to normal. “The magic she wields is given by a god. The damage it can do to me, on a personal level, is concerning.”

Arkk nodded his head. “I am aware. Which is why we should do this under controlled circumstances with me—and that ice marble—present.” He took in a breath, letting it back out slowly. “I stopped by the Fortress the other day ago and checked up on things around there. Mostly her. She expressed interest in learning more about the Burning Forge. Most of her time has been spent inside the forge, molding little bits of metal into small sculptures.”

“And you wish for me to speak with her.”

“You know more than I do,” Arkk said with a shrug. “Better to get this over with sooner rather than later. If she does attack you… Well, I’m fairly certain that ice marble will kill her rather quickly, judging by how she acted in its presence the first time.”

“And you wish to do this now?”

Arkk nodded his head. “It is going to take some time for them to find the slavers. We’ve got until then.”

“If you think it is best,” Vezta said, her tone polite if slightly strained.

“I do. I think it is more than for the best. Agnete should be able to take the final spot in our ritual but… kind of need her willing. If she takes up an interest in the Pantheon, I feel like that is a good avenue to get her to agree despite any misgivings she might have over ‘forbidden’ magics.”

“When put like that, I can see the reasoning. Very well, Master. Back to the stayover?”

Arkk nodded his head. They had set up a teleportation circle inside the stayover, figuring it was less suspicious to have people disappear from within rather than heading out a half a day’s walk away from the burg to an unsheltered area where anyone with eyes could watch them disappear. Today, however, that meant they had to walk back into town.

Walking through the streets of Moonshine Burg with Vezta at his side had become something of a regular occurrence. He wanted to be sure that the inquisitors were aware of him and hadn’t tried hiding because of that. Still, people stopped what they were doing to stare. Even after weeks of being inside the burg, walking through the market caused a commotion.

It always started slow. Someone would notice Vezta and nudge someone they were standing near. Their actions would attract others who then attracted more. In a few moments, it felt like the entire market stopped what they were doing to stare. At least word had spread enough to avoid panicked people rushing to the guards. It still felt a bit… eerie.

Worst of all were a small number of the ones from Evestani. On the border of the two nations, Moonshine had accrued several residents from Evestani. Most were perfectly normal people who stopped and stared like everyone else. Yet there was a small subset with extravagant golden tattoos around the crowns of their heads who didn’t so much as stare as they glowered.

Pious of the Golden Order, according to a few locals who Arkk had asked. As far as Arkk could tell, the Golden Order was equivalent to the Abbey of the Light except native to Evestani. Given the relation, Arkk wasn’t too surprised by their more hostile interest in Vezta compared to the average citizen.

They were one of the main reasons Arkk wanted to finish up with this slaver business and then move away. Perhaps to one of the principalities, both of which were on the opposite side of the Duchy and thus as far from Evestani as possible. He already had one religious organization hounding him. Adding a second seemed like a bad idea.

Today especially felt unusual. It felt like there were more pious than usual. What was worse was the way they didn’t look like they had been participating in the usual market activities. They weren’t standing in lines, manning shops, peddling wares, or even proselytizing. It was almost like they had been sitting around, waiting. Now they all stared at him as one, heads turning all at the same time.

Yes. The sooner they could get out of Moonshine Burg, the better.

Reaching the Canyon’s End stayover, Arkk had to smile. Partially in relief at being out of the public eye, partially because of the feel of the stayover. The entire place had effectively been taken over by Company Al-Mir. Orcs sat at each of the tables. Some drinking and eating, others playing a variety of games, gambling what coin they hadn’t spent in the burg with each other. Only the occasional traveling merchants stopped by and often not for long.

Getting out of the fortress had done them some good, Arkk reflected. From what Dakka, Olatt’an, and Rekk’ar had mentioned among each other and his observations, there had been some amount of disconcertion regarding the handling of the inquisitors. Sending them into fights they could win, a place where they could spend coin, and just generally getting some fresh air had done wonders for morale.

To the best of his knowledge, there hadn’t been any altercations in the town involving the orcs either. That, especially, reassured Arkk that he had, in some way, rehabilitated the former raiders.

Up the stairs and beyond a door guarded by the other two gorgon, Arkk stepped into a complex ritual circle drawn on the ground. A touch of magic and Arkk found himself a day’s walk away from Moonshine Burg, nestled between a pair of craggy rocks. Two steps forward and he was in another ritual circle. It took several more hops—Moonshine Burg was by far the furthest he had ever been from Langleey—but he eventually found himself in one of the decrepit corridors of the trashed false fortress. From there, he simply used his abilities as Keeper of the Heart to transport himself into Fortress Al-Mir proper.

He took in a deep breath and let it out in a content sigh.

Home.

As he mentioned to Vezta, it had only been a few days. Still, knowing that the fortress was, in some way, literally him… he couldn’t help feeling that he didn’t belong far away from it.

Vezta, pulled from the false fortress, appeared at his side a few moments later.

“Savren and Zullie were arguing about something the other day,” he said. “Why not see if it is something you can resolve while I go and speak with Agnete… make sure she doesn’t incinerate you on sight.”

Vezta bowed. “Most magnificently magnanimous, my Master.”

Arkk leveled a glare at Vezta, not bothering to give her the satisfaction of commentary before sending her off toward the library.

People had been doing that more and more lately. Usually whenever Savren came up in conversation. He hoped it was just people mocking him but… perhaps he needed to take Zullie aside and ensure that Savren’s curse wasn’t spreading. Or that Savren wasn’t trying to spread his curse around as he had with the flawed ritual in Hope Village.

Arkk didn’t think he was doing the latter. Able to examine the entirety of the traversable areas of the fortress in only a few seconds, he couldn’t find any ritual circle like the one he had destroyed. It wasn’t possible to dig through the reinforced walls or floors either, leaving no possibility that Savren had somehow hidden a curse-spreading ritual somewhere out of sight. Still…

Shaking his head, making a note for later, Arkk moved himself in front of Agnete’s quarters.

Like most doors in Fortress Al-Mir, this door had been refurbished from one of the original doors left behind. Even now, he wasn’t quite sure about all the rules in this place. Gold could form entire rooms including furnishings or raw materials but not other things, like doors, which required skilled labor to produce from those raw materials. Yet the lesser servants could repair many existing things, like doors and floors and walls, all without consuming gold or raw materials. They just performed some magical dancing and everything came out brand new. There were limitations. Once something was destroyed beyond a reasonable point of repair, it would have to be replaced entirely.

That meant he only had a limited number of doors to move around before he would have to occupy blacksmith time with making new ones. If he wanted wooden doors, he would have to recruit John’s assistance as well. So far, that hadn’t been an issue.

So far…

The metal frame of Agnete’s door sagged and drooped, barely managing to hold in the wooden boards. The wood wasn’t really wood so much either. Rather, it had turned to a brittle, black charcoal. The lesser servant was trying to perform its magic. That was probably the only reason the door was still intact but it looked like a losing battle.

“Do the best you can,” Arkk said to the poor bundle of pulsating black slime, mouths, and eyes.

He would have to see about getting the door replaced. Maybe Savren or Zullie could figure out a way of making the doors magically resistant to heat.

In the meantime, Arkk retrieved a thick leather glove from the smithy and gently knocked on the door.

The wooden panels crumbled under his touch. Even with as light a knock as he could manage, the panel he touched fell apart. The one next to it fell as well, then the next one over. The chain reaction spread through the door until it was nothing but a cloud of ashy dust. The warped bits of metal clattered to the floor around his feet. Hot, dry air rushed out, enveloping him.

The lesser servant looked up at him. It wasn’t human. It didn’t have a human face let alone the ability to make anything resembling a recognizable expression. He still felt the withering look it gave him, like he had just wasted all its efforts at keeping the door intact.

“Sorry,” Arkk said.

“It was my fault.”

Glancing up, Arkk found Agnete standing at the back of the room, just beyond the cracked throne, staring into a large mirror that hadn’t been present the last time Arkk visited her room. She looked… calmer than when Arkk last saw her. Her muscled back wasn’t as tense as before.

Arkk, blinking, realized he could see her muscled back. “Sorry,” Arkk said again. “I didn’t mean to just barge in. The door—”

“I noticed its state the other day,” Agnete said, turning. She knelt down next to the large throne and popped open a large stone chest that matched with the cracked and molten throne. Withdrawing a long black overcoat, she threw it on and began buttoning up the front. “Since then, I have been trying to rein myself in. This place is freedom unlike any I have experienced—slight elevation in ambient temperature would have the inquisitors upset with me—but I suppose there is cause for restraint even now.”

“That’s good. I’m honestly not sure how to handle you. I would rather not be comparable to the likes of Darius Vrox but at the same time, I would prefer the fortress intact.” Arkk reached out with the glove, snapping a piece of the frame off the wall with little effort. He tossed it to the lesser servant, who formed a mouth in just the right spot and swallowed it whole. “I’ll see about getting a more durable door put in instead. A solid metal one.”

Turning back to Agnete, Arkk stumbled in place. Her face was turned toward the door now. The glowing lines on her face and bright embers in the depths of her pupils made his heart skip a beat. It was no wonder people ran from him when he made his eyes glow if that was what greeted them. But Agnete wasn’t staring at him. Her eyes were on the lesser servant, watching with intent as it consumed the remainder of the door.

“The horror from beyond the stars…”

“Vezta would be upset to hear that.”

