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“She didn’t even look at me. The moment she realized who I was, she turned away. Not once did she even pretend to glance back.”

“Did you expect her to start shouting and waving? Pointing out the elf on the rooftop about to attack the Duke?” Arkk said with a shake of his head. “I can’t believe you were about—”

Ilya cut him off. “I wasn’t.”

“What else were you grabbing your bow for?”

“I just… nothing,” she said through her teeth. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not unless we’re talking about how to get into one of the Duke’s parties.”

“Could always put Ilya up for auction,” Dakka said as they walked along one of the fancier roads in the city.

“No, no,” Arkk said, shooting the orc a look. Then he turned a glare on Ilya, who looked to be considering the possibility. “Getting in is only part of the problem. We have to get back out too, with Alya. From what you said, how close she seemed to the duke, it doesn’t sound like she is likely to be sold off at an auction.”

“So,” Ilya said, looking to Arkk, “how do we do it?”

“Magic. Maybe… I’m a bit wary about those magical defenses you said the manor had. If those interfere with Vezta’s teleportation circles, we’ll have to find another route.” Arkk shrugged. “I’ll ask her when we return. We’ve confirmed that Alya is safe and isn’t being harmed. That means we have time to figure it out. No need to rush in there without a plan. In any case, what we’re doing now may or may not help. Not sure. I was planning on doing this anyway.” Arkk glanced around, then dropped his voice to a lower register. “Let’s avoid discussing Alya for now.”

“What are we doing?” Dakka asked, looking around with a frown. “I don’t know about you two, but several people we’ve passed have been staring. I’m not sure I’m welcome in this section of the city.”

Arkk had noticed the stares as well. They were far from the only ones out and about. In contrast to the area around the Primrose, people here had a much more obvious wealth and a pampered air to them. They were also, by and large, human. The number of demihumans they had passed in the last ten minutes of walking could be counted on one hand. It was… odd. The Duke had a whole manor filled with demihumans and beastmen, yet in the wider city, they were treated poorly.

It made Arkk wonder what the three of them looked like walking down the street. He and Ilya both had their fine clothes on, but she wasn’t bothering to hide her ears at the moment. Dakka, lacking fancy clothes from the fortress tailor servant, had her normal metal armor on with her shield attached to her back and her axe slung against her hip. Would they look like two well-to-do sorts walking around with an orc bodyguard or could the people they were passing simply tell that they weren’t as affluent as they were pretending to be?

Unconsciously, Arkk rubbed at the back of his neck.

Luckily, they were almost there. Arkk turned through a small black-metal archway to a building that looked like it could have been a fortress of its own. Not like Fortress Al-Mir, but something akin to the garrison in the city. Strong, thick walls, a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron, and a long path between the gate and the building where people might rain arrows down on intruders.

Today, Arkk wasn’t an intruder but an invited guest. Though, being invited still meant he was asked to stand around outside while the men in white tabards with black chevrons went to fetch their commander. Expecting Arkk to arrive, it didn’t take long for Hawkwood to step outside with a smile on his face. He took in both Ilya and Dakka without losing that smile, then stepped forward with a hand extended.

“Mister Arkk, glad you made it.”

“Hawkwood,” Arkk said, taking his hand. He then motioned to his left and right. “This is Ilya, my… second in command? And Dakka. She’s the… uh… field commander for the orcs I mentioned having in my employ,” he said, faltering with introducing their duties. It wasn’t something he had thought about until this moment, but just introducing them as Dakka and Ilya felt lacking.

“You really are new to this, aren’t you?” Hawkwood said with a hearty laugh. Though his smile remained in place, his tone turned far more serious as he continued speaking. “It does make me wonder how you secured their loyalty.”

Arkk hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. He had deliberately avoided mentioning Fortress Al-Mir and its powers during his earlier explanation of events.

Dakka, however, came to his rescue with a casual shrug. “Most of us were already displeased with the way things were going. Arkk offered an alternative that kept our heads from a chopping block along with the possibility for meaningful jobs.” She shrugged again then looked down to Arkk. “Though if you have us farming again, you only have yourself to blame for desertions.”

Hawkwood clapped his hands together a few times, laughing all the while. “No farm work today,” he said, giving Dakka a companionable thwack against her armbrace. “Might not find it much more exciting, mind, but it isn’t farming.”

“Where are you taking us?” Arkk asked.

“One of those jobs you were looking at the other day was for tracking down a missing daughter. Remember that? Still interested?”

“That’s… part of the reason for that is that I know a tracking ritual. But I’m not sure that I should use it on anyone I don’t want harmed. It has a… dangerous component to it.”

“Huh.” Hawkwood crossed his arms.

“Sorry, I didn’t know—”

“No matter. The appointment has already been made. We’re meeting with Viscount Wesley now. He is waiting inside.”

“We’re, excuse me, we’re meeting with a viscount?” Ilya asked, startled out of her morose thoughts, bringing her into the conversation for the first time since Hawkwood walked out. “Arkk,” she hissed, turning toward him.

“Nothing to worry about. Viscount Wesley is a serious man who takes his duties to the Duchy with the utmost decorum expected of a man in his station. However, since his daughter’s disappearance, he has been increasingly disturbed. Someone, anyone, offering even the hope that they are looking for his daughter will go a great way toward helping him from his depression.”

“You haven’t offered to help?” Arkk asked Hawkwood. He tried not to sound accusatory, but if the situation was as dire as it sounded, surely he could offer assistance.

The knight shook his head. “White Company isn’t exactly that kind of mercenary group. We’re under a direct charter from the Duke himself, effectively acting as a supplementary army to the guards of the realm. A single individual going missing, while tragic, is outside the purview of our contracted duties. To be more accurate, we cannot take on other contracts without the express permission of Duke Woldair.”

“I see…”

“But nothing is preventing me from introducing the Viscount to an up-and-coming mercenary group like yours. Come along,” he said, turning back to the White Company headquarters. Right before he reached the door, he paused and looked back. “You never mentioned a name for your group. I presume you are not registered with the realm—I can help backdate that if you wish—but having a name is important. It grants legitimacy and helps to spread reputation among anyone interested in the services of mercenaries.”

Arkk hadn’t spent any more time considering what to call his group than he had what to call Ilya and Dakka. His first thought was of Fortress Al-Mir. He couldn’t call them Fortress Al-Mir, but perhaps Al-Mir? It sounded like it needed something more. From his earlier meeting with Hawkwood, he had heard of a few other mercenary groups. White Company, of course, and then there was the Veridian Guard, a smaller group that specialized in taking down nefarious spellcasters, the Flying Dragons, a group of beastmen—none of whom were dragons or even dragonkin according to Hawkwood—that primarily served as bodyguards to wealthy individuals who could afford their unique skills, and the Grand Company, soldiers leftover from the War of Kings who sold their services to the highest bidder. They all had two words in their names.

“Company Al-Mir?” Arkk wasn’t sure that felt right, but put on the spot like this?

“Al-Mir?” Hawkwood asked.

“It has meaning to us,” Arkk said, not wanting to divulge anything more about the fortress. Perhaps he shouldn’t have even mentioned the name.

Not that it looked like Hawkwood noticed. With a shrug and a quirk of his head, he opened the door and led the group through a short hallway before they arrived at a small conference room. It was a surprisingly grandiose affair. Thick, cushioned furniture, large portraits over the mantle above a fireplace, a small table set out with colored confections that Arkk had never seen before, and the man himself.

Viscount Wesley was every bit as opulent as Arkk would expect from a viscount. Arkk didn’t know exactly what viscounts did, but that they had a title at all meant they were people of importance. The man wore a slick black suit with red accents, far nicer than Arkk’s attire, and had perfectly styled white hair slicked back over his head. With gloved hands, he lifted an ornate teacup to his mouth and started to take a sip. He paused as soon as he noticed the door opening.

As Arkk entered, with Ilya and Dakka behind him, he noted Wesley’s nose wrinkle as if a foul stench had followed them into the room. Casting his gaze on the teacup, which received an undeserved look of disgust, he set the cup down on the table and placed his hands on the knee of his crossed legs.

“Viscount Wesley,” Hawkwood said, striding into the room with perfect confidence. He offered a slight bow then gestured back. “May I present Mister Arkk, Ilya, and Dakka of Company Al-Mir.”

Arkk ducked his head at his introduction, as did Ilya. Dakka didn’t. The Viscount simply sat still for a long moment before he nodded his head.

“Charmed,” he said, the word coming out in a slow drawl where he never quite parted his teeth.

“Good afternoon, Viscount,” Arkk said with a slightly more respectful bow. It felt gross doing so. Unnatural. Made all the worse by the fact that this certainly did not look like a man fearing for his lost daughter. “I understand you had a daughter go missing?”

“Missing?” Viscount Wesley ground his teeth together, clenching one of his hands into a fist. “She was kidnapped!”

“Kidnapped?” “Kidnapped?”

Arkk and Hawkwood spoke at the same time, glancing at each other immediately after. Deferring to his experience in mercenary endeavors, Arkk waited for him to speak first.

“The notice posted on the garrison said—”

“I know what it says. The—” Wesley’s eyes flicked to Ilya then back to Hawkwood. “—person taking my statement did not comprehend what I was saying. Gretchen is not so clumsy as to fail to find her way back home, nor would she simply abandon her comfortable life in the manor. The girl was kidnapped. Stolen.”

“Do you have suspects or leads? Any news of ransoms or…” Hawkwood curled his lip in disgust. “Or marriages?”

“No. No to all three questions,” Wesley said. He pressed his thumb and middle finger to either side of his eyebrows, shading his eyes as he sighed. “It has been eight days. I have not seen hide nor hair of Gretchen or her abductors. I commissioned the Jarman Guild with seeking her out, but I’ve not heard from them either. I know not whether they perished or simply took my down payment and fled.”

Arkk made a note to ask Hawkwood about this Jarman Guild later on. Hawkwood would know if they were reputable or if they were the kinds of people to take advantage of a viscount.

“We won’t require any kind of down payment, Sir,” Arkk said, taking over during the moment of silence.

“No down payment?” Wesley asked, lowering his hand to show off slightly watery eyes. He was at least a little broken up about his daughter being gone. “It offends me that you think I need charity.”

Arkk mentally retracted his assumption that the man was broken up. “You’ll pay in full when you have your daughter back,” Arkk said, voice firm. “Until then, why not start with a description of your daughter?”

Wesley narrowed his eyes. After a brief glance to Hawkwood, who nodded his head, the Viscount sighed. “Dark skin, dark eyes… face similar to my own without the beard. Her hair is white as well, though a bit curly. The color runs in the family. The curls came from her mother.” The man took a deep, slightly trembly breath, then added, “She has a fondness for the color green. I believe she was wearing green the night she was taken. More went missing along with her. A silver broach, in particular, with a large emerald embedded in the front.”

Appreciating Hawkwood correcting his lack of foresight by handing over a paper and inkwell, Arkk scribbled down everything Wesley said. He almost asked the Viscount if he knew where his daughter might be, but stopped himself at the last moment. While he thought the intended meaning would be obvious, the Viscount’s temperament was already volatile. It wouldn’t surprise Arkk to hear him grouse about pedantry.

Instead, Arkk asked, “Do you have any starting places for where a search might commence?”

“Three days after she was gone, when I realized she was missing, I sought a spellcaster from the academy. This isn’t the first time Gretchen has been kidnapped. Previously, the spellcasters were able to help locate her through arcane means, but this time it failed. It seems as if she traveled too far away.”

“They tried a tracking ritual?” Arkk asked with a wince. Hawkwood shot him a sympathetic look.

“I am no spellcaster, nor do I care to be one, Mister Arkk. I don’t know what they did, only what the results were.”

Arkk sighed. Scratch one plan before it could even start. At least he didn’t have to begin the awkward task of asking the man for a piece of his missing daughter.

“The only real clue I have is what the Jarman Guild reported to me before they stopped sending missives. Someone matching the description of my daughter was spotted in some backwater called Darkwood.”

“Darkwood?” Arkk asked, frowning. The name sounded familiar. There was only one place he would have heard the name before and that was from people passing through Langleey. Mercenaries and bounty hunters.

“A burg to the east,” Hawkwood said. “Not a very reputable place. It exports rare wood but always has some necromancer or sorcerer with delusions of grandeur trying to make trouble in the woods.”

Arkk nodded his head as he wrote the name down on the piece of paper. “Any other information you might think pertinent?”

The Viscount stared a long moment before standing. “Mister Hawkwood. Thank you for the tea. It was… passible.” With that, he strode right past Arkk, Ilya, and Dakka without looking at any of them and left the room.

Arkk drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. He looked away from the closed door, meeting Ilya’s eyes. He could easily see the exasperation in her gaze, the same exasperation he felt. Looking back to Hawkwood, finding the man smiling as if nothing about that confrontation had bothered him, Arkk tried to think of something diplomatically polite to say.

“If that man is upset about losing his daughter, I’ll eat my axe,” Dakka said before Arkk could speak.

Hawkwood laughed, but it seemed more forced than his earlier displays of humor. “It isn’t the first time Gretchen has, pardon me for saying, run away. There have been three instances in the past, all of which he claimed were abductions, one of which seemed to be an abduction. Whatever the case is this time, he is at least somewhat numb to the frequent occurrences.

“Rest assured, to someone who knows him, he is acting unusual. Worried and frightened in his own way.”

Arkk nodded, deciding to avoid asking what the man was worried about. Instead, he took the top sheet of paper, left the rest on the table, then stood. “Well, whatever his feelings are, his daughter is missing. I don’t know if we’ll be able to do anything about it, but we can certainly try.”

 

 

Arkk sat on a bench outside the recovery ward of Cliff’s academy. He had run out to get help the moment the woman—Zullie, he had discovered—collapsed. A few students and instructors had come, picked her up, and carried her off to the recovery ward. He should have left while they were busy and not paying attention to him, but two things were keeping him at the academy.

First, he hadn’t accomplished anything he had come here to do. All he had learned was one spell that he couldn’t remember after having heard its long incantation only once. Secondly, well, he felt guilty. That woman had collapsed after having tried to cast his spell. He had no idea why. None of what Vezta instilled in his mind with the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE] gave him any clue as to what had happened to Zullie.

Still, he should have left. He could have come back in the morning. They were planning on spending three days in Cliff, plenty of time to visit again and both look into the matter of books and check up on Zullie.

He should have left.

He knew he should have left the moment he spotted a familiar face walking down the academy corridor. Arkk should only know two other faces in the entire city and this was neither.

The man’s head practically scraped the ceiling of the corridors. His posture, head slightly ahead of the rest of his body and arms straight at his side without swinging as he moved, triggered all kinds of unease in Arkk. The worst was his smile. It looked calm and serene, but the stiffness and the way his lips were parted just enough to see his upper teeth didn’t help Arkk’s disquiet.

He walked right past Arkk, reaching for the door handle with his long arms, but paused the moment he touched the metal. With a faint sniff, he turned his head.

There was a slight, awkward pause as recognition lit up behind those thin round glasses. “Ah. Mister Arkk,” he said in the same tone someone might use when greeting an old friend.

Arkk held in a sigh. “Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox. Right?”

“You remembered.”

“Well, you made an impression, I guess.”

His smile deepened without reaching his eyes for a bare instant before he returned to a placid expression. “Fancy encountering you here. Did you recall something you wished to tell us?”

“No, I…” Arkk trailed off as the Master Inquisitor stepped closer, utterly dwarfing him as he remained in his seat. “I remembered what you said about learning at a magical academy and decided to come to take a look for myself.”

“Enjoying yourself so far?”

“I didn’t really get a chance to look around before the first person I tried to talk to collapsed,” Arkk said with a glance at the closed door.

“I heard an old colleague of mine suffered some sort of magical malady,” Vrox said, looking toward the door. “Now that I’ve found you here, many questions come to mind.”

“As much as I would love to answer them,” Arkk started, sliding to the side on the bench so he could stand without bumping into Vrox. “I was only sticking around to make sure Zullie was alright, but if someone as qualified as you is here—”

“Stay,” Vrox said, taking a step to the side to keep in front of Arkk. “Tell me what you did.”

“Why do you think I did anything?”

“Because you are here,” Vrox said, smile slipping entirely. “And, Mister Arkk, I do not trust you. I do not believe a word you say. From the moment we met, you have done nothing but lie to me.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Another lie.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, glaring. “Then I suppose there is no point in telling you anything, is there? If you aren’t going to believe a word I say, why waste my breath?”

Darius Vrox stared, then smiled his stiff, open-mouthed grin once again. “Well, shall we see how our unfortunate professor is handling herself?” he asked, stepping to the door. Without even waiting for Arkk’s response, he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Arkk glanced down the corridor. This was his chance to escape. Yet, if he ran away now, he was sure that Vrox would see that as a sign of further guilt. Arkk still wasn’t sure exactly what the inquisitors wanted, but Olatt’an, Vezta, and Ilya all said that having them after him would be irritating at best, but more likely deadly.

Not to mention, he did want to know if Zullie was alright.

With a sigh, feeling again like he should just leave, Arkk followed Vrox into the recovery ward.

Cliff Academy Recovery Ward was a fairly subdued affair. There was a large desk with a larger shelf behind it. Dozens of stoppered glass bottles occupied the spaces, each a different size, shape, and with different colored liquids inside. Between the shelf and the desk, a woman sat wearing white robes almost identical to those worn by Abbess Keena in Langleey. Her clothes covered her entire body except for her face and her hands.

Beyond the desk, several beds were pushed up against the wall. Three of the five were unoccupied. One had a younger man with bloodied bandages wrapped around one arm. Zullie was in the other, asleep and unharmed save for the large bruise that had spread across her chin and cheek on one side of her face.

Another man stood over her bed. He wore a long white cassock with a little black square at the center of his collar. There was no doubt that this man was a member of the Abbey of the Light; the golden thread woven into his cassock formed the same symbols that adorned Abbess Keena’s habit and the church buildings.

“Priest,” Vrox said, stepping up to the foot of the bed.

“Who—” The priest looked up from Zullie. His eyes widened to their maximum and he took a hesitant step back. “M-Ma—”

“Darius Vrox, at your service.”

“Master Inquisitor!”

“Please,” Vrox said with his utterly insincere smile, “call me Darius.” His eyes shifted down to Zullie and his smile disappeared. “What happened to the female?”

“Your Eminence!” the priest shouted, back stiffening. “This is hardly a matter that warrants your attention.”

“I will be the judge of that.”

“Of course, Sir.” The priest glanced downward, frowning at the woman on the bed. “It’s just Zullie. One of our premier spell researchers. Except, she doesn’t know when to stop. She has overloaded her magical channels. Again. A bit of rest and she’ll be back on her feet.”

“This is a frequent occurrence?”

“Oh yes. This happens… once a month at the very least.”

“Once a month?” Arkk said. “It isn’t anything serious?”

The priest jolted, glancing at Arkk as if it were the first time he noticed that anyone else was in the room. With a slight glance to Vrox, who didn’t move in the slightest, the priest nodded his head. “I wouldn’t say it isn’t serious, but it is hardly unusual for Zullie. You’re the one who brought her here? I didn’t realize you were waiting around.”

Arkk sighed. “I should have left. I was worried for nothing.”

Scratching the back of his head, the priest offered a half-hearted shrug. Looking back to the inquisitor, he stiffened and cleared his throat. “I offered a prayer of rejuvenation as well as administered a phial of replenishment. There is no need to concern yourself, Sir.”

“On the contrary, I find myself quite concerned when one of our esteemed oracles begins a Prognosis stating that the stars have begun aligning within Cliff Magical Academy.”

“Inside?” Arkk said, frowning. He grimaced at having accidentally drawn the inquisitor’s attention but pressed his lips together and continued when no one said anything to him. “Don’t you mean above? How are stars aligning inside a mountain?”

Vrox fixed Arkk with a long look. Long enough that Arkk felt himself fidgeting under the taller man’s gaze. “Where is the horror from beyond the stars, Mister Arkk?”

“This again,” Arkk mumbled with a sigh. “I haven’t even seen that monster in… over a week at least,” he said, once again implying one thing without lying. Thinking back to what Vezta had said, he asked, “What does that even mean, beyond the stars?”

“Mister Arkk, I understand that you are a lowly countryside creature ignorant of the ways of the world and, I’m sure, most everything save for farming and what few scraps of magic you might have gleaned from the pages of passers-by.”

Arkk waited for the ‘but’ to follow that extended insult.

It never came.

“The Inquisition of the Light exists to protect the world and all its inhabitants from things beyond,” Vrox continued. “A mine infested by gorgon or a necromancer commanding an army of thousands is mere child’s play compared to what I have personally seen. The things we deal with threaten the very concept of life; the average being we hunt down is unimaginable to the majority of humans. And yet, I believe you, in all your ignorance, would imagine one such being quite well.”

“If you’re talking about Vezta,” Arkk said with a scowl, “then I told you in Langleey. She showed up and helped defend the village. So obviously I can imagine her. But we almost got overwhelmed by a hundred goblins. I would be far more scared of a necromancer with an army. Besides, she helped the village. Saved us, even. An enemy of life itself or whatever wouldn’t have done that. You’re clearly barking up the wrong tree.”

Vrox took a deep breath, staring. His smile snapped back into place. “Possible,” he said, turning away from the bed. “But unlikely given the description we received. And now, I find you at the site of the oracle’s Prognosis. There is a limit to coincidence, Mister Arkk.” He dipped his head. “Please inform any member of the Abbey of the Light should you recall anything of interest regarding your monster. We may be mistaken. Finding the creature and examining it would put our worries to rest. Good day, Mister Arkk.”

Arkk watched the tall man duck through the doorway and turn down the hall.

Now, he decided not to leave. Not yet, anyway. Let the inquisitor get far away before he followed. The last thing Arkk wanted to do was carry on their conversation on the way out. Or worse, walk along in awkward silence. Instead, Arkk turned back to Zullie and the priest.

The priest was breathing hard, half collapsed onto the adjacent bed. His face was flushed and he kept patting his chest.

“Are you alright?” Arkk asked, not wanting to be responsible for a second person fainting in his presence today.

“Oh dear me. I’m…” He pressed his lips together, breathing out. One more breath in and he seemed to calm himself down. “Not every day you run into an inquisitor, is it? Not to speak ill of His Eminence, but I am glad he is gone. Ill omens follow in their wake. I hope he doesn’t return.”

“Ill omens?”

“As he said, inquisitors hunt dangerous creatures and forbidden magics. If an inquisitor is snooping about, one of those things is certainly present.” The priest glanced down at Zullie. “I hope you haven’t been delving into dangerous research. Again,” he mumbled under his breath. “Sorry. Just a bit shook is all. You mentioned that you were from Langleey?”

“You’ve heard of it?” Arkk asked, surprised. He had been telling people he came from Smilesville after the first few people had no idea where Langleey was.

“The abbess in charge is still Keena, correct?” At Arkk’s nod, he smiled. “Keena and I were initiates and, later, acolytes at the same time. Tell her Heller says hello. I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Sure, I’m sure she’d be happy—”

Zullie’s eyes snapped open as she gasped in her bed. The gasp turned into a rickety cough that ended with her leaning over the side of the bed. Arkk thought she was going to be sick for a moment, but she ended up only spitting out a small wad of blood onto the floor.

“Zullie! Please,” Heller said, pinching his nose. “I’ve told you time and time again and now you’re dirtying my ward—”

“Ugh, here again,” Zullie groaned, smacking herself in the face. “Glasses. Where are my glasses, old man?”

“I am not old.”

“You’re twice my age, almost three times,” Zullie said. She patted her hands around the bedside table until her fingers found the square rims of her glasses. She tried to put them on, only to hiss as she jabbed herself right in her bruise. With a finger, she tenderly prodded at it, feeling for the edges of the injury.

“I applied some poultice. You’ll probably be tender for a good week.”

“Great.” Zullie carefully slid the glasses onto her face, taking special care not to bump her cheek. “How long…” She trailed off as she looked around the room. “You!”

“Sorry,” Arkk said with a grimace. “I didn’t know—”

“How did you do that?”

“Uh…”

Against the protests of the priest, Zullie jumped out of her bed, lunging for Arkk. He started to back up, moving out of reach of her grab, only to watch her legs fail her. Arkk stepped forward quickly, managing to catch her before she could crash to the floor again.

“You need rest, Zullie,” Heller said, moving around the bed to help.

“I don’t need rest.” She fought him off, grabbing hold of Arkk by the shoulders and pulling herself far too close for comfort.

What was it with these people and their lack of personal boundaries?

“You!” Zullie said again. “How? I poured everything I had into that and couldn’t manage a spark!”

Arkk shrugged. “You were talking about elements and gestures? Maybe you got the wrong ones.”

“No. Something should have happened.”

“You collapsed.”

She glared.

“Uh… there was a slight flash of light? Nothing too bright. It might have been my imagination, honestly.”

Releasing him, Zullie pinched her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “So, it did work,” she mumbled to herself. “But…”

As the magical researcher began mumbling to herself about various magical theories that Arkk couldn’t make heads or tails of, he started backing away. Slowly at first, but once he got to the door, he picked up his pace. He really should have left a long time ago. There would surely be others around who could point him to a bookstore. Maybe even Hawkwood. Surely a mercenary company made use of spellcasters in their ranks.

Arkk didn’t make it very far before he heard the woman running up from behind. She had barely been able to stand a moment ago and now she was running? Arkk had to give her points for determination if nothing else.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Zullie shouted as she closed the distance.

“Thought you needed your rest,” Arkk said with a wan smile as he turned around.

“What I need is to figure out how you did that spell. Show me again.”

Arkk sighed. “Before you go pass out again, would you mind telling me where I can pick up some books on magic? Both rituals and incantations, please.”

“You want books after showing me that? If I knew where to find a book that could teach me to cast a spell in two words, you think I’d be in this dump? I would be living large as the King’s court sorcerer!”

“Well, I would still like some books. And I have no idea how to teach you that spell. The way I learned it…” Arkk pressed his lips together. “It was unorthodox, to say the least. And some people might be after the person who taught me.”

“The inquisitor?” Zullie asked, violet eyes piercing through her glasses. “I was half-awake throughout all that. Caught part of it, I think.” She stepped back, crossing her arms with a thoughtful expression on her face. “Forbidden magic, huh? Inquisitors don’t roll out of bed for a soul-splitting lich and you’ve got them in a tizzy over a little lightning bolt?”

“I think they’re after the person who taught it,” Arkk repeated.

“Only because they don’t know about the spell. Did you ever demonstrate it for them?”

“No.”

“Don’t. I’ll teach you a proper spell for a lightning bolt if they ever show up asking to know.”

Arkk raised his eyebrows. “You’ll help me? Even if I’ve got these inquisitors buzzing over my shoulder?”

Zullie stared at him, eyes locked on his. “There is nothing I value more than the pursuit of magical advancement. A two-word lightning spell of that caliber… To be honest, it puts every accomplishment under my name to shame.”

“Sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s wonderful. Fascinating. So, you teach me your spell or bring me to your tutor and I teach you how to better hide from the inquisitors. They are non-too-pleased with me, to be honest. I have experience dealing with them. How does that sound?”

“Well, I…” Arkk trailed off, frowning. “Well, I need to be careful making transactional agreements like that. You might end up getting hired by accident.”

“Hired?”

Arkk shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. He was sure she would be interested in that as well given that the [HEART] was some ancient magical artifact. With her as excited as she was about the lightning spell, he didn’t want to alarm—or excite—her any further.

“My companions and I were only going to be in the city for another few days before we return home. We are planning on coming back sometime soon, but I don’t know about bringing Vezta—”

“How many more days?”

“Two or three.”

“I’ll have my things packed and ready.”

Arkk stared. “Excuse me?”

“I can pay my way for food and sleeping accommodations. Transit too, if necessary.”

“You’re coming with us?”

“Yes,” Zullie said, straight-faced and entirely serious. “Is that a problem?”

“I guess not.” He would double-check with Ilya and Dakka, but he doubted they would mind. And if she was going to help him with the inquisitors, then keeping her happy would be for the best. “I don’t know exactly when we’re going to leave. Stop by the Primrose stayover tomorrow night and we’ll have a better idea.”

“Primrose,” she said, nose wrinkling.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no. I suppose not.” Nodding to herself, she straightened her back. Arms still crossed, she angled one upward and gestured vaguely with her fingers. “I will be there. Tomorrow evening, before sunset.”

“Great. I’ll let the others know,” Arkk said, backing away once again.

For a long few moments, he thought she might chase after him, but she didn’t. Zullie remained right where she was, tapping her finger against her chin while muttering to herself. Satisfied that he wasn’t about to be tackled, Arkk began the long process of figuring out where to find the exit to the maze of interconnected corridors.

It did remind him of Fortress Al-Mir in that regard, though he had never found himself lost back home. The fortress projected a map into his mind and he could teleport anywhere at will within. The same was not true here.

Eventually, he found someone else wandering the halls who was happy to show him the way out.

When he saw the night sky hanging overhead, Arkk winced.

“The others are going to kill me,” he mumbled.

 

 

 

Dakka leaned back in her chair, taking a long drink from the hardest ale served in whatever shithole she found herself in. She tried to project an air of casual disregard as she carefully watched the faces around her.

The lizardman with his distinctly inhuman facial features was the hardest to read. His tongue flicked out of his face, tasting the air as his beady yellow eyes looked over his opponents. In contrast, the little fairy girl couldn’t be any more open as she sighed over and over again at the pasteboard cards in her hand. Dakka kept thinking that it was an act, but the fairy lost hand after hand.

The other two, a dark elf with unnaturally gray skin—unnaturally for most other species anyway—and a fellow orc, were much easier to read. Right now, she was reading that the orc didn’t like her all that much. Possibly because of her size, probably because of the large stack of silver she had in front of her that used to be in front of him.

Dakka tossed half a dozen silvers across the table, raising the stakes to the point where the fairy let out a long groan as she threw her cards away. It would have been easy to bait the fairy with a lower bet, but at this point, Dakka was just trying to spare the poor thing from losing any more coin.

The orc across from her, on the other hand… When it looked like he was about to fold as well, Dakka rolled her eyes with an exaggerated scoff. With an angry grunt, the orc tossed in the remainder of his silvers. Too easy. The dark elf folded while the lizardman tossed in a few of his rather sizable pile of coins.

Dakka spread her cards on the table. A fairly bad hand, all things considered. The orc let out a guffaw, throwing his cards next to hers while reaching for the pile of silver, only for the lizardman to lash out with a hasty claw.

“Not sso fasst,” the lizardman said, carefully setting his cards down.

A grin spread across Dakka’s face. A grin that only widened once the orc turned a furious expression her way. She might have lost the hand, but reading the lizardman was a victory all on its own. Mostly because it took away the orc’s victory.

She didn’t care about the money the lizardman was sliding over to his side. It wasn’t like it was her money. She just cared that the orc was upset. He pissed her off. Now that his pile was completely gone, Dakka stood, dumped the remainder of her coins into her pouch, and waved.

“Thanks for the games, boys. Was a… productive afternoon.” After meeting everyone’s eyes, lingering on the orc’s just a moment longer than everyone else, Dakka turned and left the fine establishment.

She headed down the road, moving alongside the harbor, though a street removed from the seaside, and continued along until she found what she was looking for. A narrow, deserted wynd between two of the rundown wooden buildings of this district. Dakka took the backstreet, stopped halfway through it, and leaned up against the wall.

It didn’t take long before a certain, silverless orc rounded the corner. He paused, startled at her simply waiting there, but quickly balled his hands into fists.

“Tell you what,” Dakka said as he approached. “I have a few questions I want answers to. In exchange, I’ll hand over… let’s say ten of your hard-earned silvers.”

“Scared without your lizard friend here?” he spat. “He won’t be coming to your rescue this time. My boys are watching him.”

Dakka laughed. She had never met that lizardman before. It might have looked like they were conspiring together to ruin this orc. “Should have brought your boys to back you up. Honestly thought there would be at least three of you.”

“Don’t need anyone to teach a runt like you a lesson.”

Dakka’s eye twitched as she ducked his punch. He was wide and obvious. The orc was two heads taller than she was, around the upper end for male orcs. But he wasn’t a fighter. Not a proper fighter, in any case. Not a raider.

Sidestepping another punch, Dakka rammed her fist into his stomach. His knuckles slammed into the side of her head, snapping her neck to the side, but she rolled with it, shimmying around a haymaker. Grabbing hold of his shirt and outstretched arm, Dakka stepped forward, wrapping a leg behind his leg. With it, she lifted him up enough to slam his back down onto the hard flagstone ground.

Dakka kicked her boot into the side of his head once and his shoulders twice as he tried to use the wall to pull himself back up. Bringing her fists together, she hammered down on his head, knocking him down once again.

Grabbing her axe in one hand, Dakka swung straight for his neck. It bit into the wooden wall behind him, sending splinters flying past his face as it stopped just a hair from the side of his green skin.

The orc panted, wide-eyed and sweating. His gaze was off in the corners of his eyes, looking at the edge of the blade without turning his head, as if afraid that even a small movement would have it slice into him.

Dakka grinned. Rearing back, she spat a wad of blood off to the side. “That kind of talk is why you’re silverless,” she said with a grin. Blood was probably staining her teeth. She could feel a little warmth on the side of her head where he had hit her. She might even be bleeding there as well. Dakka expected it to add to the intimidation factor. “Now you’re going to answer my questions. Understand?”

He didn’t answer, too focused on gripping the side of his head where Dakka had kicked him.

“Now,” Dakka said, leaning down. “Tell me everything you know about the Duke and his elf.”

Ilya did not meander through the streets, gawking at the compact buildings, stone structures, the fancy fountain in the middle of a stone plaza, or even the hundreds upon hundreds of people that somehow both fit and lived in such a relatively small space. Exploring wasn’t exactly the word she would use for what she was doing despite what she told Arkk. While she didn’t know exactly where she was going, Ilya moved with purpose.

She had never been this close before.

In the past, as a child, Ilya had dreamed of coming to this city and valiantly rescuing her mother from the Duke. It had been nothing more than that, dreams. Leaving her home alone or even with Arkk on some crusade had always sounded like madness. Now they were here. Ilya, Arkk, and a completely random and unrelated orc. It still sounded like madness that they were going to do anything, and yet, things had changed.

Ilya didn’t know where to go, but she knew her destination. She figured that finding it would be easy. All she had to do was follow the wealth. From the district where the majority of the demihumans and beastmen lived to properly maintained wooden buildings and on to stone buildings. When Ilya started to see actual glass in the windows of the surrounding buildings, she knew she was headed in the right direction.

Much to Ilya’s irritation, she found herself stopped before she could reach what she suspected was her destination.

At first, Ilya thought it was a canal. Water filled a relatively wide trough of stone bricks at the end of the street she had been walking on. Walking alongside it, Ilya quickly discovered that it was not just a canal, but a moat. The moat didn’t fully encircle the land beyond but only because part of that land stuck out into the ocean. On the opposite side of the moat was a walled land. Maybe even as large as Langleey Village—the main area including the Baron’s manor, church, and workshops anyway, not the full farmland. There were only two ways across, aside from swimming, and both had guards positioned in front of closed gates.

Walking around for a few more minutes, Ilya came across just what she needed. A three-story building, tall enough to see well over the wall on the other side of the moat. It was right up against the mountainside, which provided the perfect cover as Ilya scaled the wall, finding handholds and footholds in the wide grooves of the stonemasonry.

Ilya pulled herself onto the slanted rooftop made of shale shingles. She took care not to go over the peak, keeping her body firmly on the side that faced away from the moat and walls.