Glowing eyes flicked over to Arkk as Agnete raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Vezta is my… assistant? She calls herself a servant. This is just a lesser servant. Vezta is the pre-Calamity monster that you inquisitors have been so upset about.” Arkk knelt to pat the lesser servant on its… itself. “She looks more human though. In fact, she is an almost duplicate of the little tailor servant you met when you first arrived.”

“It bit me.”

Arkk let out a small chuckle, thinking back. He had been watching when that happened. If he remembered right, Agnete had been poking and prodding the lesser servant. Probably trying to figure out what it was.

“They’ve been avoiding me,” Agnete said, interrupting Arkk’s reminiscing. “I’ve felt them around but every time I turn my head, they’re gone. These are the horrors from beyond the stars? But it is… cute. Not how Greesom described them at all.”

Arkk snapped his head over to Agnete, both eyebrows climbing up his forehead. While he had long since gotten used to them, calling them cute was a bit much. And this was the first time she was seeing them. Everyone else had strong words to say about them, even if they also got used to them eventually.

Ilya still didn’t like them.

“Why do the inquisitors call them horrors from beyond the stars? Vezta has quite a negative view on that term.”

“Horror?”

“No. The beyond the stars part. I think she would prefer horror from the stars.” Arkk shrugged. “I don’t really get it either but the distinction seems important to her. How did the inquisitors come by the name?”

Agnete slowly shook her head. “I told you when you offered me your false choice, I have never been privy to the operations of the inquisitors. I believe you put it best when you said that I was little more than an attack dog on a leash.”

“Ah—”

“However, I can make guesses. We are dispatched by Oracles. I know little about them other than their supposed prophetic visions, which are what direct the inquisitors as a whole. I understand that a vision directed the inquisitors to me in my youth.” She paused, eyes losing focus for a long moment before she shook her head, sending her wild dark hair thrashing around her. “My only real experience with such visions comes from Greesom. He could receive lesser revelation. Vague and imprecise, interpreting it nonetheless brought us to several incidents.”

“That… sounds familiar. I think Vrox mentioned these oracles to me before.”

“I am not sure what transpired. We were on another assignment, investigating an issue in the Kingdom’s southern desert when we received urgent orders to head up to the Duchy. Immediately. We abandoned our then-current assignment without resolution and relocated to find you.”

“And Vezta…”

“Judging by the urgency, it is unlikely the inquisitors will give up. With my presence, they may elevate this issue to a full crisis and send more than just a single inquisitor, a chronicler, and a purifier.”

Arkk nodded, leaning up against the doorframe. “Yeah. I figured something like that would happen. I’m hoping I’ve thrown them off the track a bit. I told Vrox that I would be abandoning the area they found me in. Then, this last week or so, I and Vezta have been very visible on the far side of the Duchy, making sure everyone has seen us moving around. I’ve even asked Vezta to unleash some of her tentacles as we walked around some of the larger burgs, just to get rumors flying around.”

“That may work for a time. Greesom’s visions are vague and difficult to understand. They pointed us in the right direction but then we had to rely on information gathering from villagers and other local avenues. But I doubt your efforts will be a permanent solution.”

“Yeah. I figured that as well.”

“I will fight,” Agnete said, squaring her shoulders as she stared at Arkk. “Or I will die. Unfortunately, I am not the only purifier among the ranks of the inquisitors. The Binder you took from Vrox is not the only one. My efforts against them will be limited.”

“I’m hoping to have a more permanent solution. Or… at least more help. I’m preparing a large ritual,” Arkk started, taking the opportunity to shift the topic back to one of his original purposes in coming here. “One that, while forbidden magics, I’m sure, will hopefully be a first step in changing the world for the better. In addition, it might let you find out more about the Burning Forge and… what made you you. Would you like to hear about it?”

Agnete stared for a long moment before dipping her head in a brief nod.

 

 

Arkk hunkered down, peering through the twilight-draped brush.

A small, lonely hill stood amid the dusty plains. Several buildings sat on top. Large wooden warehouse-style homes, built in a ring around a central plaza. Though he only knew that from scrying. His position at the moment didn’t let him see much more than the spiked tops of wooden fences encircling the top of the hill. All down the hill’s sides, narrow wooden rods jutted out of the mound. Their tips had been shaved to points as well. They were placed haphazardly and irregularly, hindering any attempts to navigate up the sides of the hill.

If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought it was nothing more than a particularly protective village.

“That right there is a little place we call Porcupine Hill.”

“Creatively named,” Arkk said.

“Bandits and highwaymen aren’t known for their poets and scholars,” Edvin said with a shrug. “Especially not these bandits. They’re the true power out here in the western Duchy. Even the Duke’s men steer clear of here.”

“And they’re associated with the slavers?”

“Not unless something has changed lately. Their leader can’t stand slavers. Used to be one, I gather.”

“A slaver?”

“A slave.”

“Ah.” Arkk’s eyes scanned over the unwelcoming hill for a long minute before he turned to Edvin. “They know where the slavers are?”

“I sure hope so! I’d rather not find out what you plan to do with me if I’ve inadvertently lied.”

As long as Edvin made an earnest effort, Arkk doubted he would have cause to do anything drastic. Not that he told Edvin that. In the three days since Arkk and the orcs had raided Edvin’s group, the man had done little to endear himself to Arkk. Not for a lack of trying either. In fact, that was part of the problem.

Edvin tried a little too much. Nearly every word the man said was some poorly disguised attempt at ingratiating himself with either Arkk or one of Arkk’s employees. His words didn’t elicit much of a reaction. Except for the few words he had for Ilya, which had earned him that black and blue bruise around his eye. It would have been pitiful if Arkk hadn’t thought he was doing it on purpose.

What was more, it was like the man couldn’t tell the truth if his life depended on it. Which, unless he had seen through Arkk’s less-than-lethal threats, it did. Even if he had seen through those threats, Arkk was still more than willing to hand him over to the local garrison.

All that made Arkk less than thrilled about this whole operation. He had half a mind to sit around and hope that the slavers hit Appletop Village. The only reason he wasn’t doing that was that doing so would likely end up with a large number of dead flopkins before he could intervene. Sometimes, being proactive about a problem was necessary even when that proactivity put him in an unpleasant situation.

“So, we’re just going to walk in through the front door?”

“The hill was designed to make other paths unpalatable.”

“Alright,” Arkk said, standing. He looked back to Dakka and Ilya, both of whom were giving Arkk the flattest looks they could. “Stick together—”

“Woah, hold on. Best to leave the others behind,” Edvin said, further increasing Arkk’s distrust in the man. “They see an army marching up the hill and they’re going to start raining arrows on us before we get close enough to explain what we want. Unless you want a war…”

“Bet the garrisons would pay us for taking this place out too,” Dakka said with a casual shrug.

“Yes,” Edvin said, “but what of the slavers? You might accidentally kill the one who knows about them.”

“This is obviously a trap,” Ilya said, hand resting on her dagger.

“You question my honor, elf?”

“Yes.”

“Oh… Well… Mother always said not to bite the hand that feeds you. Right now, that’s you guys. You can trust that at least.”

Arkk sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “He is probably not wrong, unfortunately. If we head up there as a large group, they’re going to attack before we can get into striking or talking distance.”

“You can’t be serious,” Ilya said.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Ilya just pressed her lips together.

“Dakka,” Arkk said, “you stay here. Stay ready though.” Pulling the crystal ball from his satchel, Arkk tossed it over to Vezta. “If anything happens, I’m sure you can guess what to do.”

Vezta caught the glass ball with a single hand. She looked down at the ball before her golden eyes flicked over to Arkk. “You would not prefer my presence at your side?”

“No offense,” Edvin said before Arkk could speak, “but you’d probably start a war on your own.”

Aside from one of the eyes on Vezta’s shoulder shifting, she gave no indication that she had even heard Edvin speak. Her attention was entirely on Arkk.

“It was definitely a consideration. Unfortunately, you’re the only one who knows how to make the circles.”

“We should have brought Zullie along.”

At the mention of his researcher, Arkk took a quick glimpse into Fortress Al-Mir. Savren and Zullie were both back there for the time being, standing inside the temple-ritual room, seemingly arguing about something. The former kept gesturing toward one of the cardinal spots while Zullie had her arms crossed over her chest, looking unimpressed. It likely related to the changes Zullie suggested needed to be made.

Hoping that wasn’t going to become a major problem before he returned, Arkk shook his head. “Too late now. Don’t worry. I can hold my own long enough.” Turning, Arkk started, “Ilya—”

“You aren’t going in there alone.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Edvin said, straightening his back.

“No, you’re coming with me,” Arkk said. “I need someone watching Edvin.”

The highwayman deflated somewhat but Arkk’s response mollified Ilya. She gave a curt nod of her head before fixing her silver eyes on Edvin. “One wrong move…” she said, fingers curling tighter around her dagger.

Edvin just held up his hands, backing away slowly. “Clingy, isn’t she?” he mumbled.

Arkk wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or if he meant for Arkk to hear. Either way, Arkk didn’t bother responding. He looked over the group and, after a moment’s thought, nodded his head. “Zharja, you come as well.”

One of the four gorgon present slithered forward, nodding her head as she moved. In the closing darkness, her dark scales made her almost invisible.