That was it. That had to be it. It looked idyllic. A wide open and frankly beautiful vineyard sat beyond the walls, merged with some kind of park-like garden. It stretched on, wrapping around a truly massive, opulent structure in the center of it all. A veritable castle.

The Duke’s manor. Though, calling it a manor implied that it was somehow on the same level as Baron Langleey’s manor and it absolutely was not. Power and prestige permeated every aspect of the construction. The grounds covered the majority of the promontory, jutting out into the sea. The fine building at the center of it all was covered in smooth white stone, not at all like the whitewashed church back in Langleey, where the washing had to be reapplied every few years to keep it gleaming. Here, the stone itself was white. An arching dome made of long panels of clear glass occupied a plot of land about as large as the Langleey church while a high tower at the other end of the keep overlooked the ocean.

Between the moat, the wall, and the wide vineyard, it was as if the Duke were keeping an arm’s length from the unwashed masses of the city he presided over.

People were wandering the grounds. A few guards patrolled the walls and Ilya’s sharp eyes spotted a few more posted in the tall tower but the people on the grounds and in the gardens appeared to be regular people. Gardeners tended to the vineyard.

Others meandered about as well, though not workers. Most were women, dressed in fine robes and gowns. As far as Ilya could tell, they were simply wandering about, enjoying the gardens and the company of each other. Interestingly enough, they weren’t all human.

Arkk had mentioned in the past, hearing tales from the various travelers to the village with whom he loved to talk, that demihumans weren’t often treated well within the Duchy. Ilya hadn’t necessarily believed it. Certainly, no one in Langleey had treated her poorly. Then again, elves supposedly got off lightly compared to some of the more monstrous species. Cliff was evidence enough for her. The way all the demihumans had been shoved off into one little corner of the city, a particularly poor and unkempt corner at that, spoke volumes.

Yet, demihumans were wandering the grounds. They wore fine clothes, no less, not the clothes of serfs or workers. Ilya spotted a dark elf—easily identifiable by her red eyes and long yet more rounded ears—two harpies, a dryad that looked like a walking tangle of bark and vines, a pair of werecats, an orc that, based on the heights of those around it, was even smaller than Dakka, and one other monster that Ilya couldn’t decide if it was a water elemental or a particularly well-formed slime. Of course, there were elves as well. The vast majority of the women wandering the grounds were elves.

There were almost no humans aside from the guards.

Ilya watched from the roof for hours, eyes moving from elf to elf, trying to spot anything familiar on their faces. The people in the bailey meandered about, wandering into the manor and back out. Was that the same orc as before? A werehound joined the small group of beastmen, excitedly running around and annoying the werecats at the same time.

What were all these women doing, just lounging around? Ilya wasn’t sure that she understood. Maybe she just didn’t want to understand, not wanting to think of what it might mean for her mother. If her mother was even there.

Ilya didn’t want to think about what it might mean if her mother wasn’t there either.

The sun started to set before Ilya began to stir. She had been watching the manor grounds all day. It was well past time to meet up with Arkk and Dakka. If she delayed much longer, they would probably start panicking.

Just before she could begin climbing down from the roof, however, she heard a loud squawk from the manor grounds.

One of the harpies took off in a sprint, wings flapping. Kicking off the ground with her powerful legs, the harpy launched into the air, much to the alarm of the guards on the walls. Crossbow bolts started flying through the air. While the guards were targeting the harpy in the air, the bolts came down everywhere, forcing everyone on the ground to rush for cover in the safety of the manor.

The harpy did not get very far. It wasn’t even the crossbows that got her. The harpy banked under a volley of bolts, then, as the guards were cranking back their crossbows for another shot, the harpy headed straight over the walls.

A lattice of thin blue lines encapsulated the entire manor, bailey and all. A pair of robe-wearing guards stood in the tall tower at the center of the compound, crouched around a glowing light. Ilya couldn’t see what was glowing from her angle, but she had seen that same light before when Arkk tried to do rituals. The manor had magical protections.

After running into the lattice, the harpy seemed to pass out in mid-air. Her wings, still spread wide, caught the air but the harpy made no effort to stop her tight spiral as she crashed into the ground behind the wall. Ilya winced, wondering if the harpy had survived. She could only barely see the bird-woman, but what she could see wasn’t moving.

Ilya’s eyes were drawn up to the manor where people were once again running out. Guards from the walls made it to the harpy first, but Ilya wasn’t paying attention to them anymore. How could she? Her eyes were locked on a tall, graceful elf striding across the bailey.

An elf with long, silver hair, silver eyes, and sharp ears.

Ilya sucked in a breath.

That was her. Her mother. Alya. She reached the harpy and started saying something to the guards. Even though she was practically yelling, Ilya’s sensitive ears heard nothing while she was focused on her mother’s face.

She looked… well. Healthy. Her skin was as flawless as Ilya remembered, with no sign of bruises or abuse. Her arms weren’t scrawny sticks of skin and bone. Although Ilya wasn’t listening to her words, she had a strong voice as she shouted at the guards. It… wasn’t what Ilya had been expecting. In all her nightmares, her mother had been chained up in a deep dungeon, shackled to the walls, and fed little more than barley water. In the better nightmares, Ilya and Arkk charged in with a sword and bow, chopping down guards as they worked to free her.

In her focus on her mother, Ilya completely missed someone else approaching the guards and the fallen harpy. It wasn’t until he grabbed Alya by the waist that Ilya took notice.

He was short, especially next to Alya, with large bulging eyes like those of a frog. Dressed in the finest clothes that Ilya had ever seen, he wore a velvety black and red lounge jacket with particularly bright red lapels. Every finger on both his hands was adorned with gold bands and colorful gemstones. A large blue and white striped shield emblem hung proudly off his chest, surrounded by filigree while a winged lion stood on its hind legs in the center.

Duke Levi Woldair.

It had to be him. Ilya had never seen the man before, but the moment she put her eyes on his slimy grin, she knew it had to be him.

Ilya’s hand moved to her back where her mother’s bow was locked in its clasps. He was right there. Right in front of her. Standing out in the open. From her elevated position, it would be too easy to end him right now.

Before she could fully unclasp her bow from her back, her movements made it scrape against the shale tiles of the roof. Ilya froze solid at the noise, not daring to move. Even though it had been a faint scrape, it sounded like thunder to her sharp ears.

The humans across the moat didn’t react in the slightest as they continued to speak to one another. Her mother, however, snapped her gaze up. She looked around for just a moment before her gaze landed on Ilya. Her eyes widened for a bare instant before narrowing into a thin glare. She kept her gaze on Ilya long enough to mouth a single word.

“Leave.”

As soon as she said that, she adopted a forced smile and leaned down, whispering something into the Duke’s ear. Whatever it was, the Duke let out a laugh and waved off his guards. One guard, who Ilya now realized had a loaded crossbow aimed at the harpy’s head, pulled back as two others moved to grab the harpy by the wings. They dragged her off toward the manor.

The Duke followed and Ilya’s mother fell in line just behind him, putting herself between Ilya and the Duke.

It was another hour, well after sunset, before Ilya dared to climb down from her perch. Neither the Duke nor her mother returned from the manor. Most of the others Ilya had seen over the day remained inside as well. Only the guards stayed out, returning to their posts around the walls and towers. After the excitement with the harpy, they remained on alert, but that slowly died down.

Ilya drifted through a haze as she made her way back to the Primrose. She couldn’t believe what she had seen.

Ilya clenched her teeth, fingers digging into the palms of her tightly clenched fists. Her mother was protecting the Duke? Why? And that glare… The first time she saw Ilya in fifteen years and she glared? Ilya couldn’t understand it. In all her worst nightmares, she had never seen that reaction. She had been prepared to find her mother battered and broken, used and abused in ways that Ilya didn’t even want to think about. And yet…

“There you are!”

Ilya blinked, realizing that she had made it back to the Primrose. Dakka sat at one of the tables, a half-burned cigar in one hand and a spread of pasteboard cards in the other. The orc dropped her cards on the table, face down, and scooped a rather large pile of coins into her pouch as she stood, much to the disappointed looks of those she was sharing a table with.

“You look like shit,” Dakka said, picking up an orc-sized flagon full of beer from the table and marching right over to Ilya. “Drink?”

Ilya stared at the orc for a moment. Alcohol wasn’t her favorite thing in the world, beer even less. Yet, right now… She reached out and took the tall mug. Tipping it back, she started drinking and didn’t stop until there was nothing left.

For some inane reason, people around her let out a laughing cheer when she finished.

“Damn,” Dakka said as Ilya shoved the empty mug back over. “Don’t know what happened to you, but I might have some good news to cheer you back up.”

“Good news?”

Dakka glanced around, dropped the flagon on the nearest table, then motioned toward the stairs up to the second floor. “Not here.”

“Right…”

Ilya followed after Dakka, feeling everything she just drank slosh around in her otherwise empty stomach. She hadn’t eaten anything since morning, having stayed up on that rooftop all day. About halfway up, she thought she might wind up sick, but managed to steady herself before continuing. It helped that Dakka clapped a hand to her back, steadying her.

“So,” Dakka said as they stepped into their room. “It turns out the Duke has a lot of monsters in his… collection.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

“Noticed?”

Ilya shook her head as she slumped onto the bed, motioning with her hand for Dakka to continue.

“Well, he has many elves,” Dakka said, sounding a little less certain of her supposed good news. “Word is that he treats them very well.”

“Oh.” Ilya might have been happy to hear that earlier, but now? Did the Duke treat them well enough that her own mother would trade her for his company? She felt nausea welling inside her at the thought.

Or maybe that was the alcohol.

“If that doesn’t cheer you up,” Dakka said, hesitating a moment as she watched Ilya. “The Duke holds monthly parties at his manor where he shows off his collection to all the important people in the city.”

Ilya blinked, looking up while slowly shaking her head. “Is that supposed to make me happy?”

“I thought that, with you and Arkk planning on pretending to be some important people, you might make it into his manor for one of these parties.”

It took a moment for the words to hit her, but when they did, Ilya sat up straight. She nodded her head, slowly at first, then faster and faster. “Yes. We could get in and I could ask…” Ilya trailed off, a lump forming in her throat.

“In addition to parties, I hear he auctions some of them off on occasion.”

“Auctions?” Ilya said, nose wrinkling.

“Disgusting, yeah. The Duchy officially has a bounty on any slavers. Apparently owning slaves isn’t against any decrees.” Dakka shrugged as if the notion didn’t bother her much. It was just the way things were. “With your goal, however…”

Ilya’s eyes widened. “You’re right. Right, we just need to,” Ilya said, standing, then she looked around. She squinted, the room was dark, but it was obvious that only she and Dakka were inside. “Where is Arkk?”

Dakka shrugged. “No idea. Haven’t seen him since this morning.”

“He was the one who insisted we be back before sunset.”

“I was back,” Dakka said, tone implying that she had been the only one to follow that particular plan.

“Oh no. I feel like he’s gotten himself into another mess…” Ilya said, staggering over to the window. “I hope he hasn’t made anything explode.”

“Or anyone.”

Ilya grimaced. Memories of the orc chieftain’s grim fate were too much for her, making her lean over the windowsill.

She ignored Dakka griping about the waste of good beer.

 

 

As it turned out, the garrison and the academy were fairly close to one another. Both were built into the mainland mountain that shadowed Cliff. Both even had similar architecture on the exterior, that being miniature keep-like structures that extended out from the sheer face of the mountain. The difference was that one kept a contingent of guards standing around its entrances.

Adjusting the odd jacket of his dark suit, Arkk stood in the middle of a small line. He had dressed up, deciding to make use of the fancier clothes that he had. Maybe it was because a lesser servant had been the tailor or maybe it was just the style of the suit, but he didn’t quite feel like it fit. The shoulders felt too tight and it rubbed against his neck.

“Name and business,” a guard behind a wire mesh window asked as Arkk stepped up.

Keeping his back straight and his expression as serious as he could manage, Arkk introduced himself. “Arkk. I’m here to inquire about mercenary work.”

The guard’s eyes looked up from a tablet of vellum and roved over Arkk. Unlike the previous times he had mentioned looking for mercenary work, the guard did not laugh or make any snide comments. He simply looked back to his vellum and nodded. “Are you making specific inquiries, posting work, or looking for work?”

“The latter, please.”

“Open bounties, recruitment notices, and other matters of interest for routiers are posted on the southern wall of the garrison, just to your left.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Arkk said, stepping out of line.

Following the guard’s directions, he found a large board up against the stone wall, shielded from the elements by a heavy awning overhead. Rows of paper, each stamped with an official-looking seal covered the board. There were a wide variety of jobs on the board. Some were mundane and offered low rewards, such as gathering certain herbs and roots from a forest or assisting villages that had a shortage of labor. Arkk dismissed those entirely for the moment; his orcs had already tried the latter option and he had no desire to further encourage a riot.

Others were a bit more interesting. A merchant wanted an armed escort for traveling between a few burgs that Arkk didn’t recognize. Another person wanted escorts to guard an expedition to some ancient temple. Someone had lost a daughter, as in physically could not find her, and was wanting to hire trackers and others who specialized in finding people. For a moment, that one sounded like a job he could do right now if the daughter had left behind hair or something else he could use, but the longer he thought about it, the more an unpleasant feeling swam through his gut.

He forced himself to stop thinking about the tracking spell before he threw up.

The two most rewarding jobs were by far the most interesting. The first was a request to gather samples of blighted fungus for study. Arkk still didn’t know what that was, though maybe it was time to start asking around. Judging by the amount offered for the job, it must have been dangerous stuff. The other job, only slightly more rewarding, was a request to clear out a mine that had been overrun with gorgon.

Arkk didn’t know exactly what a gorgon was. The name sounded familiar. Thinking back, he thought he heard about it from some mercenaries in his childhood. One of the groups that passed through Langleey with stories to tell. Nothing specific jumped out at him from those memories, however. He reached out, lifting the paper in the hopes of finding more details underneath, but before he could, a rough hand landed on his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t pick that one, mate.”

Jolting, not having been paying attention to those around him, Arkk turned to find a man with a flat face and a pointed nose giving him a serious look.

“Nasty beasts, gorgons. Their coils can crush steel, their venom melts flesh from bone, and if that wasn’t bad enough, they’re known to turn men to stone. Wouldn’t take that job if it were offering ten times the amount.”

“Men to stone?” Arkk said. That… sounded familiar. The mercenary group he had been thinking of might have abandoned the job in fear of two gorgon. “What about women?”

After staring at him for a moment, the man let out a loud laugh and clapped Arkk on the shoulder. “Good one,” he said at the end of his laugh. Taking his hand from Arkk’s shoulder, he held it out. “Name’s Hawkwood. Friends call me Hawk. White Company senior commander.”

“Arkk,” Arkk said, taking the man’s hand. Hawkwood’s attire was simplistic. Just a tunic with a leather jacket. A shield pin with a black chevron adorned his breast pocket. “You’re a mercenary company?”

“White Company is. I’m just a man. Don’t recognize you though.”

“You know everyone?”

Hawkwood shook his head. “Just everyone in the mercenary business. So, imagine my surprise when a dusty farmboy shows up reaching for the most dangerous job on the board. Wouldn’t the herbs be more your speed?”

“Farmboy? Dusty?” Arkk glanced down at his suit. He had taken care to keep it clean on the journey and that hadn’t changed in the last few hours since he put it on.

“You’ve got the clothes, but you don’t wear them like you belong. Your hands are calloused and not in the way a soldier’s would be. The back of your neck is heavily tanned, even more than your face, meaning you spend a lot of time looking down at the ground. Your hair is dry and unkempt. Anyone wearing clothes like that would grease their hair down every morning. There’s—”

“Alright, alright,” Arkk said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and brushing his fingers through his hair with the other. “So the clothes are useless?” Vezta was going to be disappointed.

“You might fool some people, but not me,” Hawkwood said with a grin. “So, what’s the story?”

Arkk sighed. “Just trying to figure out how all this works. I wasn’t going to take the job. Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Some very strange things happened recently and now I find myself with twenty-something orcs following my lead.” Hawkwood’s eyebrows crept up his forehead and he started looking around, making Arkk shake his head. “They aren’t here. I just wanted to find something for them to do so they don’t tear each other apart.”

“Did you want to get them killed?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Then skip over that job. Demihumans aren’t immune to gorgons either.”

Arkk wondered if Vezta might be immune. She had said that she survived a lot of things over the years. Then again, she hadn’t been positive that she would survive the orc chieftain’s magic.

“At least you’re seeing sense,” Hawkwood said, reading his face. “Well? What’s the story with the orcs?”

“A long one.”

“Tell you what, you tell me the story and I’ll show you the ropes. Get you putting those orcs to work. I’ll even throw in a meal.”

Arkk wasn’t sure he liked how Hawkwood phrased that, but it didn’t sound like the worst deal. At least not so long as he edited the story a bit. Those inquisitors had already been asking about Vezta. He didn’t need even more people talking about her or Fortress Al-Mir.

“Farm work?” Hawkwood’s fist hit the table as he laughed. “You made a bunch of warriors do farm work? I’m surprised they didn’t take your head for suggesting that!”

“It certainly didn’t win me any points with them,” Arkk said with a faint smile, skewering another slice of fish. Maybe he was just used to the river fish from around Langleey, but he wasn’t sure he liked oceanic fish much. It was the largest food industry in Cliff, so he supposed he would just have to get used to it. “Although, while we were farming, we got interrupted… Can you tell me anything about inquisitors?”

Hawkwood’s lingering chuckles died in an instant. He sobered up, snapping his gaze around the patio where they had gotten their meal from the vendor. Unlike the Primrose, however, it didn’t look like too many people were paying attention to their conversation.

“No good business comes from inquisitors,” Hawkwood said, all humor gone from his voice. “Inquisitors showed up while you were farming with the orcs?”

Arkk nodded. “They asked me a number of questions about the demon summoning. I told them basically what I just told you. Then… they asked about stars.” It was a bit of a risk to mention that, but at the same time, Arkk wondered if the more experienced mercenary might have some information. “Had no clue what they were talking about,” he added with a shrug.

Unfortunately, Hawkwood didn’t react to Arkk mentioning stars. “If they weren’t interested in demons, it was probably that magic you were throwing around. The church hates spellcasters that didn’t go to their approved academies. The orcs you sent to the burg talked, something about the way they described the magic made someone else call up the church.”

“Me? Not the magic the summoner was using?”

Hawkwood shrugged. “They hounded you, right?”

“Yes,” Arkk lied. They had been there for Vezta, not him. But he had already dropped the hint about stars. No need to say anything else.

“There you have it. I’d go get checked out at the academy, but if the inquisitors left without clapping your wrists in irons, you’re probably fine.”

Arkk stretched, then stood. “I was actually planning on stopping over there after the garrison,” he said. “Thanks for telling me about mercenary work.”

“No problem. It isn’t every day a new mercenary company pops up. Especially not one made up of demihumans.” Hawkwood stood as well, then held out his hand once more. “If you need any more help, stop on by the White Company building. It’s just down the road from the garrison. Can’t miss it.” He paused, then slowly nodded his head. “In fact, I have a contact who might appreciate you looking into a job that you and a bunch of orcs could do. Why not stop by in the morning?”

“Sounds good. I’ll bring my companions if that isn’t a problem.”

“The orcs?”

“One of them and then an elf.” Arkk frowned, looking the man in the eyes. “That isn’t a problem, is it?”

Hawkwood shook his head. “Not with me.”

“Good. See you then.”

With that end to their conversation, Arkk headed toward his second destination of the day. Helpful though Hawkwood had been, the mercenary work was just a diversion. Something that needed doing but not something he had been particularly interested in.

The magic academy was a passion.

Getting close to the Cliff academy sent tingles up his arms. Arkk honestly couldn’t tell if it was magic in the air or just his excitement, but by the time he walked through the wide-open gates and stepped into the academy foyer, he was positively vibrating.

And what a foyer it was. Carved straight into the mountainside, it almost felt like walking into the [HEART] chamber of Fortress Al-Mir. Except, instead of a floating magical artifact of unknown origin, there was a massive statue of a man in golden robes with one hand extended out as if welcoming people through the tall doors. His other hand held tight a thick scroll. Runes on the scroll glowed a brilliant gold that illuminated the entire statue.

The people walking about were scholarly types. Most wore clothes a lot like the suit Arkk had on, but he could tell just by looking at them that they had no muscle at all underneath. On average, at least. There were the odd ones that stood out. Hawkwood had been right about the hair, however. Every single person, man and woman, had styled, almost shining hair.

Pulling his collar up to hide the back of his neck, Arkk wandered through the halls, a bit disappointed when they turned out to be far more narrow and claustrophobic than the impressive foyer or even the corridors of Fortress Al-Mir. The lighting was poor as well. The academy didn’t use torches—something about Fortress Al-Mir made the soot and smoke vanish in a way that probably wouldn’t work here—but its glowstones weren’t half as strong as those used in certain rooms of the fortress.

He passed several rooms. Some looked like lecture halls. Others were obviously for practical magic usage. An alchemy station with bubbling alembics and glass tubes caught his attention for a moment but Arkk already had enough on his plate without learning a whole other discipline. Maybe another time.

Arkk stopped at an open door, spotting two people standing across from one another on a raised platform. Demonstrating something? Dueling? They had a small crowd watching. A crowd that Arkk found himself joining in, momentarily pausing his efforts to locate a library.

“—can block any energy-based spell with few exceptions. However, physical objects require a separate spell. As most outside these halls are not spellcasters, blocking physical objects is often more useful. The element is wind. The motion is a spinning sweep of your hands. The visualization is effectively a solid wall, but slightly more complicated. You may read my dissertation for more details. The incantation is hentikan semua benda yang masuk sebelum mencapai dagingku.” As soon as the woman on stage spoke the incantation, a haze enveloped her. A shimmer in the air, like fog, settled in, but only in a bubble around her person. Arkk couldn’t see through it clearly but her silhouette was there.

Turning away from the audience, the silhouette motioned.

On the other side of the stage, a tall man in a tall hat lifted a heavy wooden staff. With a motion from the staff, a dozen small rocks lifted from the ground in front of him. With another gesture, the rocks flew across the stage faster than arrows, but they didn’t make it through the haze around the woman. They sunk in, stopping rapidly, before going completely still. Most interestingly, they didn’t fall to the floor. Not until the woman canceled the spell and dispersed the haze.

“Unfortunately,” the woman said, “this spell is still in a prototype phase. While active, visibility is next to nothing. I’m working on that. Still, perhaps it will save your life. Commit it to memory.”

Arkk blinked a few times. The crowd around him nodded their heads, but all he could think was how. That spell, hentikan semua something something something was, first of all, far too long. Electro Deus was nice and snappy. Quick to speak, quick to cast, easy to remember. So was Slave Natum, for that matter. Her spell did look useful, visibility issue aside, but by the time he finished the incantation, he would wind up a pincushion of crossbow bolts and swords. The black book he stole from the summoner had similarly long spells in it. Flesh Weaving, which was twice as long as that, was the only one he had tried so far. It required such intense focus and concentration that using it on the battlefield would have been impossible anyway, making its long incantation not that big of an issue.

Unfortunately, Arkk didn’t get a chance to see more magic. That spell was the end of the demonstration. The others in the crowd meandered off toward the door, discussing the spell on the way. Some were calling it revolutionary, so it was apparently a big deal. Arkk… wondered if any of them had been in combat ever in their lives.

Arkk remained in place. The man with the staff used it to retrieve the stones, which he quickly pocketed. At the same time, the woman started cleaning up ritual circles on the ground that must have been used in earlier demonstrations.

“Excuse me?” Arkk said, approaching the stage. He had probably passed a dozen persons of authority in the hall on the way here, but he couldn’t tell the difference between a learner and a teacher by attire alone. This woman seemed close enough.

The woman looked up, violet eyes staring through the thin lenses of her glasses. Irritation flashed across her face before she put on a polite, if forced, smile. “Was there a question you had about my spell?”

“Ah. Yes?” Arkk almost asked about a library first but didn’t want to upset her by not asking about her revolutionary new spell. “You said this was a prototype? Is the incantation going to be shorter in the final version?”

“It is quite short already,” she said, looking surprised. “Twenty syllables.”

“It’s short?” Arkk asked, surprised as well. “Have you ever been in a fight before?”

The woman sneered, adjusting the long black cloak she wore open over a stylish bodice. “Do I look like some kind of ruffian to you?”

“No, but a spell that takes even a full second to cast seems a bit useless in actual combat.”

“Who are you?” she asked, adjusting her glasses. She swept her fingers through her jet-black hair as she finished. “You aren’t one of the church’s dullard initiates, nor are you a scholar. Explorer?”

Arkk wondered if she was basing her assumption on the color of his neck. “I’m self-taught. Just visiting today. But the spells—”

Understanding lit up in her eyes when he mentioned being a visitor. “You just need practice. A deft tongue makes for a deft spell,” she said as if quoting some source.

“But the other spells I know are all short. Each one is just two words.”

“Two…” She blinked a few times, started to laugh, but blinked once more as her eyes widened. “What kind of spells?”

“Well, a lightning bolt spell, a…” Arkk trailed off. The other two short spells he knew, Possession and Summon Lesser Servant were probably not the kinds of spells he should admit to knowing. The former for obvious reasons and the latter because servants were what had the inquisitors snooping about Langleey.

“Can you demonstrate?” the woman asked, not caring that he didn’t finish his explanation.

Arkk glanced around. From experience, he knew that the lightning spell didn’t like a lack of a real target. The room had cleared out during their brief discussion, letting him spot several chairs pressed up against one wall. Seeing nothing better, he pointed to one. “Is it alright if I destroy a chair?”

“Yes, hurry now.”

“Alright. Electro Deus,” Arkk said, pointing his hand toward the nearest chair. He pushed just a tiny sliver of magic into the spell. A bolt bridged the distance between him and the chair, slamming into it. It split in two, burning wood chips raining down around the larger seat and back pieces.

He looked back to the woman to find her mouth hanging open, her eyebrows up in her hairline, and her rectangular glasses sliding down the front of her nose.

“Miss?”

She blinked. Her jaw snapped closed. Reaching out, she snatched Arkk’s hand, twisting his arm to see his fingertips. Grabbing one finger, she wiggled it around while asking question after question. “No gesture? Or a thrusting gesture? What was the visualization? Element?”

“Uh—”

“Self-taught. Right. No preconceptions, allowing convention violations?” She clamped one hand under his jaw, yanking his head down to stare directly into Arkk’s eyes. Her face was close enough that their noses almost touched. “Open.”

“What?”

Her fingers pinched into his cheeks, forcing his mouth open. She stared into his open mouth until it got just a bit too uncomfortable for Arkk. He pulled back, knocking her hands aside when she tried to grab him again. She hardly seemed offended in the slightest, simply looking down at her hand for a moment before shrugging.

“No time like the present. Short Cast Experiment number one. Lightning bolt visualization, element… storm, obviously. Thrust gesture.” Thrusting a hand toward the next chair, she spoke the incantation. “Electro Deus.”

At first, nothing happened. The woman’s intense look of concentration didn’t waver. After a few more seconds, Arkk thought he saw something. It wasn’t a bolt of lightning, that was for sure, just a faint change in the lighting around her palm. If he hadn’t been focused on the woman’s hand, he would have missed it entirely.

He did not miss the woman collapsing into a heap on the stage in the very next instant.

 

 

Cliff was unlike anything Arkk had ever seen before.

Arkk wasn’t sure if he was vibrating in excitement or shaking from nerves. He was finally out of Langleey Village, traveling and seeing the world. Technically, he had been traveling for a week now, but some of the luster of travel had worn off once he realized that most villages weren’t meaningfully different from his village and most burgs were just larger villages.

Unlike the places they had traveled through to reach here, this was a city.

It was a bit annoying to get to. There was a big… well, mountainous cliff in the way. A large heap of earth and rock propped up into a thin mountain. Following the winding road around the mountain, past truly massive swaths of farmland, brought him to the city itself. Houses and buildings were crammed next to each other in tight rows. They sprawled back and forth, filling every available spot between the ocean and the mountain itself.

But the city itself didn’t look that impressive until one looked out to the ocean. A wide stone bridge over the water connected the city to another mountain, one that jutted right out of the waves. It wasn’t quite as high as the one on proper land, but it was what was on it that mattered.

There were a number of grandiose buildings built into the sides of the mountain, but at a certain point near the top, the entire mountain leveled off, supported by tall brick walls and natural cliff faces. Atop the plateau was the largest church Arkk had ever seen, stretching almost as tall as the mainland mountain. Arkk thought this might have been the first temple that he ever saw. There had been large churches in a few of the burgs on the way here, but this was on another level entirely.

Vezta would have hated it. Its white walls were adorned by golden symbols that seemed to glow, though that might have been a trick of the high sun.

Arkk didn’t see any storehouses and rotting food sitting out as he had heard, but this was just before harvest. Taxes wouldn’t have been collected yet.

There wasn’t much of a wall around the city. There was one, but it just ended at the mountain. The natural terrain was enough of a deterrent to any attacking forces. Two massive ballista-like devices sat atop towers on either side of the gate, ready to decimate any siege equipment that made it this far. Though, Arkk wasn’t sure if there had ever been an attack on the city before. Also unlike other burgs Arkk had visited on the way here, the guards around the large gate were stopping each cart.

Arkk was getting a little nervous as they approached. Why were the guards stopping carts? Had it been a mistake to bring Dakka? Would they reject her? What about Ilya? The elf had her ears tucked into a small hat again, hoping to disguise what she was from the Duke’s prying eyes, but if the guards ran up to her and started examining her, what were they to do? Fortress Al-Mir was well beyond reach at this point. He could still see it and move things around within his territory, but he had no territory anywhere nearby.

When Arkk finally brought their cart to a stop next to a pair of pike-wielding soldiers in blue and white striped tabards, he had worked himself into a nervous tension. One pikeless guard, along with a younger boy who held a note tablet and pen, stopped at the side of their cart. He barely looked up at Arkk.

“Local?”

“What?”

The guard threw a flat look at Arkk. “Are you from around here?”

“Oh. No.”

“Name, origin, profession if relevant, and purpose for visit,” the guard said in an utter monotone.

Clearing his throat to buy a moment for his bewilderment to die down, Arkk answered honestly. Mostly. “Arkk. I’m from Smilesville. Here to purchase a few books, if possible, and maybe have a look at mercenary work.”

The guard changed his demeanor with the mention of mercenary work, now looking over them with a bit more of a critical eye. He started with Arkk, looking him up and down, before turning his attention to Ilya and finally Dakka. When he turned back to Arkk, he let out a small breath through his nose. “Right,” he said, a slight laugh in his tone.

Arkk pressed his lips together, unsure of what the guard found funny, but decided not to comment. The guard wasn’t calling for Dakka’s head. It wouldn’t be a good idea to press their luck.

“Are you or any of your companions wanted in any of the four great states?” the guard asked, tone bored once more. Arkk shook his head, still not sure about Dakka but not willing to say yes to this guard no matter what. In response, the guard moved on with what had to be a script that he read dozens of times a day. “Are you transporting any magical artifacts, cursed items, enchanted items, or holy items?”

Again, Arkk shook his head. “No, Sir. Just what you see here. We’ve got some food and camping supplies, but nothing else.”

Arkk wasn’t even sure if the guard heard him, because he just continued with another question. “Are you transporting any alchemical solutions, magic reagents, or blighted fungus?”

“No.”

“Are you or any of your companions practicing necromancy?”

Arkk shifted, hesitating a moment before quickly shaking his head. “No.”

“Are you or any of your companions currently infected with blighted fungus?”

Arkk glanced to Ilya, who gave him a blank look, then back to Dakka. The orc offered a shrug and a shake of her head. “I… don’t think so. No.” Arkk honestly had no idea what that was. It sounded bad. If they were asking about it, it probably was bad.

The guard looked up again, rolled his eyes, and started waving his hand as he stepped back. “Whatever, you’re probably fine.”

“Oh.” Arkk blinked twice, surprised. Was blighted fungus not something to worry about then? “So, we can go in?”

“Don’t cause trouble.”

“No, Sir.” Arkk started to grab the reins, only to pause and look back to the guard. “I don’t suppose you know where we might be able to get lodging and food for a few nights?”

Arkk did not miss the way the guard’s eyes flicked to Dakka before answering. “The only place I would try if I were you is Primrose.” He looked into the city, beyond the large gate, and pointed with his entire arm. “Down the street, take a left turn at the large brown building toward the end. From there, continue forward until you reach the waterfront. Follow the waterfront past the harbor and you’ll eventually see Primrose down a street on the right. It has a yellow and black sign.”

“Right. Thanks.”

As they followed the guard’s directions, Arkk couldn’t help but think that the people who passed through Langleey Village were wrong. Almost every one of them mentioned the fresh salt-sea air as being something wonderful about Cliff—or any oceanside town. But now that he was tasting it for himself, Arkk did not agree. It wasn’t crisp like the air after a long rainstorm. It was… soggy. The air hung in his nose. If he were being honest, it made him feel a bit nauseous.

He definitely would not be bragging about the ocean breeze anytime soon.

The next big shock were ships. As big as the Baron’s manor with massive spires of wood sticking out of them. He had heard about them from visitors, but seeing one in person? He could hardly believe they floated, let alone moved. He had seen shallow-bottomed riverboats before, so he tried not to be too surprised. It wasn’t a very good try, however. These ships were in an entirely different class.

Continuing along, the wonder of the city started to die off as he realized that the route the guard had provided was taking them into progressively less well-maintained sections of the town. Buildings weren’t quite as intact as they had been elsewhere. Rotted wood that didn’t fit together in snug seams, possibly rotten from that unpleasant salty air, made up most of the buildings out here.

Perhaps he should have noticed earlier, but entering this section of the city just made it all the more apparent that demihumans and beastmen weren’t exactly welcome around Cliff. From the gates up until about halfway through the harbor, Cliff had been dominated by humans. The guards hadn’t barred Dakka from entering and the occasional demihumans were wandering around. Here, however, was the opposite. The occasional human was interspaced by elves, dark elves, and orcs for the most part. Arkk did spot a gremlin smoking a pipe while leaning against a wall, a pair of fairies flying overhead on their thin wings, and even what he was pretty sure was a sphinx lounging outside one building.

Neither of his companions spoke, but Arkk could feel the dour mood that had settled in as they continued through the city.

Arkk almost missed the turn for Primrose. It wasn’t even that he was distracted looking at demihumans he had heard about but had never seen before. There was a signboard but the colors on it were so faded that he would have been better instructed to look for a gray and slightly lighter gray signboard where the remnants of paint were maybe in the shape of a primrose flower.

A small stable next to the Primrose building handled the cart and horse for a small fee. He had long since broken down a few gold coins into a pouch of silver on their journey, which was by far preferable. Paying in gold was sure to draw attention and it was kind of a waste; when faced with a gold coin, a lot of merchants didn’t have enough silver on hand to cover the difference… or they didn’t want to cover the entire difference because then they wouldn’t have any silver themselves. Arkk had ended up overpaying for a lot of goods unintentionally but was unable to do anything… and then there were the merchants who, upon seeing a gold coin, suddenly had price increases on all their wares.

Primrose was a stayover cabin, although a bit larger than the three they had stayed in on the journey. Most larger burgs had them. It was a strange concept, a building dedicated to people traveling. Smaller villages, including Langleey, housed visitors in the local church or individual homes if there was a spare room.

The entire ground floor was dominated by the smell of roasting meat. Several people, mostly demihumans with the occasional beastman or human thrown between, occupied a number of tables. The kitchens were over on one side, but Arkk spotted a woman behind a rounded counter that looked like the right place to start.

The proprietor of Primrose was an elderly little human. Her hair was almost as silver as Ilya’s, though from old age rather than a natural coloration. She leaned forward when Arkk approached, holding a hand to her ear.