While this whole trip had been instigated for the benefit of the inquisitors, Arkk was accomplishing several minor tasks with it. And, with the defeat of the slavers, a major task as well. Of the smaller issues, Arkk was most pleased with the gorgon. They weren’t exactly integrating with the orcs but Arkk wasn’t expecting them to. He just wanted to make sure that they got used to being near one another, to avoid any incidents and, hopefully, to help alleviate some of Rekk’ar’s concerns.

Rekk’ar wasn’t present but if some of the orcs here spoke about their experiences, that would help.

So far, the gorgon being around had been quite a success. They helped out with raiding Edvin’s hideout and Arkk had heard no complaints from any party.

Except for Edvin, of course, who was currently eying Zharja with undisguised wariness. “Are you sure that is a good idea? I’ve heard things about gorgon and their eyes.”

“Then you sshouldn’t sstare sso much,” Zharja said with an intimidating hiss. “Or my eyess might be the lasst thing you ssee.”

“Alright, alright,” Arkk said. “Save your energy for a fight, if there is one.”

“There might be once they see that,” Edvin said, shuddering as he turned his gaze away. “Hope I’m enough to calm them down.”

“They know you?”

“Everyone out here pays tribute to Porcupine Hill. They know me. We go way back. I was here just last—”

“Save the stories,” Arkk said. “We’re going.”

Arkk wasn’t as worried as he thought he should be. A few months ago and he would never have imagined himself willingly walking into a bandit encampment. A few months ago and he had hardly left his village. Now, he had Ilya at one side, a gorgon at his other, and he had some kind of ancient, pre-Calamity monster ready to teleport in with a horde of orcs if things looked like they were going south.

What a strange turn his life had taken. How long had it been since he found the fortress? He stumbled across it about a month before harvest. So shy of four months since then? Practically overnight he had gone from a nobody peasant to a wealthy commander of a fairly competent mercenary force.

Idly, Arkk rubbed at the back of his neck, wondering if Hawkwood would recognize him as the peasant he was or if he had changed enough from then to appear as a peer.

“Now, I know you mercenary types like to beat your heads into brick walls until the walls give way but this situation is going to take a delicate touch. I’m not claiming that we’re all bloodthirsty barbarians but we are familiar with violence. If you don’t want to die, follow my lead. Let me do most of the talking, hey?”

Arkk shared a look with Ilya.

They were being led into a trap. The minion bond formed by Fortress Al-Mir might keep his employees from stabbing him in the back but it didn’t overwrite their free will. Edvin could plot and plan against Arkk all he wanted. He just wouldn’t be able to take the final action without putting forth a bit of effort into breaking that bond.

According to Vezta. It wasn’t something Arkk had experienced. Yet.

Getting other people to do the work for him? Letting this group of bandits surround them and take action on their own?

That seemed entirely possible.

“Sure,” Arkk said, still not that worried. Between his lightning bolts, Ilya’s bow, and Zharja’s abilities as a gorgon, he was confident in holding off an ambush long enough for Vezta to arrive.

Taking a glimpse of Vezta, he found her drawing out several ritual circles in the ground. They were incomplete—she didn’t know exactly where the destination would be—but they were all but ready to send the whole army of orcs in at once.

“That’s close enough!”

Arkk stopped, as did the rest of his group, at the voice from the wall. He couldn’t quite make out the figure poking his head over the top of the spiked palisade in the darkness but he could see their silhouette in the light from the full moon. Were it not for the moon, he doubted he would have been able to see anyone at all.

Movement drew his eyes along the wall. More silhouettes stood atop. These were archers, readying bows and arrows.

That did give Arkk some pause. He took a step closer to Zharja and pulled Ilya with him. He had long since memorized Zullie’s spell for stopping projectiles and had spent some time practicing it, making sure he could speak both quickly and without his tongue tying into a knot. He still wasn’t sure that he would be able to get the entire incantation out before an arrow crossed the short distance between them but having it on the tip of his tongue was better than nothing.

“Well, Edvin? You wanted us to leave the talking to you.”

“Uh… right.” The man cleared his throat. “Oh great wall captain of Porcupine Hill, I have come—”

“Oh Light,” someone atop the wall groaned, loud enough to be distinctly audible to everyone. “It’s Edvin.”

Arkk raised an eyebrow. “That’s actually your name?”

Edvin glanced back just long enough to shoot Arkk a withering look before returning his attention to the wall. “Yes, it is I! I have returned with a solution to—”

“You were told what would happen if you came back,” someone else shouted down.

“Oh come now, I apologized for the tomb business.”

“He led my brother to his death in the marshes!”

“That was an accident no one could have predicted and I resent—”

“Throw him to the wurms!” one shouted, receiving a few echoing cheers from others on the wall.

Edvin flinched, taking a step back. He shifted like he was going to look at Arkk again but held himself before he moved, straightening his shoulders.

“Thought these were your friends,” Ilya hissed.

Arkk nodded his agreement. His suspicions of this being a trap were slowly yet steadily diminishing. That didn’t necessarily mean that these bandits wouldn’t attack them. It just meant that they would attack him and Edvin.

“Did I say friends?” He shook his head. “We just need to talk to their leader, they won’t do anything without…”

Torchlight on the wall made Edvin trail off. Two new faces appeared over the top of the palisade wall. One, an older man carrying the torch. The other was a younger woman with darker skin and black tattoos on her face and bare arms, giving her the appearance of a striped animal. She glared down with the torchlight flickering in her eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

“Edvin…”

“Katja! It’s so good—”

“Throw him to the wurms.”

“Kat! No, Kat! We’re here to help!”

“Help?” The woman tilted her head upward, sneering down at Edvin. “Every word you speak brings death and disaster.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“You have violated your exile. There is one punishment.”

“I’m not here with schemes or tall tales or maps pointing toward buried treasure,” Edvin said, speaking as fast as he could. “I’m here with solutions. I know those newcomers haven’t been playing by your rules and my fine companions here want their heads on a pike!”

For the first time since approaching the wall, Arkk felt attention shift toward him. Deciding that Edvin was more of a liability at this point than an asset, Arkk stepped forward.

“I’m Arkk, leader of Company Al-Mir. We have a personal interest in annihilating this group of slavers. Edvin claimed you would be able to point us in their direction.”

Katja’s eyes shifted in the torchlight, looking back to Edvin. “You bring mercenaries to our doorstep?”

“I told you to leave the talking to me,” Edvin hissed.

“That wasn’t getting us anywhere,” Arkk whispered back.

Hanging his head, Edvin sighed before looking back up to the wall. “Didn’t have much choice. They kind of utterly destroyed Marv’s group.”

“Marv is gone?”

“Delivered his head to Moonshine Burg’s garrison just yesterday.”

“Other survivors?”

“You’re looking at him!”

Katja’s face lit up. It was hard to tell in the poor light of the torch but Arkk thought she looked pleased. That lasted but a moment before she scowled down at Edvin once more. “You should have died with your brothers.”

“Brothers is a bit more familial than—”

“Shut up,” Katja hissed before turning back to Arkk. “You, mercenary, have made a poor decision—several, likely, if you have been following Edvin’s advice.”

“So it seems,” Arkk said, “though that doesn’t change our reason for being here. Tell us where the slavers are.”

The woman stared for a long moment before dropping her arms to her sides. Arkk tensed. If the call to attack went out, it would come from her. However, she didn’t give a signal to the others on the wall. Clasping her hands together behind her back, she started pacing along the wall, speaking as she moved.

“Demanding for your position. Do you not see who holds the power here? Even with a gorgon at your side, you cannot survive all of us.”

Arkk shrugged. Vezta had finalized the teleportation circles. Each orc had its own, meaning they would all teleport in at the same time. No delay as they passed through one by one. If Arkk were to guess, he would assume that Vezta aimed the teleportation circles directly behind each of the bandits.

He had half a mind to signal Vezta right now. A simple hand movement behind his back would have her here in an instant. The only thing staying his hand was how little he wanted to advertise Al-Mir’s ability to utilize those circles. Both Zullie and Vezta said that such teleportation could be warded against. The Duke’s manor had magical protections that would likely work against him and the inquisitors had already taken to blocking his scrying. He didn’t want more magical defenses springing up.

This was another of the main reasons why only Edvin had survived their raid on the raiders. Anyone who saw the teleportation circles used in such offensive mannerisms would have to die or join him.

He wasn’t necessarily opposed to wiping out another contingent of bandits here but it was a much larger place with the possibility of secret escape routes and alternative means of getting away. Unless he was sure, he would rather not start something.

So he just smiled, nodded his head, and let the striped bandit leader continue, giving her a moment of power, even if it was illusory.

“On the other hand, it is true. These newcomers have become a thorn in my side. We were preparing our own… response to the situation. A little tit-for-tat. Though with Marv gone…” She trailed off, turning from her pacing to face Arkk once again. “Yes. If you’re willing to soften them up for us, who I am I refuse that?”

“Then you’ll point us in the right direction?”

“Horrik!” Katja barked, turning her head to the older man at her side. “Fetch Lexa. She can lead them.”

“Aye.”

Nodding, Katja turned to Arkk, glanced at Edvin, and then back to Arkk. “A little free advice: Drop him down the deepest hole you can find at the first available opportunity. You can thank me later.”

“Noted,” Arkk said, smiling.

They had a guide of some sort. One who could lead them to the slavers. He could see the anticipation on Ilya’s face without even turning his head.

Soon.