“Do you have any rooms available?” Arkk asked, raising his voice.

The old woman slowly ran her eyes over the group. Once finished, she opened a small drawer at the counter she sat behind and pulled out an old iron key in a shaking hand. “Two silvers a night,” she said.

Arkk raised his eyebrows but didn’t argue. That was less than half the price the stayovers in the burgs had charged. “Not sure how long we’ll be staying,” Arkk said, handing over three nights’ worth of payment. “If we stay longer, is that a problem?”

“Only if you don’t pay, dearie,” she said, sweeping the coins into another drawer.

“Good. Good. I don’t suppose you would know the best place to acquire books on magic and books—or just someone to talk to—about history?”

“I don’t know much about history, but the magical academy built into the mountainside is where all the spellcasters study.”

Hopefully one of the spellcasters there would have more information on purchases. He wasn’t all that interested in sticking around, learning magic at the academy in the long term. He wanted books he could take back home. Scholars seemed like a good place to start with history as well. He wasn’t sure that they would find anything on Fortress Al-Mir or Vezta’s former master, but anything they did find might be useful.

“How about somewhere we might inquire about mercenary work?”

Somewhere behind him, Arkk heard a distinctive snort. He half-turned but didn’t see who it might have been. Ilya leaned close, whispering in his ear, “Does everyone think we can’t handle ourselves? If they saw what we did at the barrows…”

Arkk just shrugged his shoulders as the old woman began talking again. “You’ll want to stop by the garrison,” she said, then looked over Arkk’s shoulder. “But they won’t enjoy the presence of your companions.”

Lips pressed together, Arkk nodded. “And… is there any method to go about getting a meeting with the Duke?”

The old woman stared. Her mouth flapped a few times, but no words came out. She just stared.

It wasn’t just her. There was a small ripple effect through the room where casual conversations died off into hushed whispers. Even those were quickly silenced. Arkk wondered just how many people had been listening in on his questions.

“Did you hear that boys?” someone eventually shouted. “They want a meeting with the Duke!”

That was the signal for the entire room to descend into a fit of cruel laughter. It didn’t last long and regular conversation sprung up again. The few words Arkk caught of it now centered around their group and what they could possibly want from the Duke. Or what they could be thinking. Ilya’s face darkened as the conversations continued, making him wonder what her sharp ears picked up.

“Well, thanks for the room and information,” Arkk said with a polite smile to the old woman.

“Upstairs, down the long hallway, third door on the left,” she said, leaning back. “Don’t make trouble.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that today,” Arkk mumbled, shooting a glance at Ilya.

The room wasn’t bad. It was as worn down as the rest of the building, but the bed looked decent enough. There was only one bed, but no one present was bothered by that. They slept in the back of the cart on a few of the nights when they hadn’t made it to any villages or burgs.

“What were they laughing at?” Ilya hissed as she tossed her rucksack on the floor.

“Maybe if we were dressed in our nice clothes rather than our travel clothes,” Arkk said with a small shrug. He had known that just walking up and meeting the Duke wasn’t going to be as simple as it sounded. They would have to figure something out. For now… “How secure do you think this room is?” he asked, looking at the handle on the door.

“I could break the walls down with my shoulder,” Dakka said, knocking her knuckles on the wood. “Doubt it would be that hard.”

“Yes, but how likely is that?”

“If they—” Dakka paused, stepped away from the wall, and dropped her voice to a near whisper. “If they see how much you’re carrying around? Guaranteed.”

“Is it really that much? I only took a small—”

“A single gold coin is a life-changing amount to most of the people living here,” Dakka interrupted. Arkk clamped his jaw shut but was fairly happy to be interrupted by the orc. He would much rather have her speak her mind than be stiff and unresponsive. “I’ve never been here, never spoken with anyone who lived here, but you can just tell by looking around the place.”

Arkk nodded slowly. He had noticed on the way in but hadn’t thought about it in terms of coins. A part of him wondered why the people here stayed here. Everything was so run down. Shunted away into the ass-end of the city as they were, the demihumans were not welcome in the rest of the city. He had only spoken with two people so far and both had insinuating comments to make about Dakka at the very least.

They all had two legs—or wings in the case of those fairies—why stick around? Langleey had been happy to have the help of a bunch of orcs that had attacked only a few weeks prior. Surely other villages nearby would be the same. If they put in a bit of work in helping out the farms, they would surely be more welcome out there than inside the city.

“Well,” he said, approaching the window. There was no glass. Two heavy wooden shutters swung outward, allowing light and fresh air in. His nose wrinkled as soon as he realized that fresh air meant ocean air, but he looked out nonetheless. The tall church in the distance gleamed in the sunlight over the tops of nearby buildings. “We’ve got some starting places,” he said. “The magic academy and the garrison.”

Aside from the church, the view out the window wasn’t that good. Just rooftops for a street or two before taller buildings blocked the rest of the city. He couldn’t even see the water of the ocean.

“The latter of which isn’t a good place for us,” Ilya said with a frown. “And the former… I have no idea what I’d even be looking for in a magic library.”

Dakka grunted in agreement. “You want to know more about…” she hesitated, glancing at Ilya for a moment. “About an elf consort of the Duke’s?”

Ilya pressed her lips together, shooting a mild glare at Dakka. The phrasing could have been better, but it wasn’t exactly inaccurate. “My mother. Alya,” Ilya eventually said. “I don’t know exactly what the Duke wanted with her, but… She would have appeared here roughly fifteen years ago.”

“Sounds like a job I can do,” Dakka said, motioning toward the door. “Kick around these parts, find the places where people ask questions, and see about learning why everyone laughed at our meeting with the Duke. If I read the atmosphere right, they’ll be more willing to talk to me than a human and an elf hiding her ears.”

“Will you be alright on your own?” Arkk asked.

Dakka snorted. Or scoffed. Both? “I’d be more worried about you two.”

“I can take care of myself,” Ilya said with a note of irritation in her tone.

“I’m going to try the garrison first,” Arkk said. “Tomorrow morning. Then I’ll head over and see if I can’t find anything at the academy. Ilya, do you want to go with—”

“I want to explore.”

“Explore?”

“Just… run through the city for a day. See it with my own eyes.”

“Alright,” Arkk said after a moment. “I don’t have to tell you to be careful.”

Ilya nodded, adjusting her hat.

“Well, I don’t know about the two of you, but whatever they were roasting downstairs smelled like the best thing I haven’t eaten. I’m going to go correct that. Join me?” Arkk asked, glancing between the two of them.

Having had nothing but travel provisions for the last day and a half, since they left one of the burgs, the two of them readily agreed.

 

 

 

“And then they just left.”

Arkk looked around the room, staring at the morose faces. Well, one morose face.

Fortress Al-Mir had undergone some reorganization. The orcs had a whole village-sized section of the fortress to themselves. Heavy iron doors fabricated by the blacksmith wouldn’t let any of them cross over into a more secluded area for him, Ilya, and Vezta. He and Ilya even had private rooms, made using the same living area magic that allowed the orcs to create personalized homes for themselves.

His room was a fairly simple affair with wood flooring and wood panels on the walls. A large open room covered with a rich violet rug. He had a remarkably comfortable bed, a desk, and a shelf that held just a single black book at the moment. Stone shields hung from the ceiling like chandeliers, their maze-like pattern broken up by a compass rose with a bright gemstone in the middle.

Ilya’s room was a bit more extravagant. It looked like a slice of a castle, complete with a roaring stone fireplace, massive four-poster bed, and large windows that, despite being underground, still managed to look out over the Cursed Forest as if her room was set in a high tower.

Vezta had denied needing room.

This room, however, was a dedicated meeting room. It too had walls adorned with maze-engraved shields with compass roses and gemstones. That seemed to be the theme of this place. There was a large table and… that was it. Rekk’ar and Olatt’an sat on one side of the table. Ilya sat next to Arkk. Vezta stood to his other side. Of all of them, Ilya was the only one who looked concerned.

“Horror from beyond the stars?” she repeated, smile a little tighter than normal. Slowly, Ilya looked over to Vezta.

“First, that is highly insulting. Beyond the stars? Really?”

Ilya glanced over, losing her concern for a moment as she raised an eyebrow. “That’s the part you have a problem with?”

“I am from the [STARS]. Not from beyond the stars,” she said slowly as if explaining to a child. “Whatever does that mean? These humans know nothing about me.”

“It’s close enough that it gave me a start,” Arkk said. “The orcs we gave to the Duke must have described you. It probably wasn’t a very accurate description, but they still got that much right. That’s enough to be alarmed over; these inquisitors did not look that friendly.”

“They didn’t follow you, did they?” Ilya asked. “Did they see the teleportation circle?”

Arkk shook his head. “I watched from the Baron’s manor until their carriage disappeared over the horizon. The circle is hidden behind the carpentry workshop. They wouldn’t have seen it coming or going.”

“Master,” Vezta said, lips turning to a frown as she spoke. “It may be prudent to destroy the teleportation circles.”

“Destroy? But how will—”

“Not permanently, Master, but anyone capable of magic will be able to appear within our walls at will. With these hostile magic users in the area, the circles are a liability.”

Arkk put his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers. He could already see Ilya ready to object if he agreed. Vezta was right, of course, but Langleey was their home. Arkk had little doubt that Ilya would abandon the fortress long before she abandoned the village.

Not that they were abandoning it if they destroyed the circles. It would just be less convenient to reach. To her, that was probably the same thing.

“We’ll move them,” Arkk said. “Out of the library and into a more secure room. Perhaps on the surface. Somewhere that someone would have to try to get down here. The passage up and down will be beyond the section of the fortress where the orcs live.”

Rekk’ar, despite caring nothing about the drama of humans showing up knowing something about Vezta, leaned forward and hit the table with his fist. “You plan to use us as guards?”

Arkk, though he flinched at the fist hitting the table, met Rekk’ar’s eyes without wavering. “I hired you all for something. That something is certainly not farm work, as you handily proved yesterday. You’re telling me you don’t want to fight either? I don’t believe it.”

Rekk’ar held Arkk’s gaze for a few seconds longer before letting out a laugh as he leaned back in his seat. “The human can be taught. Wonderful.”

Suppressing a roll of his eyes, Arkk just shook his head. “Speaking of fighting, I wanted to discuss the possibility of mercenary work for the orcs.”

“Mercenary work?”

“You know, hunt down some highwaymen who are causing trouble for travelers or—”

“I know what mercenary work is,” Rekk’ar growled. “I’m asking what jobs you have for us. I imagine some of the rowdier crew would love to get out and take some heads.”

“I don’t have any. We would need to visit a city that posts jobs.” Arkk glanced aside at Ilya.

Her eyes widened. “Now? In the middle of harvest?”

“Lousy as the orcs were at working the scythes, we did clear out the entire oat field. That is a massive load of work off the village. They’ll be fine without us for the remainder.” He paused a moment, taking a breath, but quickly started speaking before Ilya could say anything. “Not to do anything about your mother. At least not yet. We’re going for mercenary jobs, we’re going to get some spell books, we’re going to take a look that will help us come up with a better plan for Alya, and now… we need to go to figure out just what this Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox might be planning with us.”

Turning to his other side, Arkk looked over Vezta. The prim and proper servant looked perfectly prepared to agree to whatever he asked. “Can you handle things here for… a week? Two? I hope we wouldn’t be gone longer than that but I honestly don’t know how long it will take to reach Cliff.”

“I am unable to command the [HEART] as you do, I cannot construct rooms or mobilize your forces as you do, but I will defend the [HEART] to my dying breath.”

“I meant, can you keep things running here without the fortress falling to pieces?”

“Oh. That should be possible, yes.”

Nodding, Arkk looked at the two orcs. “I have no idea what your group is both capable of and willing to do. If one of you…”

Olatt’an slowly shook his head, making Arkk trail off. “Your power keeps most in line. With you gone, keeping order falls to us. After that stunt you pulled with the farming, if one of us—”

“Stunt? That was reparations.”

Rekk’ar scoffed. “Whatever you call it, it’s made us… unhappy. If one of us is gone, you’ll come back to a burned-out husk of a dungeon.”

Vezta narrowed her eyes. “I won’t allow it.”

“Then you’ll return to a bunch of dead orcs.” Rekk’ar shifted in his seat, clenching his teeth like he didn’t want to admit something. Even still, he opened his mouth. “I’m not strong enough to keep twenty angry orcs in line. Olatt’an carries some respect, but not enough. Aside from that… well…”

“There is a chance I won’t be popular in most human cities,” Olatt’an said, smiling a sad smile. “There is a chance those mercenary postings you wish to look at carry sketches of my face.”

“Alright,” Arkk said with a frown, shooting a glance at Ilya before looking back to Olatt’an. “Do I want to ask?”

“Doubtful.”

Arkk pressed his lips together but didn’t ask. Olatt’an was the most levelheaded of all the orcs. He knew he had something of a past to have earned the moniker of Ripthroat, but all the orcs had a past. Whatever he had been, he wasn’t anymore. And Arkk really couldn’t afford to lose him if it meant riots.

He would ask one day. But not today.

“Take Dakka,” Olatt’an said. “You might not have noticed, but she has been trying to draw your eyes more often lately.”

“Draw my eyes?”

“Besides,” Rekk’ar cut in with a hardy laugh. “She’s short. Less threatening to humans.”

With her massive axe and spiked shield, Arkk didn’t think she was much less threatening. “If we’re going based on that, Larry’s the best choice.”

He meant it as a joke—Arkk severely doubted that Larry would be able to talk about the groups’ capabilities or willingness to do certain jobs. However, neither of the other two laughed. They just glanced at each other. Arkk took a breath and closed his eyes.

“Is he on wanted posters too?” he said, taking a guess based on their expressions.

“He told you that he had a shack in some human village.”

“Pineberg Burg,” Arkk said, remembering.

“He didn’t tell you why he left.” Olatt’an pressed his lips together. “They found a little girl’s body chopped up in the woods behind his home.”

Ilya gasped. “He didn’t…”

“Says he didn’t,” Rekk’ar said. “And I believe him. I mean, look at the oaf. He’s got a gut, but doesn’t have the guts.” After laughing at his joke, Rekk’ar’s face turned serious once more. “When the executioners are on the hunt and you’re an orc in a human settlement, you don’t stick around.”

Arkk closed his eyes, nodding his head. That made an unfortunate amount of sense. He had wondered why Larry was part of their group since first spotting him. It was because he had no choice.

“But Dakka is fine? Not wanted in many cities?”

“Doubt it.”

“Fine. Ilya, Dakka, and I will leave in the morning. You work with Vezta to keep things running here. Destroy the teleportation circles.”

“You can’t use them to get to the city?” Olatt’an asked.

Arkk glanced at Vezta, who shrugged. “I was told that they have a limited range. And to make the existing ones, I had to show Vezta where to put them. I’ve… never actually been to Cliff. I don’t know the way there. I might find it by searching along the roads but…”

“Nor have I,” Ilya said, a slight tremble in her lip. She straightened her back, took a deep breath, and nodded at Arkk. “Let’s do this.”

In all his years, Arkk had never left Langleey Village. He had ventured out to the Cursed Forest, and a bit beyond, and Stone Hearth Burg sat just on the edge of the forest he and Ilya had been hunting in. Those were close enough that they didn’t count. He had never been outside the forested plains that Langleey Village was at the center of.

It wasn’t that travel was too far or the journey was overly dangerous. He just never had a reason to do so. There was work to be done around the village. The travelers who passed through might have filled his head with adventure and excitement but when the sun came up, it was time to head back to the fields.

Ilya had left the village twice as far as Arkk knew. Once just a few weeks ago when she had taken a small group of orcs to Smilesville Burg. Once as a young girl, before her mother had been taken. Arkk didn’t know where they had gone, but Ilya hadn’t bragged about it. So, she had never left it either. All Arkk knew was that it was something about her ancestral people.

Walking along the road out of town, Arkk glanced at their third companion. Even though she was the shortest orc in Fortress Al-Mir, she was still just a bit taller than Ilya. Her black hair was tightly woven against either side of her head but was loose on top, hanging down one side of her face to her chin. Dozens of metal rings adorned her ears and even more metal covered the majority of her body in the form of armor.

Arkk considered asking her about her travel history, but… after hearing about Olatt’an and Larry, Arkk wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“Are the roads very dangerous these days?” he asked instead.

It took Dakka a moment to realize that Arkk was talking to her, not Ilya. She stiffened, glancing at him with her red eyes. She had dark paint under and around them, presumably to help against the glare of the sun. After taking a long moment to consider his question, she finally answered. “We never traveled the roads,” she said. “If that is what you’re asking.”

“I was wondering more about your armor. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us. It isn’t too late for me to send it back to the fortress if you don’t want to lug it around.”

Ilya had her black and white elvish bow and Arkk had a sword—though he planned to use magic over metal if at all possible—they had otherwise packed light. Well, mostly light. A significant fraction of the weight Arkk had in his pack was gold.

“If… you don’t mind, Sir, I would prefer if I kept my equipment.” She sounded stiff, afraid of offending him. “You said we would hire a wagon in the next burg.”

“That is true, but we won’t reach it today.” As much as Arkk would have liked to take horses from Langleey, they just couldn’t spare them at the moment. Not with the harvest going on.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve walked much more than a day with the horde.”

Arkk let the topic drop. Occasionally, as they walked on, he would try to draw Dakka into a conversation. The topics ranged from thoughts about what Cliff might be like with Ilya, musings about what Vezta might get up to in their absence, and even what kind of travel food was best. Dakka gave clipped responses, grunts that might have been agreements or disagreements, or just tried to avoid getting looped into the conversations altogether.

By the time night fell and they stopped for camp, Arkk was wondering if he had done something to upset Dakka. They didn’t speak often, but when they did, he hadn’t thought their interactions were quite so stiff.

Ilya took the first watch.

Partway through the night, Arkk found himself shaken awake. Nothing happened during Ilya’s watch. Her brief statement about whatever she had seen had been more of a yawn than a proper sentence but she kicked him off the small mat and immediately crawled onto it. Through the link between them, he could tell that she had fallen asleep almost the second her head hit the pillow.

At the same time, through the same link, he could tell that Dakka was not asleep. At least, she wasn’t anymore. The orc hadn’t brought any kind of mat and was just leaning up against a tree, shield over her body as if it were a particularly stiff blanket. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was steady, but Arkk could still tell that she was wide awake.

The fire was still going, he noted. It wasn’t a proper wood-burning fire, but the same magical ritual he had thought was a light spell back when he first found Fortress Al-Mir. He didn’t think it should have lasted this long, but…

Well, the [HEART] provided a massive advantage to spellcasters in that it refilled its contractor’s magic at an absurd rate, according to Vezta. The more minions and territory, the greater the capacity and throughput. So he wasn’t too surprised that the little flame was going.

Crouching down next to the flame, trying to warm himself up a bit, Arkk kept stealing glances at Dakka, wondering if she had slept at all. Was she worried about an attack? Ilya hadn’t been or she never would have just fallen asleep as she had, and elves could see at night and hear better than humans or orcs could.

Then what? Was it him? Ilya?

“Are you alright, Dakka?” he said, deciding to just ask. He didn’t look up from the fire as he spoke, still rubbing his hands together and holding them over it.

Dakka remained still for a long moment, but she eventually opened her eyes. “You knew I was awake?”

Arkk shrugged. “Guessed,” he lied. He hadn’t told anyone the full power the [HEART] gave him over those in his employ. Being able to teleport them around within his territory was alarming enough. They didn’t need to know more. “Did I do something to upset you?”

That got a reaction from her. Her eyes widened and she sat up straight. “No. Of course not.” She paused, then added, “Sir.”

“Why so formal and stiff? I don’t remember you being this way back in the fortress. You usually seemed… excited to see me, if anything.”

“We’re on a mission,” Dakka answered after a long moment.

“It isn’t that kind of mission. We’re just camping and traveling together as friends, not marching off to kill another demon summoner.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah. I mean… unless…”

Maybe that was the wrong word to use. He had kind of threatened Dakka, along with the rest of the orcs, into joining up with him. Ostensibly, he was her superior in whatever hierarchy the fortress had. Vezta had said that he was to be a leader, but he didn’t feel like the position was right for him. Rather, he felt like a babysitter, watching the village children while their parents went on a long hunt. Instead of rambunctious children, they were an army of orcs.

Dakka leaned back against the tree, slowly closing her eyes without saying anything else. Arkk figured the conversation had died a miserable death, but she slowly started speaking.

“Hearing movement around me while I sleep is generally a sign that something bad is about to happen.”

Arkk looked up, but her eyes were still closed.

“I would wake up to find the bottoms of my boots missing, my axe slammed against a rock to dull or chip its edge. Or, I might even be woken up by the others throwing stones at me.”

“The orcs did that?” Arkk asked, aghast. “Because you’re a little smaller than the others?”

“There is always a runt.”

“Not here,” Arkk said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, both Ilya and I are smaller than you.” Even if it wasn’t by much in Ilya’s case.

“Physically,” Dakka countered. “She’s your right hand. You’re… you.”

“Regardless, neither of us are going to attack you. I fully intend to get a few more hours of sleep, so you best be up for watch in a couple of hours. That means getting rest.”

Dakka’s eyes snapped open. She stared for a long moment, utterly still, before speaking slowly, one word at a time. “You… trust me with watch?”

“Of course? Should I not?”

“No! No, Sir! You can count on me.”

“Good. Then get some sleep.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And quit that. I’m just Arkk.”

Dakka stared, nodded, then closed her eyes again. She didn’t fall asleep immediately, of course, but Arkk felt her doze off before too long. Before waking her up for watch, Arkk spent a few minutes examining Fortress Al-Mir. Even away from it, he could still see everything going on inside its halls. He could even move its occupants around at will if he needed to. Not that he did, right now. Everything seemed calm and business as usual.

Come morning, Dakka was a bit less stiff and stand-offish, so Arkk counted their little conversation as a win. She even started a conversation or two on the walk. Nothing consequential, just small talk about fighting, mostly.

All conversation came to an abrupt halt as they spotted Smilesville Burg.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have come here,” Arkk said slowly.

Ilya looked sick. “Barbaric.”

The burg itself was a large city. Ten Langleey Villages could have fit within its walls. It had walls. Large stone defensive walls with periodic towers along them. Homes and other buildings dotted the land outside the walls, and the land itself was covered in fields far larger than Langleey had. People toiled around in the fields. It was harvest here as well.

But what really stopped the conversation were the wooden poles erected along the path to the city.

Rotted, fetid corpses of orcs hung from ropes on the poles, dangling in the light breeze as carrion feeders pecked at bits of dangling flesh.

Arkk kept his eyes locked on the sight but used his power over the [HEART] to check on Dakka. A strange double-vision hit Arkk, letting him see the orc as if he were facing her. She looked on, face mostly impassive. To her, this didn’t matter, it was just a thing that happened. Arkk wondered if the slight curl in her lip was a smile. Given what she had said last night, some or all of those might have been among her tormentors.

How many of the orcs in his employ had attacked her in her sleep?

Eventually, Dakka glanced over. “Why did we stop? You knew they were going to be executed when you brought them here, right?” she shrugged. “They deserved it.”

“I didn’t think they’d…” Ilya trailed off, shaking her head in disgust. “It’s been weeks! They should have buried them.”

“It’s a warning to other raiders,” Dakka said with another shrug. “Stay in line or go for a swing.”

“Ugh.”

“Stay close to us,” Arkk said. “Don’t want them getting any ideas about you. Let’s just see if they’ve got a cart we can buy, some provisions, and get out of here before anyone notices we’re here.”

“Like they’re going to miss me,” Dakka scoffed. Still, as they started walking again, she stepped closer to Arkk, sliding between him and Ilya.

In the end, Arkk had rushed their departure even more than he thought he needed to. The more they walked through town, the more it looked like a lynch mob might form. It was a shame. He had wanted to check around and see how one might take on mercenary jobs. Getting jobs at the closest burg, one still within range of Fortress Al-Mir, would have been convenient.

Still, even as hostile as the town was, they were more than willing to accept a few gold coins for what he needed. Supplies, a horse and cart, and directions.

With that, they were off toward the City of Cliff.

 

 

An orc with deep, almost red skin shot Arkk a dark look. Pausing his scythe-swinging, Arkk glared back until the orc averted its gaze.

Several under his employ were a bit unhappy with the situation. He recognized that mutiny might be near but this was something he wasn’t willing to budge on.

Harvest wasn’t a simple thing where one day everyone woke up and decided to harvest everything all at once. These things came in waves. Several crops overlapped; beets, oats, and barley all needed to be harvested within a few weeks of each other. Corn and beans would be a few weeks later. Winter wheat and sorghum came a few weeks earlier. Barley and oat fields were by far the largest, requiring the most work and the most effort to reap.

So, he had carefully explained to the orcs that, because they attacked his village, they would be paying reparations in service. Harvesting service, specifically. Although being hired as employees through the [HEART] required payment or some kind of promised exchange, they were not being paid for this specifically. Each orc was to receive one gold coin a month with special bonuses available for special services—combat if it should become necessary, blacksmithing, and Larry got a special stipend for his services as a butcher. Arkk was forcing every orc, even the likes of Rekk’ar and Olatt’an, to help with this year’s harvest if they wanted to remain employed. They were not receiving anything extra for it.

It wouldn’t be reparations if they were being paid.

Not his most popular decision. Still, no one had said no. Not after five of the fifteen orcs from the barrows had refused to join him. Those five had been sent in chains to the nearest burg where the Duke’s men would hopefully deal with them according to the laws of the land. No one was too keen on joining them.

Arkk sighed as he went back to sweeping the scythe over the ground, cutting the stalks of the oats. Things had settled into something of a routine over the three weeks that had passed since the barrows incident. He felt like he was starting to get used to his new life as… whatever he was. Owner of a magical fortress. Leader of a bunch of orcs. He preferred the former to the latter.

Honestly, part of the reason the orcs were sweeping scythes through the field was that he just didn’t know what else to do with them. It was easy for Vezta to say that minions would come in useful, but they couldn’t just sit around in the fortress all day every day, could they? They did seem content for now, especially after he had turned one of the rooms into a big pit for brawls with room for spectators and betting, but that wouldn’t last.

Looking around the field right now, Arkk decided that farm work was not an option. While they were doing the work, they were not happy with it. He had snapped at a few of them earlier who looked like they were deliberately sabotaging the harvest with wild and careless swings of their scythes.

No. Farm work would end up a disaster in some way, of that Arkk had no doubt. Was there other work they might be interested in?

Aside from Larry, working the kitchens and butchery, only one had stepped forward for a specialized position. Perr’ok. He didn’t talk much but did mention that his father had forged for the Duchy toward the end of the war with the Evestani Sultanate that ended thirty years ago. He took over a smithy that Arkk had constructed within the fortress. Aside from those two, everyone else was a raider. Warriors.

As much as Arkk hated the Duke, he did not want to start a war. If warriors weren’t to go to war, then…

Mercenary work?

That seemed like an idea. Now that it was in Arkk’s head, he couldn’t help but nod to himself in satisfaction. The orcs would likely revel in the opportunity. Maybe he could even use being sent on missions as a reward for good behavior.

Arkk talked with everyone who passed through Langleey Village. Several of those people were mercenaries. There was always work to be done. Sometimes it was protecting a merchant as they carried valuable goods between locales, hunting down criminals, taking out groups of highwaymen accosting travelers, and plenty of other martial matters.

Arkk didn’t need money with that gold mine still filling his coffers, so perhaps some could go to the village? Maybe even other villages, again as reparations.

As for the rest, the orcs needed some funds to bet on their fight clubs. A little income to gamble away would probably make morale soar.

Looking up from his work, Arkk found Rekk’ar and Olatt’an not far away. Rekk’ar looked as if the ground itself had been stringing insult after insult at him, but Olatt’an had a relatively soft expression on his face as he carefully swung his scythe through the stalks of oats. The older orc was a mystery to Arkk. For someone the others all spoke of in hushed tones, someone who others called the Ripthroat, he was… surprisingly mellow. Given that he was by far the oldest orc around and Arkk lacked a real frame of reference for orc culture—or the culture of these raiders—Arkk had to wonder if aging had calmed a more violent youth.

Or if he was just good at hiding it.

Before Arkk could head over to ask their opinion on his new idea, he spotted something beyond them.

A carriage drawn by a pair of horses with a man in a black cap seated at the reins barreled up the path toward the village. It wasn’t just any carriage either. The glossy walls gleamed with a shiny black lacquer and it had glass windows. As it turned along the path leading past the fields, he spotted the blue and white striped shield that was typically used by official representatives of Duke Levi Woldair and the Duchy as a whole.

The only representative that passed through these parts was the taxman.

Setting his scythe down, Arkk started across the field. He did not rush after the carriage immediately. Instead, he headed toward the adjacent barley field. Most of the villagers stuck to this field, not exactly keen on being near a bunch of angry orcs. More importantly, Ilya worked in the barley fields.

He spotted her quickly. The large straw hat couldn’t hide her long silver hair. She had her head down, back to the path. Had she not seen the carriage?

“Ilya!”

She glanced back, keeping her head down. Her silver eyes, wide with alarm, met his beneath the straw hat. Carefully looking around, eyes drifting toward the path, she pressed her lips together. In a hurry, she tucked her long silver hair down the back of her shirt before readjusting her hat to cover as much of her hair as possible. As soon as that was done, she tucked her long ears up into the hat.

“They’re weeks early,” she hissed as Arkk ran up.

“No large carts following them,” Arkk said, looking back down the path. “They aren’t going to take any tax in that small carriage. And it was so nice looking too. Never had something like that visit before.”

“I don’t like it,” she said, pulling her hat down tighter. “Something is different and I doubt it is for the better.”

The carriage had disappeared behind the terrain and a few buildings for a few moments but quickly came back into sight as it climbed the slight incline of the path leading to the plaza. “I’m going to find out what they’re here for. Find Hale. She can get you to the fortress if necessary.”

“Hale?” Ilya’s silver eyes darted around. “Where is Vezta?”

“Back at the fortress, working on a… special project for me.”

In her worry over their visitors, Ilya didn’t question what that project was. She simply nodded her head. Arkk still hadn’t told her about Vezta’s goal. He kept meaning to, but how did one bring up undoing the Calamity? He had time to figure it out.

“What about the orcs?”

Arkk bit his lip. “They almost certainly saw the orcs already. It would be too suspicious if they just disappeared now. If we convince them that the orcs were just a traveling troupe assisting with harvest instead of where they came from…” His eyes widened as he realized just who the people in that carriage were most likely to speak with first. “I need to get up there and stop the Baron from opening his big mouth.”

Arkk took off without another word.

He wished he could simply teleport up to the village proper. Within Fortress Al-Mir, Arkk could move anywhere at will. He could also move himself and any of his employees to the fortress. However, the village was not part of his territory. He couldn’t teleport to it, only from it. The lesser servants had to claim territory for the [HEART] and, with the relatively large distance between the fortress and the village, Arkk had decided to have them focus on the gold mine rather than spend the time slowly crawling toward the village. The teleportation circle worked well enough.

The teleportation circle didn’t help now. It could only go from a designated point to a designated point. He couldn’t even draw one. Vezta tried to explain how to select the destination location but it had gone over Arkk’s head.

It took a few minutes to run up the path. Because of that, he wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find the carriage deserted save for the coachman, who was now fanning his face with his large hat. Ignoring him for the moment, Arkk crossed the large garden before Baron Gert’s manor and opened the door without bothering to knock.

Voices were coming from a sitting room just off the entryway. Arkk meant to listen in for a moment before barging right into the conversation. An extremely tall man with thick sideburns and thin glasses stood just aside the open doorway, fiddling with some whittled decoration the Baron had on a shelf. He looked surprised for a moment but put on a smile.

“Ah,” he said, “it seems we have a visitor.”

“Visitor?” the Baron said, stepping into view. As soon as he saw who was there, he started beaming. “Arkk! I was just telling them! This is the hero of Langleey Village.” Stepping out and grabbing hold of Arkk’s arm, the Baron led him into the sitting room.

Two others were inside, both unfamiliar. The first was a rather small man with a tablet of papers he was looking at. He wasn’t that small, but next to the man with the sideburns, he looked tiny. When the man looked up from his papers, he started squinting as if he couldn’t see Arkk well at all.

The other person in the room was a woman with wild black hair. She stood near the window, apart from the others, and stared out. She must have seen Arkk coming, though she didn’t bother looking his way. Even without her turning toward Arkk, he could see several thick scars running over her face. The skin around her eyes was dark like her skin had charred or she had rubbed black ash on her face.

“The hero of Langleey Village,” the tall man said, drawing Arkk’s attention back to him with a clap of his hands. He stepped closer to Arkk, towering over him. He had to look straight down while Arkk craned his neck up. For a human, he was extremely tall. Maybe taller than Ilya, though only by a small bit. However, if he was trying to be intimidating despite his smile, it wasn’t going to work on Arkk.

After all, every orc was as tall if not taller and ten times as muscular. After dealing with them every day for the last few weeks, a skinny tall guy standing a bit too close was kind of annoying rather than unnerving.

“The dear Baron was just regaling us with tales of your heroic deeds.”

“Exaggerations, I’m sure,” Arkk said, not taking a step back. “I’m just a farmer. And sometimes I go out hunting.”

“Oh?” the tall man said, stepping past Arkk to look at a portrait on the wall. A painting that Gert’s wife had done of the river. Probably. It wasn’t that good of a painting.

“Arkk! You’re too humble. He fought off a hundred orcs that day and all their goblins too!”

Arkk closed his eyes. “Definite exaggerations,” he said with a sigh. “I only killed between five and ten orcs. And several goblins. I wasn’t exactly counting at the time.”

“Still quite impressive,” the tall man said, picking up a small wooden horse from the Baron’s mantle. As he spoke, he turned it over a few times like he wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to be. “I know several proud knights who would have balked at facing even a few orcs.” Sharp brown eyes met with Arkk’s eyes. “How did you do it?”

“I’m a spellcaster with some proficiency in lightning magics.”

“Ah, a fellow sorcerer?” He set the horse back down on its side as he stepped closer to Arkk again. The Baron slipped behind him to right the horse. “Where did you study? Hollens Sorcery Academy is my alma mater. Lovely trees around Hollens.”

Arkk’s eyes widened as he shot a glance around the room, wondering if all of them were spellcasters. They all wore a uniform of sorts. Long black coats with two columns of silver buttons down their front, holding the vests of their coat together with thin straps. Each had a small pin on its collar, a little metal depiction of an eye, except instead of a pupil, it had a vertical bar, adorned with a few notches, touching both the top and bottom of the eye. The shorter man seated on the couch was scribbling things down, looking more like a scribe than anything else, and the woman still had her back to the room as she faced out the window.

Realizing that the taller man was still waiting for an answer, Arkk shifted uneasily. “Didn’t have any formal training,” he said. “Our town is sometimes visited by passing mercenaries and other travelers. I learned from the books of any who were willing to show them to me while in town.”

“Self-taught? And you’ve managed a lightning spell with some degree of success?”

“It is my best spell.”

“Anything else?”

“A handful of minor, beginner-level rituals. Most blow up in my face,” Arkk admitted. When he did so, he couldn’t help but notice the tall man and the short man making eye contact for just a moment, leading to a bout of furious writing from the scribe. “Are… you not the tax collector, sir?”

The tall man looked back to Arkk, teetering backward for a moment before letting out a brief breath; the start of a laugh. The laugh ended before it could get going as the man realized that Arkk was serious.

“How rude of me,” he said, entirely taken aback. “Introductions slipped my mind.” He motioned his hand to the shorter man. “Chronicler Douglas Greesom.”