 

 

“Master,” Vezta said, sliding her body to one side to dodge the oncoming axe strike of a random brigand. She didn’t need to retaliate. One of the orcs planted a pike in his back. “I don’t mean to question your decisions,” she continued as if nothing had happened, “but is this the wisest usage of our time?”

“That depends,” Arkk said, arms clasped behind his back. Zharja snaked forward, coiling up around one of their attackers. Restrained in her coils, arms pinned at his side, he couldn’t do anything about the increase in pressure as the gorgon crushed him to death. Arkk turned away with a grimace as he focused on the rest of the battlefield. “Can you think of anything better to do at the moment than take out a band of highwaymen?

“I would like to keep Moonshine Burg happy while we’re hanging around,” Arkk continued, watching as an orc took a glaive to her armored shoulder, ignored the weapon entirely, and used a mace to cave in her attacker’s face. “Besides that, criminals know criminals… right? Someone should be able to point us in the direction of our actual target here.”

Vezta peered around, frowning at the carnage. “If anyone survives.”

That was a point. Arkk should probably have mentioned something earlier about taking some prisoners. This was the first time that the orcs had been able to go all-out, heedless of any consequences, since joining Fortress Al-Mir. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that they were taking to the task with gusto, but…

A bellowed cry of battle, echoed by several of the orcs, drew his attention to Dakka. The shortest orc was in the thick of the melee. Her spiked shield perforated one poor man before she dropped it entirely, grabbing her axe with both hands to slam the edge down over another brigand’s skull. With her imposing black armor, he couldn’t see her face. Arkk wasn’t sure that this was the kind of fun that he should be encouraging. That said, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving group.

He had seen more than enough evidence of pillaging and looting inside this cave, here out in the canyon beyond Appletop Village. Combined with the Baron of Moonshine Burg’s statement that they had been more violent than could be allowed as of late, Arkk didn’t have too much sympathy for the highwaymen.

Arkk’s eyes swept over a set of shattered statues, noting the eerie red glow that his gaze cast.

This little outing was advantageous for several reasons. Not the least of which was that he had learned a little more about how gorgons worked. He could and should have just asked Zharja. Despite Savren decrying her as disobedient, Arkk found her to be quite friendly. At least in comparison to the rest of the gorgon, who were all rather closed-off.

Gorgon petrification was not a widespread effect nor could it be done in rapid succession. It was magic, much like any other spell, that required focus, concentration, and effort. The four gorgon who had come with him on this little team-building exercise had each been able to turn one brigand to stone. After that, they began fighting with their other abilities—their coils and, in one particularly gruesome case, their acidic venom—before they resumed petrifying anyone else.

Good to know for the future.

“Should we not be recruiting at the moment?” Vezta asked, lightly pressing a finger against one intact statue, sending it to the ground where it broke into pieces. “We still need spellcasters for the ritual.”

Perhaps some of these highwaymen could have been convinced to join him as the orcs had but…

Arkk didn’t want to staff Company Al-Mir entirely with criminals and outlaws. They had enough as it was. He needed recruits but preferably other mercenaries, former soldiers, or other less objectionable sorts.

“True.” Arkk wasn’t exactly sure how to recruit for something like that. Assuming Purifier Agnete was willing to help—something he still needed to discuss with her—they had their high-level spellcasters all set. That meant anyone would do as long as they could cast spells. “Haven’t seen anyone here cast spells” Arkk deflected.

“You haven’t posted recruitment notices in the Burg yet either.”

“No. But this might help with that. We’re getting the orcs some exercise. Letting the orcs and gorgon get used to each other. Taking out some murderers and thieves. Increasing the renown of Company Al-Mir.” That last one was most important for recruitment. He felt people would be much more willing to join up despite potential complications with inquisitors if he showed that Company Al-Mir could get things done. “I’m still expecting some edict from the inquisitors or the church decrying us. I want to make sure we’re not going to get immediately lynched if that happens.

While Zullie and Savren had been trying to work with the werecat and Ilya had been at Appletop Village, Arkk and Vezta had taken several very visible walks through Moonshine Burg. They moved through the streets, ate at taverns, visited the garrison, and tried their best to make sure everyone saw him and Vezta. He had even asked Vezta to not wear her human legs. The mobile mass of tendrils were far more notable—and hopefully the subject of gossip—than a violet-hued human.

With luck, word would get back to the inquisitors and they would waste time out here looking for them instead of going anywhere near Langleey and Fortress Al-Mir.

In a few weeks, they could make an appearance on the opposite side of Mystakeen. Maybe pop over to one of the principalities and get some rumors going about them being out there. With the inquisitors running ragged across the entire kingdom, that should buy plenty of breathing room.

“Electro Deus,” Arkk said. Lightning flung one brigand across the cave after he got a little too close. Arkk wasn’t too worried about his safety. Vezta, with eyes everywhere, could spot just about any threat coming their way. Still, a little casual show of force to remind everyone why he was in charge couldn’t hurt.

This situation wasn’t at all comparable to previous fights they had been in. Taken by surprise in the dead of night, the brigands hadn’t been able to grab more than their weapons. Few had managed to grab any armor. Most were human, though there were a few orcs and one beastman—a dog-like kobold. There weren’t even that many of them. Less than fifty.

Fifty startled and unprepared ruffians weren’t at all a match for twenty war-ready orcs with gorgon backup. Not to mention him and Vezta.

Judging by the noise in the cavern, the battle was wrapping up too. There were far fewer shouts and screams. The sound of metal clashing against metal died down. Quickly checking over the health of all his minions in the area, Arkk noted a few moderate injuries but nothing that indicated immediate danger. Certainly, nothing that would require one of the gorgon to petrify someone. He could practice the Flesh Weaving spell a bit more and they would be done.

“I’m also not sure about both of us leaving Fortress Al-Mir for extended periods,” Vezta said. “Some of your recent hires have left questionable impressions.”

Arkk quickly scanned through the entire fortress, mentally observing each and every room. With the majority of orcs with him, it was practically deserted. John and Hale were back at Langleey, at least for now. The four gorgon who had not accompanied him were enjoying themselves around their heated rocks.

Olatt’an and Larry were discussing something just outside the cafeteria. Two orcs that Arkk had not brought with him were eating.

Purifier Agnete was inside the smithy. Inside the forge, seated cross-legged on the glowing red coals with her head halfway up the flue. Arkk… wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. She wasn’t getting into trouble, which was good, but… Was that how she acted with the inquisitors? Or was she experimenting with a newfound freedom that she had lacked before?

Prior to departing on this excursion to track down the slavers, Vezta had given him a brief description of the Burning Forge. Arkk had relayed the lesson to Agnete, feeling it best if the ‘horror from beyond the stars’ was kept separate from her for the moment.

The Burning Forge was some kind of goddess of fire, creativity, manufacturing, and automation that took the guise of a woman made of molten slag, held together by binding chains. In the old days, pre-Calamity, practically every smith had small shrines to the Burning Forge alongside their actual forge. Allegedly, maladies, mishaps, and poor products awaited those who failed to pay proper tribute to the deity while those who did earn her favor were capable of near-inhuman levels of quality in their products.

Vezta had been less clear on what an avatar was, aside from one chosen by a member of the Pantheon. They were supposedly rare enough that Vezta had never met one, even though both Zullie and Agnete said that there was more than one purifier with similar capabilities within the ranks of the inquisitors.

Maybe, by sitting inside the forge, Agnete was trying to get closer to her patron goddess. Or maybe she just liked the heat.

Shaking his head, Arkk focused back on his immediate surroundings. “No problems at the fortress right now,” he said. “If an emergency arises, we can and will return as fast as possible. Until then, being seen out here is probably keeping the fortress safer.”

“Very well,” Vezta said, dipping her head in a nod. “We…” she started but trailed off.

Dakka strode up to them, hauling some human over her spiked shoulder. Arkk stood a little straighter, smiling. Leave it to his field commander to understand that information gathering needed live brigands.

It did not look like a particularly comfortable ride though. The way she threw him to the ground at Arkk’s feet didn’t look particularly comfortable either. The man, wearing a casual brown tunic marred with small cuts and more than a little blood, moaned and groaned as he tried to back away. Dakka put a stop to that with a light kick to the side of his head, shattering one lens of his round glasses.

“What’s this?” Arkk asked, looking up from the man.

“A coward. Wouldn’t fight with the others. I thought about bashing his head in but wondered if you were interested in prisoners.”

Arkk hummed, scratching his chin. A show. Something to put the brigand on edge. “I suppose we can take him into town,” Arkk said, looking at Dakka. “They wanted proof that we wiped out the highwaymen anyway. He should suffice—”

“Wait!”

Looking down at the man-made him cower as the red light from Arkk’s gaze washed over him. “Hmm?”

“I’m… I’m not one of these people! They captured me!”

“Reports in town was that this group of brigands didn’t take prisoners. They attacked wealthy-looking travelers and killed any who didn’t escape.”

“They took me!” he pleaded. “Please, you have to help—”

“He had a sword on him when I found him,” Dakka said. “Just didn’t use it. No bindings on his wrists either. Was in a pretty fancy tent filled with kegs of ale that I intend to return to.”

Arkk looked back down at their captive, who was shooting a particularly nasty look at Dakka now. As soon as he realized Arkk was looking, a mask of innocence slid into place.

“I… escaped during the chaos?”