The shorter man kept writing for a moment but looked up to Arkk with a squint before dipping his head in something that might have been a greeting.

“Purifier Agnete,” he continued, moving his hand toward the window.

The woman finally looked toward Arkk. Arkk couldn’t help but suck in a breath. Her eyes…

They reminded him of Vezta’s eyes. Not quite the same. This woman’s eyes were more human, but the whites of her eyes had gone dark. Not completely pitch-black slices of the night sky, just gray, but still. And her irises… Vezta didn’t have irises or pupils, just burning golden suns, but this woman’s irises had a luminescent yellow quality to them, though that might have been the light from the window.

She didn’t nod a greeting or otherwise react. After that brief glance shocked Arkk, she simply turned back to continue gazing out the window.

Some long-lost relative of Vezta? Arkk doubted it. Although her eyes were odd, she was human. He couldn’t quite explain how he knew that, he just did.

“And finally,” the tall man said, moving his hand to his chest. “I am Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox.”

He maintained his gaze through his thin glasses. The way he stared and the way he dipped his voice a bit deeper than he had been speaking made Arkk think that he expected some sort of reaction to his unfamiliar titles.

Whatever reaction he had been expecting, it probably wasn’t a sigh of relief. “So, you aren’t the tax collector?”

Vrox—or Darius; Arkk wasn’t sure if both were his name or if one was a continuation of his title—stared a moment before letting out a barking laugh as he clapped his hands together. “Oh, I can’t say I’ve ever been mistaken for a taxman before.”

“Not many others visit bearing official seals of the Duchy,” Arkk said. “Figured you were a collector wanting a report on the village’s yield for the year. That’s why I rushed over. I’ve been working in the fields these past few days and feel I have a pretty strong grasp on what we’ve got. If you aren’t the collector… uh, sorry for interrupting your meeting? Nice to meet you,” he said, slowly backing out the door.

Arkk didn’t know exactly what an inquisitor was, but he talked with everyone who came through the village. He had heard of them before, usually in hushed whispers. They somehow worked for both the church and the crown, hunting down the most dangerous individuals in the greater Kingdom of Chernlock, of which the Duchy was a member state.

Although he didn’t know what they were here for, not being present felt like a much better option all of a sudden.

“Mister Arkk,” Vrox said, tone polite yet slightly less pleasant. “We had a few more questions regarding recent events in the area.”

Grimacing, Arkk stopped. He shot a glance at the Baron. This was his job, wasn’t it?

He got a helpless shrug in return.

“The demon summoning. Tell us what happened.”

Although the Baron paled at the mention of demons, Arkk sighed in relief. Of course they were here for that. Not him, Vezta, or Fortress Al-Mir. They probably heard about it from the captured orcs Arkk had sent to Smilesville Burg.

“I’m not sure what to say. There wasn’t a demon summoning. We stopped it.”

“With the orcs now tending your fields?”

Arkk nodded, even though far fewer of them had helped to stop it than were present. “They warned us of the summoning and helped us fight their old chieftain and the orcs loyal to her. After all was said and done, those surviving orcs who refused to assist were sent to Smilesville Burg for the Duke’s men to deal with. The rest agreed to help with the harvest as reparations for attacking in the first place.”

“And the orcs were fine with you sending several of their number to execution?”

“Yes.” Seeing Vrox’s raised eyebrow, Arkk elaborated. “Their old chieftain was not popular, to put it simply, nor was anyone who willingly followed her.”

“I see…”

Arkk shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fully expecting a barrage of questions to follow. What were the orcs going to do after? The orcs had likely raided other villages under their former chieftain, should they not face the consequences of their actions? Why weren’t these orcs going to the Duke’s men for judgment following their reparations? What authority had Langleey Village to determine the fates of these orcs?

Instead, Vrox clasped his hands behind his back, taking a few steps forward to loom over Arkk once again. “You have neglected to mention the facet of this incident that I am most interested in, Mister Arkk.”

Arkk nervously swallowed. “And that would be?”

“The horror from beyond the stars.”

Arkk didn’t have to hide his confusion. Although he tensed, knowing they were talking about Vezta—she had said that she came from the [STARS]—he was still taken aback by the phrasing. “Horror from beyond the stars? I…” He trailed off, glancing around the room. All three of the inquisitor’s group were staring at him now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now, you’ve deliberately avoided mentioning the presence of that creature. You well know what I speak of.” He wrinkled his nose, all traces of good humor absent from his features. “I could smell its presence draped over you from the moment you walked in.”

“That’s… probably sweat from working in the fields. Sorry, sir, but it is hard work.”

“Black and gold eyes. Blue skin. Appears solid, yet made of slime. Numerous tentacles.”

“Oh!” the Baron said, raising a finger. “Vezta. You’re talking about…” He trailed off, looking between Arkk and Vrox, perhaps realizing that he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“So you do know it,” Vrox said, the corner of his lip twitching into an unpleasant smile. “I do not appreciate being lied to.”

“She’s not a horror,” Arkk said, mind racing. “She helped the village in a time of need. How were we supposed to know who you were talking about before you described her?”

Vrox moved back from Arkk a step, turning slightly to look at the chronicler. “Where is it now? I would love an encounter with the creature.”

Encounter. Not meeting. Arkk didn’t like this man’s choice of words.

Vrox turned back to Arkk after his question and stared for a long minute, eyes boring into Arkk’s as if he could detect a lie through willpower alone.

Maybe he could. Arkk didn’t know that much about magic.

“She appeared just in time to help fight the initial raid on the village and stuck around until the demon summoning was successfully stopped. Vezta hasn’t been to the village in at least a week,” he said with a shrug, picking his words carefully. He was telling the truth in full. It wasn’t his fault if the inquisitor took it the wrong way.

After another minute of uncomfortable staring, Vrox’s smile snapped into place. The same perfectly polite, friendly smile he had first used when Arkk walked in. “Shame. If it has moved on, nothing to do about it I suppose. Agnete, Douglas.”

The shorter man stood immediately, offering the slightest bow to the Baron before hurrying out of the room. The woman seemed much more reluctant to leave. She lingered at the window, staring out with a stony expression on her face.

“Agnete,” Vrox said again.

That was enough to get her to turn aside. She strode across the room with rigid movements, hands clenched into tight fists that made the leather of her gloves creak.

Away from the sun in the window, Arkk noted that her eyes didn’t glow nearly as much as Vezta’s did. However, the thick scars that marred her face did glow. Faint yellow-red lines at the deepest crevasses in her scars made her look like she didn’t have blood under her skin, but hot iron straight out of the smithy furnace.

She stopped in front of Arkk, locking eyes with him. Her lips, darkened much like the skin around her eyes, parted ever so slightly. “You feel… empty…” she whispered, voice barely carrying to Arkk’s ears. It looked like she was going to continue, but ended up turning and leaving the room instead.

“Your cooperation is appreciated, Baron of Langleey,” Vrox said with a shallow nod of his head. Stepping away from the Baron, he stopped at Arkk again. “You should visit the local Abbess and request a purification ritual.”

With that comment, he turned and left the room as well. The front door to the Baron’s manor clicked shut behind them.

Arkk let out a long sigh, stiff back turning to putty.

“I thought they would stay a little longer,” Gert said, obviously disappointed.

Arkk just shook his head. They had stayed quite long enough, in his opinion. He wasn’t sure if Vrox had believed his implication that Vezta wasn’t around anymore. Regardless, he had a feeling that Vrox would be back one way or another.

 

 

 

Ilya grasped at her side, teeth clenched tight. The ointment that Abbess Keena had slathered onto her wound helped to numb the pain, but only while sitting still. She tried not to move too much, but at the same time, she didn’t want to appear injured.

The orc, Dakka, sported a similar wound. A deep gash right in her side nearly twice as long as Ilya’s wound. She wasn’t grimacing and limping around. The Abbess hadn’t even tended to the orc. Yet Dakka carried around her ridiculous shield riddled with spikes that had to increase its weight by an absurd amount and her battle axe that looked like it could cleave a tree in two with a single swing. Neither hampered her movements in the slightest.

Orcs had always been a hardy sort. Ilya wasn’t envious, but she still didn’t want to lose.

“So what now?”

Ilya’s ears twitched as she picked out the gruff voice of the burly orc leader, Rekk’ar. He wasn’t speaking at full volume, instead having dropped to something akin to a whisper. She looked around carefully, not wanting to get picked out as an eavesdropper.

Arkk was ensuring the orcs who were emerging one by one from the barrows were disarmed and suitably cowed. Several of the villagers were helping, along with the healthier four of the six orcs who had been captive. Those orcs had already turned on their fellows before Arkk’s arrival and needed little convincing to keep those who had beaten and imprisoned them in line.

Dakka stood not far behind Arkk, snarling at the occasional orc while looking at others with pity in her eyes.

But Ilya’s eyes focused on Rekk’ar and Olatt’an. They were both nearby as well, though standing off a few paces. Close enough to ostensibly support Arkk, but far enough as to carry on a conversation in private.

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Ilya looked away. Her gaze focused on the next orc crawling out of the low tunnel, but her ears focused on the two behind her.

“What now?” Olatt’an said, voice even quieter than Rekk’ar’s. “We made an agreement.”

“The human? You can’t intend to carry through.”

“And what would you do, Rekk? Steal off into the night? Find another horde to join, raiding villages until the Duke’s men are finally roused from their sloth? You’ll die like a dog, pathetic and whimpering.”

Rekk’ar snarled at the older orc, loud enough to draw attention from more than just Ilya. The two fell silent. Rekk’ar glared at anyone who dared look in their direction, including Ilya when she chanced a glance. When they finally started talking again, Ilya had to strain to hear their hushed voices.

“The winds are changing. The stars are changing. In times like these, best to be on the side of change, wouldn’t you agree?”

“The human? He’s a boy. A peasant.”

“With the company he keeps, do you believe that? All great men and women, whether orc, human, or any other species, began their lives as boys and girls. They must begin somewhere.”

“He didn’t even fight. The coward hid behind us. Did the chieftain ripping your teeth out also rip your spine out?”

Ilya tensed, fingers curling tight around her bow. Toothless, she knew, was an insult and slur among orcs. The kind of insult that started fights to the death.

Yet, to her surprise, the old orc just let out a low chuckle. “You didn’t see his eyes, did you?”

“Eyes?”

“When his woman cried out.”

Ilya bristled. They were talking about her. “His woman?” she grumbled under her breath. She shot a glare at Arkk on reflex, though with his back turned, he would never know it.

“Red,” Olatt’an said after a short moment. “Glowing red. Could you not feel the charge in the air at that moment?”

Ilya raised an eyebrow, glare on Arkk turning to a curious examination. Arkk had blue eyes. Bright blue eyes. It would be hard to mistake them for red. Unless, of course, orcs saw color differently than she did. Ilya honestly didn’t know.

And glowing?

“I was a bit caught up in the fight,” Rekk’ar said, murmuring.

“There is a lecture on awareness here, but I’ll spare you for the moment,” Olatt’an said with a friendly laugh. His tone sobered again as he said, “Regardless of your thoughts, my interest has been piqued. If he turns out to be nothing, I’ll leave, but for now, I wish to see his change for myself.” He shrugged. “I can think of far worse, less honorable fates than serving a human boy in any case. Serving our former chieftain, for one.”

“Good riddance. That is one thing I will give the boy. Watching her squirm in her final moments was the most satisfying experience I had with her.”

“If you decide to leave, that is your choice. Just know you’ll get no support from me.”

A grumble from Rekk’ar ended the conversation. The two split apart after, with Olatt’an simply walking around the captured orcs while Rekk’ar went to yell at one that might have been looking too uppity for his liking.

Ilya remained where she was, eyes still following Arkk. He looked tired. Exhausted. Even more so than after the battle in the village. Ilya could only imagine that his lethargy came from Ken’s death, Benji’s arm, and the various other injuries the villagers had sustained. Ken’s death stung Ilya as well. He had always been a nice guy, even if his beer was terrible.

But he hadn’t died under Ilya’s command. He hadn’t died while following Ilya’s plan.

It was too much to hope that everyone would have survived a battle like that. Arkk would beat himself up over it anyway.

Arkk’s eyes, his blue eyes, met with Ilya’s for a moment. He gave her a smile. Not exactly a joyous smile, but a smile nonetheless. Straightening his back, he seemed to recharge just a bit before turning back to the disarmed orcs. Ilya wasn’t sure if he was planning on hiring them as well.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. The four who had come to them with the warning about their chieftain were understandable. The six captives as well. Even the two who had surrendered in battle, maybe. But there were another fifteen who had crawled out from the other side of the barrows. They were all murderers, but at least the others had turned on their demon-summoning chieftain.

Ilya wanted to toss them to the Duke’s men for trial. They would probably end up executed, but that was the consequence of raiding villages.

Leaning back, gripping her side again as the movement shot pain through her wound, Ilya stared at the night sky. A million tiny lights stared back as she considered the orc’s words. The winds and stars changing? She didn’t see anything different.

With a shake of her head, she steadied herself. She would have to warn Arkk of the orcs and their possible desertion. And, at the same time, she would have to keep a closer watch on Arkk.

And Arkk’s eyes.

“No! Hale!”

Hale jolted back at the sudden shout. She almost tipped her chair over. Only the wild swinging of her arms kept her stable long enough to kick her foot into the bottom of the desk, knocking her back forward.

Arkk was back. Under other circumstances, she might have run up to him, demanding to know what happened and why he had left her alone for so long. The obvious anger on his tired face locked her into her seat.

The book she had been reading disappeared from the desk in front of her, reappearing in Arkk’s hand. He stared down at its black and red cover for a long moment, looking angrier with the book than he was with her. Thankfully. The book disappeared from between his fingers after a moment. She didn’t miss it reappearing on a much higher shelf than she had found it on but did her best to keep her eyes on Arkk.

“You can’t be reading books like that,” he said, voice hard and angry.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know. It just appeared and—”

“I know,” Arkk said, taking a breath and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I forgot you were here.”

“You forgot?” Hale glared. Arkk didn’t look quite so upset, so she felt like she could get away with a little anger of her own. “Where were you? It’s been days. You just left me here? And that thing wouldn’t even let me leave!” Hale said, pointing to the little monster that was guarding the door.

“It hasn’t even been one day,” Arkk said with a sigh. He locked eyes with Hale. “I need you to understand, that was not a good book. Don’t do anything you learned from it, okay?”

Hale crossed her arms, frowning. “I couldn’t read most of the words,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I was just looking at the drawings!” she snapped. John had taught her some words, but not most of the ones in that book. Instead, she had been looking at all the drawings. There had been a lot of skulls, for some reason. Skulls and circles like the one Arkk popped out of just a moment ago. And maybe directions for moving her hand in a specific way while casting spells. “What happened with the orcs?” she asked, sitting up.

“Oh, well…” Arkk trailed off, glancing back to the magic circle just as it flashed with a faint white light.

A hulking green-skinned man stood in the middle of the circle. He had a flat nose and black hair that ran around his face and chin. Yellow eyes locked on Hale. As he stared, he curled his bottom lip away from two long tusks.

Hale jumped out of her seat, hiding behind Arkk.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, patting her on the head. “This is Rekk’ar. He helped fight the bad orcs.”

“Bad orcs?”

“You employ children?” the orc said, voice like the lumberyard saw.

“No. And step out of there,” Arkk said, waving his hand away from the magic circle. “I don’t know what happens if someone tries to come through while someone else is standing inside. I would really rather not find out.”

Grumpy. That was how Hale would describe the orc’s movements. The way he stormed across the floor, crossed his arms, and even how his eyes looked over the empty shelves of the library. He was grumpy about it all. Not quite angry but he didn’t want to be here.

“Empty place.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

“Mhmm…”

Arkk didn’t speak with any kindness in his tone either. The two didn’t exactly glare at each other, but Hale doubted they were as friendly as Arkk had tried to make it sound.

The magic circle flashed again a moment later and another orc appeared. This one was much older, with brown-tan skin rather than bright green. Although he looked mildly surprised to see Hale, he didn’t sneer or growl at her. He just looked at her for a moment before examining the rest of the room. When he finished, he offered Arkk a polite nod of his head.

Hale liked this orc much better than the other one.

“Well,” Arkk said, shifting. “Welcome to Fortress Al-Mir. Most of the place is empty, but Vezta drew up some schematics for rooms she thought you and your kin would need.”

“Where are we?” the green orc asked.

“The middle of the Cursed Forest.”

“The Deadlands?”

Arkk shrugged. “The people of Langleey call it the Cursed Forest.”

“We’re in the Cursed Forest?” Hale gasped. “We can’t be there!”

Arkk glanced down, running a hand through her hair. “Right. We should send you back to the village.”

“No! I can be good.”

Rolling his eyes, Arkk shook his head. “Fine. When I go back, you’re going back with me. Understand?”

“Okay.” Hale didn’t want to be left behind with orcs anyway.

“Come,” Arkk said to the orcs. “I’ll show you where you’re staying. We’ll discuss further arrangements and duties later.”

“Duties?” Green-skin said with a growl as they walked down a stone corridor. “You expect us to work?”

Hale was more focused on her surroundings than on the orcs now. Every few steps, a small blue-purple gemstone glowed on the floor. They passed some huge doors built into the walls, each of which opened for the tan-skinned orc as he peered inside.

“I did hire you. I’m fully prepared to continue paying you a regular allotment.”

“And where would we spend our pay?”

“I…” Arkk trailed off. He clearly hadn’t thought about it.

The tan orc saved him from having to answer. “Every room we’ve passed has been empty. Not much here, is there?”

“As I said, it is a work in progress,” Arkk said, stopping at a door. Hale wasn’t sure what made this room different from the last. It was just as empty as all of them, but he stepped inside. “Wait here,” he said, motioning for them to stop just inside the door.