Arkk gave a slow shake of his head. “We’ll haul him back to the burg. They can figure out whether he is a missing traveler or one of the—”

“You can’t do that! They’ll kill me.”

“We’ll kill you,” Dakka said with no mercy. “We should. I’d rather carry one of those kegs on my shoulder than this.”

“I have a daughter!” he cried. “A little girl… she…” He trailed off, looking to Arkk. Squinting through his glasses like he couldn’t quite see him properly. That wouldn’t have been much of a surprise given the shattered lens but the moment he looked over the top of the rim, his squinting stopped. He tried to stand only for Dakka to pin him back down with her heel on his shoulder. “I mean, a lovely young woman. Surely you’re interested in women? You wouldn’t kill off your own father-in-law.”

“I might if you were that father-in-law,” Arkk said with a shake of his head. “We’ll take him to the burg. Tie him—”

“I know where the treasure is.”

“Tie him up.”

“We have a dozen other hideouts where we store things until we can get rid of them. Valuable things. Treasure, gold, gemstones, and other things that are useless out here in the wilds!”

“Probably gag him too,” Arkk said, turning away.

“I… lots of ale,” he said, looking to Dakka. “The finest wines and… uh… I know where other hideouts are! You are mercenaries, right? Interested in finishing off some others? We’re just small fry compared to them. I know the price on our heads isn’t worth the paper it is written on but some of the other groups around here…”

Arkk paused and slowly looked back.

The brigand stiffened but donned a shaky smile. “Interested?”

“Boss,” Dakka said. “He’s lying. Obviously.”

Arkk held up a hand, stalling further commentary from Dakka. He wouldn’t claim to know exactly what he was doing but that was enough threatening him for now. Time for the carrot… assuming he knew anything. “We’re in the region looking for slavers that might have moved in nearby. Know anything about them?”

“Oh definitely,” the man said with a firm nod of his head. “Bad for business, they are. Drawing all kinds of heat down on our heads. Like you.”

“Know where they are based?”

“I… yes. Of course.”

“Boss…”

“Let me rephrase the question,” Arkk said. “There are three possible outcomes of our situation. Which choice do you want? First option: We take you to the burg and hand you over to the garrison. They probably hang you. Maybe they just throw you in an oubliette and forget about you.”

“Not that one, please.”

“Alright, second choice: You make yourself useful to us; you get to keep living and maybe even have a relative degree of freedom. In exchange, you tell us everything you know. Other hideouts, other groups of brigands, and especially this group of slavers.”

The man nodded twice but couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What’s the third choice? Not kill me now, I hope.”

“Oh no, that isn’t a choice anymore. The third choice is the same as the second except that we find out you’re lying to us. At that point, you’ll likely regret ever being born.” Arkk smiled, watching as the red light washing over the man intensified. “I have a warlock in my employ who specializes in mind magic and can put you into your own worst nightmare. Gorgon can trap you as a stone statue for a year, letting you slowly go insane as you can still think but are locked into place. And, of course, Vezta.” Arkk motioned behind him.

Vezta, hands clasped over her navel, gave a demure nod of her head.

“Wh… What—”

“You don’t want to know,” Arkk said.

In truth, if he didn’t know anything, they would probably just hand him over to the burg. Arkk didn’t have the patience or desire to torture someone for any length of time. That said, Arkk was not above making threats.

“So, what will it be?”

“I… uh… well. Number two still sounds the best.”

“Of course.”

“But maybe we should lower the expectations you want from me. I—”

“Do you know where the slavers are or not?”

The man licked a bit of blood off his lips before smiling up at Arkk. “I know where to go to find them?”

Arkk stared for a long, long minute, not moving even as the man shifted under his gaze. Was he telling the truth? Did it matter if he wasn’t?

Forcing a smile, Arkk held out a hand. “Welcome aboard.”

The hesitance with which the man accepted the handshake did not fill Arkk with confidence. Still, he felt the minion bond form between them. Weak but there. At the very least, he wasn’t about to be stabbed in the back.

“Any other survivors?” Arkk called out through the cavern, not helping the man to his feet even though he was in a prime position to do so. When no one answered him, Arkk shrugged. “The burg wanted heads. Gather the bodies on that side of the cavern and we’ll have our new friend here find the most recognizable and notorious of the bunch. After that, gather up all their ill-gotten gains in the middle of the cavern!”

That got a few cheers from the orcs. Looting, yay! A lot of it was going to be useless to them. The gold coins Arkk paid out were probably worth more than anything here. Still, as had been pointed out to him, it was about the feel of the experience. He would let them take what they wanted. Everything else would go to the garrison. Maybe it would make its way back into the hands of the rightful owners. Maybe it would end up in some captain’s pockets. At that point, it wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

“Name. I presume you have one.”

“Uh… Right. My name is…” He trailed off, looking around the room. “Cave.”

“Right,” Arkk said, tone utterly flat. “I assume Dead Body is your last name? Or maybe Cave Raider? Cave Sword?”

“Yes, actually. Cave Sword. My mother always called me her little sharpened blade. How did you know?”

“It isn’t too late to throw you to the garrison, you know.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands. “My name is Edvin. No family name.”

Arkk doubted it. He didn’t bother pressing the matter. As long as this guy led them to the slavers, he could call himself King Abe Lafoar, Ruler of the Kingdom of Chernlock for all Arkk cared.

“Well, Edvin, best get to identifying your former comrades.”

“Ah. The most notorious, you said? You know, I always found beheading to be quite a barbarous practice,” Edvin said, not hiding his grimace as he glanced over to where the orcs were hauling the bodies.

Arkk didn’t necessarily disagree. Maybe it was a bit tasteless to have this man dig through the corpses. Still… “Not my rules. The garrison wants heads, we get them heads.”

“Exactly why I left society in the first place,” Edvin said, snapping his fingers.

“And joined a murderous band of highwaymen instead?”

“Murderous? Hardly. We only killed in self-defense. Anything else is slander, I say. Slander.”

Dakka shot Arkk a doubtful look. She raised an eyebrow before turning and walking off. “I’m going to need those kegs of ale before the night is out, I can tell already.”

Arkk let out a sigh, wondering if there was enough ale for him as well. “Just… get to it,” Arkk said, waving off to the side of the cavern.

“Sure thing, boss,” Edvin said, making sure to respectfully emphasize the word. “Mind if I loot a few of the bodies while I’m at it? Waste-not want-not, that is what my mother always said.”

“I do mind, actually. Besides, I’m sure the orcs have already done so.”

Edvin glanced off to the side, watching Orjja kneel and start rummaging through one body’s pockets. His shoulders slumped. “Right. Of course. Guess they aren’t my kills anyway. Don’t worry, I can show you that my presence has worth. Don’t you worry. Yep. Don’t worry…” he mumbled, more to himself as he started off toward the area the orcs were dragging bodies.

Arkk watched him go for just a moment before glancing at Vezta. “Mind keeping an eye on him?”

Vezta bowed at her waist but glanced up with a look on her face. “Some of your recent hires…” she said with a shake of her head as she started after Edvin.

“Don’t remind me.”

 

 

The baron of Moonshine Burg was a scrawny man with deep bags underneath his eyes. Insisting on the mononym of Doble, he invited Arkk to his manor office behind the high walls of the burg’s keep. Pouring a hospitable helping of amber liquid into a crystal glass, he took a seat in front of his paper-covered desk.

“Company Al-Mir, you say?”

“Heard of us?” Arkk said, taking up the glass and drinking a polite sip. Fine alcohol wasn’t much to his liking.

“No.”

“Ah. Well, we are a fully registered free company.” Reaching into the interior of his suit, Arkk produced a set of papers all bearing official seals. “I have papers from the Cliff Central Garrison, if you need.”

Baron Doble accepted the papers and looked through them for, frankly, longer than Arkk felt was necessary. He flipped back and forth between the papers as if checking that the information on each matched with all the others. Arkk had never really formally introduced himself to any of the burgs he had operated within in the past. Silver City came the closest and that had been the local lord rushing out to meet him and being far too grateful that anyone was looking into the situation in the mines to even ask about official documentation.

Here, however, Arkk intended to operate for long enough for word to spread. He felt it prudent to speak with someone in charge, just to make sure there wouldn’t be problems with a group of heavily armed individuals squatting in the local stayover for an extended period.

“You’ve only been a free company for about sixty days. Two months.”

“The company itself is new but our members are seasoned warriors and fighters.”

“Force composition?”

“Approximately twenty orcs make up the bulk of our company. We have a handful of spellcasters acting in a supportive capacity. In addition, we have four gorgon traveling with us.”

“Gorgon?” Doble asked, jolting. “You brought gorgon into my city?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“A problem?” His fingers furiously massaged his forehead, sending slicked-back locks of black hair dangling forward, making him look exhausted and somewhat deranged. “Where are they now? What are they doing?”

“Resting at the Canyon’s End stayover. The journey from the central Duchy was long and exhausting.” Or it would have been if they had actually traveled all the way here by foot. It took several teleportation rituals but they had been able to move everyone and Arkk’s new horse out here with little trouble. The nearest teleportation circle was a fair distance out of town where they had scried a suitable hiding place in one of the northern canyons. “I assure you, they will bring no trouble to the burg.”

Doble sputtered for a moment, completely at a loss for words. Arkk doubted any other beastmen would receive such a response. Then again, gorgon weren’t normal beastmen, according to Vezta. They had come from a different plane of existence.

“And just what did you travel this far for, Mister Arkk?” the Baron asked, finally finding something to say.

“Slavers.”

The man’s panic died off somewhat as he stared at Arkk. His eyes searched back and forth, slowly coming down from his alarm. “Slavers. I heard someone placed a rather generous bounty on a group of slavers in the western Duchy.”

“That was me, actually. These slavers have personally offended me. You know anything about them?”

The Baron shook his head slowly. “I’ve received reports of villages being hit, travelers going missing, and other such indicators. I haven’t had the manpower to investigate further.”

“Really? The keep and garrison are quite sizable here. Empty buildings?”

“We have our duty,” Doble said with a frown on his face. “With the canyons to the north and mountains to the south, the plains where we sit are the most likely avenue for a hostile force to approach from Evestani. The guards must man their posts to give forewarning. Sending them searching through the wide, empty land in the hopes of coming across a few slavers that are, ultimately, a minor nuisance, is a major dereliction of duty.”

“The war ended thirty years ago,” Arkk said, matching the Baron’s frown. He did not agree with the man’s assessment of the slavers being a minor nuisance. They had destroyed an entire community of elves, for one. Likely more than that. “Are they that big of a threat?”

“Three months ago and I would have said no with a laugh. Today?” He shot a morose glance at the stacks upon stacks of papers covering his entire desk. “I don’t know. I would feel much better if the Duke would approve transfers of the Grand Guard out here.”

Arkk leaned back in his seat, wondering exactly what that meant. The war had been before his time but, from what he knew of it, the Duchy had pushed out into Evestani territory in a fairly successful campaign… until that success turned utterly sour and Evestani, in a protracted and bloody assault, shoved the Duchy and the Greater Kingdom of Chernlock back. The Duchy wasn’t as large as it once had been as a result.

But the leaders of the time had made peace.

Hadn’t they?

That, he supposed, wasn’t his problem nor something he could affect. They were twenty orcs and a few others. Not exactly the kind of force that could take on a nation. “Well, you’re in luck,” Arkk said. “We can’t reinforce your outposts but we can hopefully take off pressure from the likes of slavers and bandits. While the slavers are our priority, we’re perfectly willing to take on any commissions that might come to mind.”

Baron Doble leaned back in his chair, rubbing the thin wisps of hair on his chin. “There are a few things… We found a werecat with manacles clamped around its wrist. Looks like the chains were pulled from a wall. It might have something to do with your slavers…”

Arkk’s heart hurt as he looked at the overly scrawny werecat. She was mostly humanoid with grimy orange fur. One arm, as the Baron had mentioned, was still in a manacle. The other arm was missing entirely. It was clear that nobody had put much effort into trying to help the werecat. She didn’t even have a proper bandage around the stump of her arm.

Unfortunately, that let Arkk have a good look at the wound. The teeth marks were sharp and pointed much like the werecat’s own teeth. Arkk could immediately picture her chained to a wall. She managed to pull one of her manacles off the wall but, unable to free the other, had gnawed her own arm off.

Of course, that wasn’t even the worst part of the situation. Here, inside Moonshine Burg’s garrison, she was still in a cage.

As Arkk stepped closer, she snarled at him, lunging for the bars of her cell. She might have tried grasping him but her one intact arm just clanked as the manacle struck the bars.

“Completely feral,” the guard said, shaking his head. “Won’t let anyone close. Don’t really know what to do about it so we just toss in a slab of meat once a day and… well, ignore the beast.”

“How long has she been here?”

“Found her wandering the road outside the burg about… two weeks ago? Thereabouts.”

She escaped one cage only to be tossed into another. Could she talk? Could she lead him to the slavers? Arkk stepped closer again, crouching down to be more on her eye level. “Can you understand me?”

The werecat growled, deep and low. A threat that promised a liberal application of pointed teeth or sharp claws from her padded paw. Long, pointed ears, one of which looked like someone had taken a bite from it, flattened against her mangy orange hair.

“I’m looking for the ones who did this to you. I promise to make them pay. You can help.”

Her eyes, hazel green and slit vertically, shifted to the side for just a brief instant. Just long enough for Arkk to note the way she looked at the guard.

“The other ones who did this to you,” Arkk said with a frown. He received no response save for another growl, sadly. With a sigh, he stood and turned to his side. “Zullie, do you think you can do anything about her arm?”

The witch, keeping well clear of the cage, looked down. “The arm with no hand?”

Much as he hated to admit it, her brief study with the Flesh Weaving spell had turned out better than Arkk expected. Better than he could manage. She hadn’t been able to restore Katt’am’s legs but she had managed to reduce the pain by destroying nerves inside his legs, followed by a simple smoothing to make the stumps less prone to infection.

“I guess I can try,” she said. “If I don’t get my face clawed off. You have a spare arm you want grafted?”

Arkk shot her a look. She well knew that he didn’t wander around with severed arms in his pockets. Ignoring her, he turned to his other side. “Savren, can you help calm her down?”

“A simple solicitation with a simple solution. A swift spell shall supply sufficient serenity.”

“Don’t hurt her,” Arkk said, voice firm. “Or… just… be nice.”

Savren rolled his eyes, fingers curling his black beard. “Sure.”

“Beyond the werecat,” the Baron said, swirling around his glass of amber liquid, “there is a small community further west from here. A plateau just at the edge of the canyons. Technically within Evestani territory. A small flopkin community lives out there.”

“Flopkin?”

“Diminutive bunny-like beastmen,” the Baron said. “They stick to themselves most of the time. Once in a while, they venture out into the nearby villages and even as far out as Moonshine Burg to peddle their wares. Fresh fruit and vegetables, mostly. They’ve got the sweetest apples you’ve ever tasted.”

Arkk hummed. “I presume you aren’t commissioning me to run out and purchase a basket of apples…”

“No, no. Just, they’re well-liked among the people. I know from the reports that the slavers have been primarily targeting beastmen and demihumans. With them on their own and too far from the city to get help, I worry they may be a potential target.”

“You want us to protect them? Station guards around this… plateau?”

“I doubt that would be feasible with your numbers. Not while searching for these slavers. That said, if there is something you can do to keep them safe, I would appreciate it.”

Arkk pressed his lips together. He would have to find out more. Where was this plateau, how far away was it, what kind of defenses could they erect and how much danger were they in. That said, one idea did pop into his mind. “I might be able to come up with something…”

“Stupid Arkk…” Ilya grunted, digging a foot into a small crevasse on the rocky plateau’s side. “Why me?”

Tall and lithe, Ilya felt that climbing had always come naturally to her. She could reach up to places that humans couldn’t reach. Her body, lacking the pounds of muscles that orcs had, was easier to pull up. That didn’t make climbing up the sheer side of an entire mountain any easier. Ilya stretched a hand up, reaching for a small ledge. Her fingers found a firm grip on the hard stone. A small bit of security against the sheer drop down the side of the plateau.

“Vezta could have scaled this in five minutes…” she grumbled, pulling herself up to the ledge. Halfway there. The slope of the plateau dipped inward, which should have made it easier to scale. But she was tired, worn, exhausted. “Oh. That’s right. Because she’s a horrific inhuman entity that sends small children running and screaming.”

There had been a few incidents around Moonshine Burg. To be fair to Vezta, they weren’t all her fault. Word of armed orcs and gorgon had gotten out. Next to no one visited the stayover they had taken over as their main base of operations now. Arkk had needed to hand over a fair amount of extra gold just to keep the proprietor from kicking them out. Even then, they still weren’t happy with what was going on.

Ilya grit her teeth together, continuing her ascent. She had looked all around the base of the plateau and had been unable to find any way up. The beastmen probably lived inside the plateau, burrowing it out, which meant there had to be entrances somewhere. Oh, but Arkk couldn’t spare five minutes to scry inside and find out where. They were too busy looking for the slavers. They didn’t want to startle the skittish flopkin by invading their secret entrances or teleporting in.

Ilya hadn’t been upset about that twenty minutes ago, also of the opinion the slavers needed to be found, but that was before she had scaled half the plateau.

Now, huffing and sweating despite the chill air of winter, Ilya was cursing Arkk’s name with every step she climbed. All just to hand over a coin to hire some flopkin, thus letting them call out for Arkk if they came under attack. Who was even going to be able to attack a place like this?

Arms feeling like wet noodles, Ilya pulled herself up and over the final edge, crawling forward into a grove of apple trees. She sat right on the edge, back to one of the trees, and looked out over the deep canyon that stretched north. “Arkk!” she shouted despite her exhaustion, her voice carrying over the edge of the plateau. “I’m going to kill you!”

As her voice echoed off the distant canyon walls, she heard a loud crack of a snapping branch to her side.

Ilya snapped her head over, eyes meeting the wide eyes of a little white flopkin, wearing a red waistcoat and tall black hat. He was short, about half the size of a regular human, and had tall perky ears sticking up on either side of the hat. Flopkin were more beastlike than some beastmen races. Were it not for the more humanoid hands and face, he might have looked like an overgrown rabbit that someone had dressed up.

That humanoid face was expressive enough that Ilya could see the terror in his eyes. The moment she took in a breath to say something, the flopkin bolted, hopping off through the grove of trees.

“No, wait!” she called after the flopkin, reaching a hand out. But the beastman was gone. Long gone. Slamming her fist into the side of the tree, Ilya shouted out once again. “Arkk! This is your fault!”

And to think, she was going to have to climb back down once she finally hired one of the flopkin.

“Thank you,” Baron Doble said. “I don’t appreciate gorgon in my city but… an extra helping hand isn’t something I’m going to reject. If they cause problems…”

“They won’t,” Arkk said. “I wouldn’t travel with them if I thought they were a danger… to the general public. My enemies, on the other hand, make quite the wonderful statues.”

The Baron pursed his lips tight. Maybe it was just Arkk’s imagination but it looked like the man went a few shades paler than he already was, which was saying something. With all the paperwork on the man’s desk, Arkk had to wonder if he ever actually saw the sun. Even the windows in the room had been covered with thick cloth drapes that tinged the office in a dim red light that the white glowstones couldn’t quite fight off.

“Any other matters that might help?” Arkk asked, taking another drink of his amber alcohol. It had a smoky flavor to it that just felt out of place. Meat smoked over a fire had a similar taste. A drink that reminded him of meat just didn’t quite sit well on the back of his tongue.

The Baron fell into silence for a long moment, thinking. He eventually sat forward, nodding his head. “To my great dismay, Moonshine Burg has always had a plague of bandits and highwaymen in its vicinity. Which is likely why these slavers thought it would be good to set up here.”

“Personnel issues stopped you from dealing with all that as well?”

“Indeed. It has forced us to take some unpleasant actions… Ah, but the history of Moonshine Burg is hardly your concern,” he said with a shake of his head. “One group of highwaymen, in particular, has been distressingly aggressive in the last month. They went from merely robbing the occasional passing merchants to outright halting trade, killing practically every traveler that passes through their territory, and otherwise making trouble. I had been trying to figure out the best way to deal with them but if you can spare some time…”

“Depends, I suppose. Are they related to the slavers?”

“I do not believe so, though I cannot say for certain. Perhaps you could ask them?”

“I’ll need more details before I commit to anything.”

“I am prepared to pay quite the generous bounty.”

For a moment, Arkk was prepared to dismiss that as a factor entirely. With Fortress Al-Mir sitting atop a gold mine, he didn’t exactly need funds. However, he intended to recruit. And the ritual room would have to be reconstructed, incurring a cost. There was also the fact that, right now, back home, he was having his lesser servants expand aggressively throughout the entirety of the Cursed Forest.

Digging out new space didn’t cost gold and he didn’t have anything to fill those empty spaces with just yet, but he might one day. Right now, he just wanted as much of the land under his control as possible. Preferably with easily blocked or collapsed passages, decoy tunnels, and a full maze-like labyrinth that would be nearly impossible for anyone to traverse without using magical means.

It was quite the project. With all three of those factors and the fact that he truly had no idea how long that gold mine would last, he wasn’t sure that it was wise to keep turning down the rewards for mercenary work.

Besides that, it was just what a proper mercenary company would do.

“Tell me more,” Arkk said, leaning forward.

 

 

“I want more.”

“Water?” Vezta asked, leaning over Arkk’s shoulder.

“Everything,” Arkk said, hands slamming against the top of the meeting room table as he stood up.

“I see. I shall see if the kitchens are well stocked. If you’ll excuse me…”

“What?” Arkk waved her off, motioning for her to remain where she was. “No. I’ve just had a realization in the last few days. We can’t continue as we are.”

Arkk looked around the meeting room. All his advisors were present. Ilya sat to his immediate right while Vezta stood just a step behind his seat. Rekk’ar and Olatt’an sat around the circular table toward the right, the former with his arm still in a sling from the battle a few days ago. Zullie was to Arkk’s left. Her eyes had been cast down toward a notebook in her lap until Arkk slammed the table. Khan stood across the table from Arkk, all the other members still giving him a wide berth.

He had considered inviting Agnete but… he still wasn’t quite sure about the former inquisitor. She had agreed to join him so easily that he half expected her to be a spy.

It had taken a few days for the realization to fully set in. He had been busy running around, making sure everyone was as healed as could be, making sure the inquisitors weren’t coming back for round two—they had stuck around for a little over a week, resting and recuperating at Smilesville Burg while perhaps watching to see if Agnete would try to burn down the region—and generally putting out the fires around the fortress. Not literal fires, thankfully—Agnete had hardly left her room since arriving—but there had been some minor discord among the orcs. Word had gotten out that the flame witch was in Fortress Al-Mir. Some thought she was a prisoner, some wanted revenge for what she did to one of their own. Under other circumstances, Arkk would have applauded the comradery they were showing, which he felt they might have been lacking under their former chieftain, but here and now, it was yet another thing to deal with.

He still wasn’t sure what to do about Katt’am. The man’s injuries were severe and the local abbeys had been unable to assist. John had agreed to venture to Darkwood to see if he might be able to purchase any aid from the alchemist, Morford. Arkk doubted the man’s alchemy would be able to bring back the orc’s feet but maybe it would help with the pain.

Once he had found a moment to reflect, his mind kept going back to the one thing he felt had slipped by without the reaction it deserved. It wasn’t anything to do with the inquisitors or how Vrox had suggested they put aside their differences long enough to get Agnete under control. It had nothing to do with an avatar of one of Vezta’s [PANTHEON] walking among them. It didn’t even have anything to do with the fact that Vezta still didn’t have an arm from the elbow down.

Arkk was trapped here. The [HEART] was his heart. If it stopped beating… If those inquisitors brought in a dozen purifiers… If they rallied the Duke and got the Duke’s Grand Guard sent to purge the fortress… The only defense Arkk had was a handful of spells, a cadre of orcs and gorgons, and a pre-Calamity artifact that wasn’t even functioning properly. It was no small thing. Fending off the inquisitors with Purifier Agnete and their strange holy magic had proved that beyond any doubt.

But it wasn’t enough.

“I need more personnel, more magic, more weapons, more knowledge. Everything.”

“Finally,” Rekk’ar grumbled. Arkk shot him a questioning look, prompting a shrug from the green-skinned orc. “The Chieftain had me by the balls,” he said, louder. “Didn’t enjoy that much but working for a limp-dicked farm boy wasn’t much better.” He turned, glowering at Olatt’an.

The older orc simply smiled.

“So,” Rekk’ar said, leaning forward. “How are we becoming a force to be feared?”

Arkk looked around the room, stopping his gaze briefly on each of the others in the room. He honestly had no idea. That was what this meeting was for. Saying that would probably not go over well with Rekk’ar, however. Instead, he looked to Zullie. “First,” he started, “something that can help without doing much else…”

He held out a hand. Retrieving the black book from his private quarters, he placed it down on the table. Both Olatt’an and Rekk’ar stiffened at the sight of it. Olatt’an in particular lost his placid expression. Had he tusks, Arkk imagined he would have been bearing them in full at the moment. Arkk was counting on what trust he had managed to garner with them over the last few months to keep them calm until he fully explained.

“This book formerly belonged to the orc’s old chieftain,” Arkk explained for Zullie’s benefit. “It has a number of distinctly unpleasant spells and rituals within. But it is also where I learned the Flesh Weaving spell.”

“I had wondered…” Zullie said, not reaching for the book but very much looking like she wanted to.

“Look through it. See if there is anything useful that I turned a blind eye to. Make sure you learn the Flesh Weaving spell.” Arkk paused then added, “Teach it to Hale as well, but make sure the book stays out of her hands.”

“Arkk!” Ilya said, admonishing in her tone.

“It’s just the healing spell. If I’m not around, having Zullie and Hale as backups could be the difference between life and death for someone.”

“Still…”

Arkk shook his head and then looked back to Zullie. “Keep this out of Savren’s hands as well,” he said.

“Didn’t even need to say that,” Zullie said, reaching for the book.

As soon as her hands touched the cover, Arkk clamped his hand around her wrist. One more warning occurred to him. “And Zullie, this book contains instructions for demon summoning. We are not summoning demons. Am I understood?”

“Y-yes,” she said, nodding her head. “I understand.”

“Good.” Arkk smiled. “That taken care of—”

“Do you mind if I read the demon summoning portions? Purely for reference. The planar magic involved might…” She took a deep breath and let it out in a thin sigh. “There is something you should be aware of regarding the ritual.”

“Oh?”

“Savren found the model we were using. He figured out its purpose and… well, made a few comments that I shouldn’t ignore because of the source.” She paused again, waiting for Arkk to nod his head. “He expressed to me his concern over the catastrophic collision of conceptual corporeality owing to our count of casters charging the catalytic array.”

Arkk stared, giving Zullie a flat look. “He is bad enough. Don’t start as well.”

“Sorry. It’s just… when I designed the ritual array, I thought it best if we err on the side of caution. Overcharge the array to ensure we punch a hole into reality. But we’re not trying to punch a hole into reality. We just need to weaken the boundaries enough that the archway can connect to a different plane. It will punch a hole as it was designed to do. Us doing so could have… potentially less desirable outcomes.”

Arkk rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. “So it won’t work?”

“It will, I wasn’t wrong,” she insisted. “It just might be best if we reduce the personnel count. Savren and I were thinking about redesigning the ritual from twenty-five personnel—you, the four higher quality casters at the corners, then five between each of us—to a mere thirteen. You and the cardinal directions will still be required but we reduce the ancillary members to eight in total, two on each side.”

“That’s…” Arkk looked up, eyebrows raised. “That’s good. Right? We could perform the ritual immediately.”

“Ah. Not quite. Previously, I cleared several of the orcs for duty on the sides. I failed to account for one small problem. The magic that allows Dakka to cast your lightning bolt spell comes from you. You’ll be needing that power yourself. We need to find middling-average quality casters capable independent of you.”

“So basically nothing has changed then.”

“Correct. I just thought you should be aware.”

Olatt’an cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. At a nod from Arkk, he asked, “What, exactly, are we expecting from the outcome of this ritual?”

“Well,” Arkk started, then looked to Vezta.

Vezta wasn’t at his side. A quick peek through the employee link found her off in the kitchens, gathering a plate of mugs along with some bread and butter. For a moment, he considered pulling her back to the meeting room. When had she even left?

“According to Vezta, we’ll find another world. One similar to our own except inhabited primarily by denizens who worship the Cloak of Shadows, the member of the Pantheon who holds dominion over the Underworld. It is Vezta’s belief that many will desire to join us.”

“They would cross over from another world to fight in our battles?”

“The Calamity is likely affecting them as well. As long as our long-term goal remains to undo that, there should be some willing to fight. Aside from that, as Zullie mentioned, I can provide magic and it seems like people from other planes of existence are heavily dependent on magic.”

“They might be less inclined to fight off dukes and inquisitors…”

“True,” Arkk agreed. “I’m not saying that everything will be perfect once we can get this ritual going, but it shouldn’t hurt. That said,” Arkk paused, double-checking that Vezta wasn’t around before speaking. “I will admit that Vezta hasn’t been there in well over a thousand years, well before the Calamity began. She hasn’t said this, but I wouldn’t be surprised if things changed over there as well. Maybe we’ll find people desperate for change, maybe we’ll find an idyllic world where nobody wants to rock the boat by joining us.”

Olatt’an hummed. “They may even try to fight us if we state what we’re trying to change.”

“Correct.”

“You have a plan for that?”

“Collapse the crystal archway,” Arkk said with a shrug. “Move on without them or the support of other planes.”

Olatt’an nodded his head, accepting the answer.

“Though I hope it doesn’t come to that. Vezta also mentioned the possibility of finding people who know more old magic. Or, failing that, someone who can translate the books we salvaged from the original fortress library.”

That was one of the main reasons Arkk wanted to get a jump on this ritual. Eight casters of any caliber shouldn’t be difficult to find. Hopefully. He wasn’t interested in magic merely for the sake of learning it anymore, it could very well mean the difference between survival and Fortress Al-Mir’s destruction—and his own along with it.

“Which brings us to our next topic,” Arkk said, turning to Ilya. “Recruitment. Is it possible?”

Ilya sat up, leaning forward. She had just gotten back from visiting Stone Hearth and Smilesville. The two closest burgs. “The inquisitors haven’t put a bounty out on us or Company Al-Mir.”

“Yet,” Rekk’ar said with a scoff.

“Yet,” Ilya agreed. “As far as I can tell, we’re in the clear. Company Al-Mir can submit recruitment notices with the garrisons. However, it probably isn’t a good idea.”

“What? Why not?” Arkk asked with a frown.

“We’re trying to maintain the fantasy that we’re not based out of the Cursed Forest, right? That was the whole reason we let the inquisitors go.”

Arkk clasped his hands together, nodding his head. “Alright. Good point. You have a suggestion?”

Ilya stood and moved to the large map hanging from the back wall of the room. It was a copy he had commissioned of the map in the Stone Hearth garrison, the entire Kingdom of Chernlock’s peninsula along with some of the rest of the continent. Ilya looked over it for a short moment before planting a finger on the western border of the Duchy, right on the Evestani border.

“Moonshine Burg,” she said. “Far away from both the Cursed Forest and from Cliff. If we set up a few of those portal chains, well hidden, we can move back and forth with relative ease while everyone else would have to travel across the entire Duchy. We go out there, get seen, and put out recruitment notices around there. Word eventually gets back to the inquisitors and they head out there instead of here.

“And…” she started, looking back to Arkk with thin-pursed lips. “While I was in the burgs earlier, the archivist mentioned that a tip had come in on the bounty you put on the slavers. It seems they’ve been active around the area.”

Arkk had a strong feeling that her choice in burgs to be seen at had a whole lot more to do with the slavers than the distance from Fortress Al-Mir. Still, it wasn’t a bad idea. He found himself nodding his head. “Alright. I don’t see why that wouldn’t work. At least until the inquisitors have us outlawed. After that… Rekk’ar, Olatt’an, I don’t suppose you’re aware of any other roaming groups of raiders who we can browbeat into joining us?”

The two orcs glanced at one another. Arkk saw the answer in their eyes before Olatt’an gave it. “There wasn’t exactly a community of raiders where we all gathered for fun and games,” he said. “In addition, our group had already subsumed most every orc we came across, including several smaller raiding parties.”

Arkk nodded then turned to Khan. “Any other gorgon groups you know of?”

The snake’s tongue darted out of his mouth. “We aren’t the mosst ssocial creaturess. Gorgon aren’t common in the firsst place. Our den iss the only one I know of.”

“I figured, thanks anyway.”

“The slavers,” Ilya said again.

“I’m not interested in recruiting slavers,” Arkk said, glancing at Olatt’an and Rekk’ar. “Maybe that’s a bit hypocritical…”

“I agree,” Ilya said, “but if we hunt them down, they’ve surely taken slaves. Judging by the ruins of Eures, a lot of them won’t have places to return to.”

Arkk wasn’t interested in recruiting former slaves either. There might be a few fighters or skilled workers among them but… most of them would surely be regular people. He couldn’t claim knowledge of how slavers operated but he guessed that anyone who could fight back would have been killed rather than captured. He was expecting a lot of children and young adults, most of who would be farmers at best. Arkk wasn’t going to make desperate people fight for Fortress Al-Mir just because he was desperate.

Still, he nodded to Ilya. “We’ll make the slavers a priority,” he said, reaching out to rest a hand on her arm. It was clearly important to her. And besides, maybe they would find someone who knew Yavin or Nyala and would take them off his hands. Maybe that was cruel to think but accomplishing several objectives with one move didn’t feel bad.

“Good.”

“As for recruits, we’ll have to see. I doubt many people will be happy if they join up and then the inquisitors declare Company Al-Mir outlawed. We might have to search through less reputable sources while at Moonshine Burg.”

“What have the inquisitors been up to since their departure?” Olatt’an asked.

Vezta threw open the doors, reentering the room. “We don’t know,” she said, moving around the table with her mugs of tea and bread. She had dug up fruit preserves from the storeroom as well. “Unfortunately, scrying on the inquisitors is no longer possible.”

“Not possible?” Rekk’ar barked, alarmed. “Why not?”

“Vezta was monitoring the inquisitors the entire time they were traveling back to Cliff City,” Arkk said, scowling at the glass Vezta placed in front of him. “They entered the large church there. We have never been able to scry on the interior of churches.”

“So they’re staying put?” Rekk’ar asked, calming slightly. “Good.”

“Not quite.”

“The tall inquisitor exited the church the next morning,” Vezta said. “I do not sleep and thus was able to observe the exits to the church at all times. When he emerged, he paused looked up directly at the point I was watching from, and gave a jaunty wave. After, the crystal ball went blank.”

Vezta came to a stop at Arkk’s side once again, having fully distributed her drinks and snacks among the individuals at the table. She smiled, hands clasped together at her navel. “Any attempt at scrying on one of the inquisitors results in complete failure, no matter the distance. I can scry on the street over but the crystal ball fails before the inquisitor enters the perspective. Presumably, I admit. I cannot say for certain given my inability to scry on them.”

“It isn’t just her,” Arkk added. “I tried and Zullie tried as well. We know where they are not, effectively, but even that isn’t guaranteed. I feel it would be easy to create decoy blank spots or hand whatever is blocking the scrying off to some acolyte of the abbey if they can do this.”

“There may be alternate methods of scrying that would work,” Vezta admitted. “A listening pool or soul stone. Fortress Al-Mir is not in possession of either, unfortunately.”

Rekk’ar scowled, lips curling. “The witch can’t make those?”

Arkk glanced over to Zullie, who wasn’t paying attention to the conversation in the slightest. Her eyes drifted back and forth over the text of the black book. “Zullie?”

“Huh? What?”

“Listening pool or soul stone. Can you craft those?”

“I’m a theoretical researcher, not an artificer,” she said, tone absent as she looked down at the book once again. “I can affix a spell to a magic wand. Never learned the art of artifice beyond that.”

Arkk looked back to Rekk’ar and shrugged his shoulders. “So she says.”

“So,” the orc said, “find artificers or magical artifacts as well. You sure have a list of things to get done.”

Arkk grinned, feeling a little better now that they had something of a plan. “The nice thing about having a lot to get done is that you’ll end up getting several things finished in the process of finishing others. Now, gather together a team for this outing to Moonshine Burg. A large team, we want to be seen. Leave those too injured and the non-fighters only, pretty much. Khan, if you can ask the gorgon for volunteers, I’m sure they would come in handy.”

Khan nodded his head. At the same time, Vezta leaned forward. “Moonshine Burg, Master?”

Arkk shot the pre-Calamity monster a look. “Maybe if you hadn’t run off in the middle of the meeting… Let me get you filled in.”