A pile of gold coins appeared at his feet from nothing. Hale’s eyes bulged as she stared. John occasionally got work for the merchants, mercenaries, and adventurers that passed through town. Often to make new arrows or, occasionally, to repair broken parts of carts and wagons. They usually paid in small silver coins. Hale had only seen a gold coin once before, and John hadn’t wanted it, saying it was too much for the job.

Arkk stood over an ankle-high pile of gold coins.

The coins didn’t stay in place for long, however.

The room changed. Instead of the gray tiles patterned with points and those blue gemstones, smooth dark tiles rippled into place within the room. The bright yellow flames of the torches on the walls snuffed out. In their place, more glowing stones formed in fancy star-like patterns. They weren’t as bright as the torches but combined with the dark tiles, it made the atmosphere a lot cozier.

“You turned an empty room into an empty room,” the green orc said with a disgruntled snort.

“Well, if Vezta was right, you should—”

The tan orc interrupted Arkk, stepping into the room. “There is magic here.” After looking around the room with narrowed eyes, his gaze settled on the corner nearest to the door. He walked over and held out a hand.

A thick wooden pole sprouted up from the dark tiles a short distance from the wall. Several smaller poles emerged nearby, arrayed around the large pole. Crossbeams locked into place near the tops, joining all the poles together. Sheets of leather, stitched together like they had come from a number of different animals, unfurled from the crossbeams, forming an upright, circular tent. The orc shoved aside the front-most section of leather, the only piece that wasn’t fastened to the upright poles.

A bed sat against one wall of the tent. Fur rugs covered most of the floor, though a small pit dug a short distance into the ground burned as a small campfire. The flames had a little pewter pot resting on long legs. Something bubbled inside. Taking a deep breath of the air, Hale felt her mouth start to water. Meat and potatoes in a thick brown gravy.

The orc hung his crossbow from a hook attached to the center pillar. He undid some of his armor as well, hanging up a heavy armguard that was probably just there to keep the sharp blade on the crossbow from cutting into his arm. “This,” he said, reemerging from the tent, “will suffice.”

“How did you do that?” the green-skinned orc growled.

Arkk looked like he wanted to know too. Naturally, Hale listened close.

“I just did what felt natural.”

Grumbling under his breath, the green-skinned orc moved up to the spot next to the large tent and held out his hand. He seemed to struggle a lot more but did get something to pop up from the ground.

It wasn’t as fancy as the large, circular tent. The green-skinned orc managed to make a triangular tent with sloped leather walls. It did have a bed inside, but was much shorter than the circular tent and lacked the little campfire.

Ignoring the complaints from the orc about the state of his dwelling in comparison to the tan-skinned orc, Hale hurried over to a different side of the room and held out her hand.

No matter how much she tried to ‘do what felt natural,’ she didn’t manage to get anything to pop up out of the ground before Arkk herded her back to the village.

She scowled the entire time.

Dakka stalked through the halls of Fortress Al-Mir, armor clinking and clanking with each step. Some of the others had taken to leaving their gear behind in their quarters. Not Dakka. Her shield hung from the back of her armor and her axe was looped into a rope strung around her waist. She had an image to maintain and could not afford to be seen as anything less than a ferocious warrior.

She had been the runt of the group for long enough.

Her position of power wasn’t anything formal, unfortunately. In fact, if she hadn’t had the good fortune of being put on watch with Rekk’ar and Olatt’an the night they slipped away from the barrows, she likely would have been a nobody here, assuming she had survived at all. Just another face among the horde. As it was, she wasn’t consulted often.

Rekk’ar had taken up the position of leader for their horde, working under Arkk. They butted heads but had yet to come to blows. For the first few days, Dakka had thought that Rekk’ar would challenge Arkk for leadership, but that had yet to come to pass. Arkk had powerful magic and… well… Vezta wasn’t someone anyone wanted to cross.

Olatt’an helped keep things calm as well. Arkk tended to go to Olatt’an next. As he should. If Arkk knew anything about orcs, he would have ignored Rekk’ar entirely. The Ripthroat, though his teeth had been stolen by the old chieftain, still managed to command respect.

Arkk came to Dakka third. It wasn’t often, as he usually stuck with the first two when he needed to discuss living arrangements or figure out if any of the orcs were skilled blacksmiths to work forges that he had conjured up from a small pile of gold. However, Arkk came to her often enough for the others to take notice. Dakka did her best to flaunt her position as much as possible without being too overt about it. She couldn’t appear desperate.

Of the four that Arkk originally hired, only Larry was left out.

Not that the oaf minded.

Dakka stopped walking at a large door not far from the living quarters. A cheerful, oblivious whistle drifted out from inside, along with the sound of panicked, clucking chickens. Peering inside, she watched Larry happily wring the neck of a chicken before he started plucking the feathers, filling a large basket. Three other chickens, already plucked clean, hung from hooks above a long, bloody table.

At least he was being useful. That was more than Dakka could say about half the orcs Arkk had hired.

Dakka continued, heading toward the neighboring tavern. Every day, she made use of the training room for longer than anyone else. It worked up quite the appetite. When considering it like that, Larry was perhaps the most useful of all of Arkk’s hirelings.

Before she could reach the door, Dakka heard the clink and clank of armor that wasn’t her own.

Turning her head, she narrowed her eyes.

Kazz’ak was in full armor as well. What was more, he had a heavy war pick out and in his hands. His movements were not overtly hostile, but his eyes were locked on Dakka. She knew a challenge when she saw one.

Dakka wished she could say she was surprised. There were murmurs among the orcs. Following a human did not resonate well with some of them. She didn’t think that Kazz’ak had been a part of that group, but when someone crawled out of the barrows squealing that they had never wanted to serve their old chieftain despite never having shown signs of hesitance, she figured they would betray just about anyone to save their lives, honor be damned.

Kazz’ak was a head taller than her with a longer reach. His war pick would puncture straight through her armor if he got a good hit in.

So, he couldn’t get a good hit in.

Dakka struck first, unleashing her axe and swinging it around in one swift strike, putting him on the defensive.

She wasn’t sure why he was after her. Maybe he wanted her position as third in command. Maybe he held some grudge that she couldn’t even recall. Maybe he blamed her for their chieftain’s downfall and was too much of a coward to challenge Rekk’ar or Olatt’an. No matter what his thinking was, it was foolhardy.

Dakka swept her axe through the air, missing his arms by a hair’s breadth. She took care to keep her swings short and swift. They might not do much damage, but the attacks she was using wouldn’t overextend her either. Dakka had no intention of taking a hit from that pick.

If Arkk had been an orc, attacking and beating her might have been a good way to gain status, but he wasn’t. Arkk was a human. Dakka hadn’t spent a lot of time around humans but doubted he would be pleased to find fighting among his employees.

Their fight wasn’t silent. It didn’t take long for someone to step out into the corridor, notice the fight, and shout for others to come. Naturally, they didn’t help. They started cheering. Egging on the fight. Calling for bets, perhaps. Dakka put them out of her mind and focused on her fight.

Would Arkk punish her for fighting? Possibly. Especially because she could open her mouth and call his attention here at any moment. But that would just make her look weak. Like she had to hide behind him, to count on him to win her battles for her.

Kazz’ak’s eyes widened as his foot bumped against the spiked decoration on the tiles.

Dakka didn’t hesitate, swinging hard to capitalize on his poor footwork.

His foot slid aside the moment she started her strike, gliding out of the way. A feint? His strike was already coming in.

Giving into the momentum of her swing, Dakka pivoted around her foot. The war pick slammed into the shield on her back, making her stumble a step forward. As fast as she could, she continued turning around, adjusting the angle of her axe blade to keep the edge in line with her momentum. There was a bit of resistance in her turn, but when she rounded on Kazz’ak again, she saw him staring in surprise at his own empty hands.

The pick must have gotten stuck in the shield.

The blade of her axe bit into his chest. It wasn’t as strong as a proper blow would have been, but it still sent him reeling back, blood gushing to the floor.

Dakka was about to go in to finish the job when a force threw her back. She backpedaled, barely managing to remain standing, and eventually stopped.

Arkk stood between her and Kazz’ak. His eyes were wide, staring at the taller orc for a moment before rounding on Dakka.

“What is going on here?” he hissed.

She had been right. He was angry.

Dakka lowered her axe, keeping it in her grip but showing deference to Arkk. “He thought he’d get a promotion if he killed me, sir,” she said, taking a guess at his motivations. “I handled it.”

“What?” Arkk’s eyes flashed, briefly turning red as he rounded on Kazz’ak.

“No! I…” He met Arkk’s eyes for just a moment before ducking his head, not meeting Arkk’s gaze. Dakka took that as a confession.

Arkk apparently did as well. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking back to Dakka.

“Not a scratch.”

Nodding, Arkk looked back to Kazz’ak. He slowly looked around, staring at the watching orcs with a deepening scowl. Eventually, he looked to Kazz’ak once more. “Congratulations, you’ve volunteered to help me test a new spell,” he said, speaking loud enough that the entire corridor heard.

They both disappeared, popping out of the corridor.

Dakka curled a lip, hoping that Arkk’s new spell was a painful one. Looking away, she turned her gaze to the orcs. “Well?” she shouted. “Who all bet on me?”

It took a moment. A few of the orcs started cheering. Not as many as she would have liked, but enough that at least she hadn’t just raised a fist in celebration of an awkward silence.

She took careful note of the faces most upset with her victory and filed them away for later.

Dakka wouldn’t be a runt again.

Pontiff Benjamin Bernardin ascended the many steps to the Grand Old Church in a slow and methodical fashion. He paused often, making sure to greet everyone he passed. It didn’t matter if they were the lowliest acolyte or initiate, a random member of the public, or the Ecclesiarch himself—not that the Ecclesiarch visited Cliff. If no one was in sight, he would take his time and read from his copy of the Holy Texts. Perhaps even taking a seat on the stairs to do so. Others, he knew, saw his movements as pious, dedicated, and humble.

In reality, Ben did not wish to enter the old church out of breath and sweating through his robes.

He was getting much too old for this. If only he could be reassigned to some other province.

The City of Cliff, the Duchy of Mystakeen’s capital city, was not so named because it had been built on wide open plains. A grand river flowed out to the ocean, offering a wonderful harbor for trade and fishing. Much of the city had been built around the harbor, down where it was a bit more level. However, mountains surrounded the entire settlement. One tall spire jutted out right in the middle of the harbor, connected to the rest of the city by a fine stone bridge. Some great fool from ages long past thought a church set atop the island mountain would impress all who saw it.

It did. That didn’t make it any easier to reach.

For that reason, he was all too happy to pause upon a landing of the stone stairs that had been carved into the cliff face when he heard someone calling him from behind.

“Your Holiness!”

A much younger boy took the steps three at a time. He wasn’t dressed as any member of the church but rather had fairly plain attire. Ben didn’t recognize the boy’s face, nevertheless, he smiled when he saw him, raising a hand in greeting.

“How might I be of service this fine day?”

The boy shook his head, reaching into a small satchel that hung from his shoulder. “Just a message for you, sir,” he said, holding out a small letter.

Technically, a delivery like this should go all the way to his office in the church above. Ben didn’t blame the boy for wanting to shave off half the trip by delivering it to him directly.

It was a good excuse to stop. Ben didn’t mind in the slightest. “Thank you,” he said, pulling a few silver coins from his pocket to tip the young boy. “May the Light go with you.”

The boy looked far more excited about the coins than his words. Which Ben didn’t blame him for either.

Looking down at the letter, he noted the wax seal on the front. The marking of the Abbey of the Light had been pressed in. This particular version indicated that it was sent by either a priest or an abbess. That likely meant that it had come from one of the many tiny villages strewn throughout the land. It was a bit odd that the letter was coming to him. Local religious guides would normally send messages to their bishop, rather than to him.

Curiosity piqued, Ben broke the seal and pulled out the letter.

The more he read, the more alarmed he became. An army of orcs and goblins alone almost had him rushing back down the steps to the Duke’s manor. A demon summoning by those orcs might have had him crying in alarm on the spot were the passage not prefaced with word that the situation had been handled.

The small village with a population numbering less than one hundred, most of whom were not fighters, had managed to drive off the initial attack by the orcs. Then, after hearing of an imminent demon summoning, they allied with a few orc deserters to put a swift end to the orc leader’s plot.

Ben’s relief was short-lived, unfortunately. As he read further, he found the true cause for the missive. Concern over an unknown monster that aided the villagers. It hadn’t hurt any of the villagers, yet every time this abbess looked at it, it filled her with a deep unease and dread. A feeling of impending doom struck her.

And it wasn’t just the monster. The sensation was spreading to those with whom the monster associated most.

The letter was a simple plea for guidance. How to respond to such a monster that hadn’t obviously hurt anyone, and had saved them, yet caused such feelings within the Abbess. There were questions of whether or not the Abbess was imagining the feelings since no one else seemed to notice.

Ben skimmed past the remainder of the letter before returning to the description of the monster.

Hiking up his robes in a most undignified manner, Pontiff Benjamin Bernardin ascended the steps to the Grand Old Church in a hurry. He did not greet anyone as he passed them. He did not stop at each landing to admire the view. He made haste to the church’s archives, headed straight to the back, and pulled an old and dusty manuscript from the furthest shelf.

He flipped it open and began to read.

Every word turned worry into dread.

 

 

“She’s still down there. I can see movement.”

“It’s too dark to make anything out. Did she bury the glowstone knowing we were watching or did they get buried in the rubble?”

“Can she summon the demon without sacrifices?”

“Don’t ask me how it works, human. You’re the spellcaster here.”

“Does she have sacrifices?”

“We saved the other humans.”

“What if some goblins fell in with her, could she use those?”

Arkk stared into the crystal ball, trying to glean anything from the dark orb. Vezta stood to his side while Olatt’an, Rekk’ar, John, and Hurtt peered into the ball. Ilya sat on the ground not far away, refusing to stay put near the Abbess despite her injury.

The wounded were laid out on the grassy field, recovering. Those who could still carry weapons, orc and human alike, stood guard, watching for any stray goblins or orcs. Those guarding the entrance had already found them, though they couldn’t be counted among the living anymore. Arkk had not dug into the barracks yet. If those inside knew their chieftain was dead, they would be far more willing to surrender without a fight.

“Not too keen on getting close to her magic,” Olatt’an said, speaking as if he were discussing nothing more interesting than the weather. “Seen it do some nasty stuff to those who cross her.”

“Can we just leave her there?” Hurtt said. “She can’t escape, right?”

Arkk shook his head. Vezta would have been able to escape with her teleportation circles. He didn’t know if the chieftain knew any magic like that—he thought she would have used it by now—but it was too great a risk. Even if she couldn’t do that, who knew what else her magic was capable of.

“Drop the barrows on her,” Rekk’ar said, spitting on the ground. “Bury her alive. A warrior’s death is too good for the likes of her.”

“Will that kill her?” Arkk said. He could do it. Two of his lesser servants had died in the tunnel collapse, but he could summon more if the remainder didn’t suffice. “Quickly, I mean. I’m not going to take any chances. She dies tonight. If she escapes, this will only have enraged her even more. She’ll flee and summon another demon another day. One that we might not have the fortune of knowing about in advance.”

A moment of morbid silence followed Arkk’s words. The villagers paled at the mention of another summoning and the orcs didn’t comment on the likelihood of her survival. With the powers she learned from that book on her hip, Arkk guessed that they genuinely had no idea.

“I could stand at the top of the pit and throw lightning down it until she stops moving, but I’m sure she can toss magic back up…” Arkk glanced over to Vezta. “I don’t suppose we can carry out your former master’s final orders and get some help that way,” he said, vaguely. He didn’t exactly want everyone present to know about the [HEART] or anything to do with it if he couldn’t help it.

Vezta, unfortunately, shook her head. “Not unless you’ve dug up a magical researcher without my knowledge. I would suggest we recruit the chieftain but one who resorts to demon summoning is hardly an ally I would take comfort in having at my side.”

Nodding his head in definite agreement, Arkk asked, “Any other ideas?”

“I could drop down there myself and tear her apart.”

“Could you survive her magic?”

“I have survived a lot in my time,” Vezta said with a wan smile.

“But could you survive her magic?” Arkk asked again, not willing to let her skirt around the question.

She just shrugged. “Unsure.”

“A bomb,” Rekk’ar said. “Black powder. Toss that down and boom.”

“Where are we going to get a bomb from?” Hurtt asked with a sneer. “We’re a farming village, not an outpost for the Duke’s army.”

Rekk’ar bared his teeth in response, flashing his tusks. Hurtt, to his credit, didn’t back away, though he did look back to the crystal ball with a contemplative look on his face.

“Could we get a bomb?” Arkk asked Vezta.

“I’m sure we could acquire the materials, but without a skilled craftsman to put it together, I imagine we will face disaster.”

“Does anyone know how to make a bomb?” Arkk asked, addressing the others. He knew none of the villagers would.

Unfortunately, his two hopes glanced at each other. Olatt’an and Rekk’ar shrugged their shoulders, not saying anything as they glanced back at him. If any of the surviving orcs knew, they weren’t saying.

Arkk scowled, looking back to the crystal ball. He wasn’t sure why. The image in the glass was just darkness. He started trying to think of all he knew, which was distressingly little. Lightning, possession—which wasn’t something to be used on enemies, according to Vezta—and a smattering of rituals. Most of which didn’t…

Arkk blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “Wait, I can make a bomb.”

Ilya glanced up, scrutinizing Arkk. “Since when could you…” She trailed off, frowning. The frown quickly turned into a wide grin as her eyes widened. “You’re going to explode her.”

“I’m going to explode her.” He paused, looking at Vezta. “I haven’t exploded a spell since… then, but I haven’t really tried. I feel more in control of my magic, but that just means I should be able to let go of that control for this. Right?”

“Her blood,” Ilya said. “She was using it on the altar.”

“Perfect,” Arkk said, jumping to his feet. One of the lesser servants was already squirming over toward the barrows, ready to dig through to the room where the altar had been.

While the servant started digging, Arkk started ripping grass out of a large patch of ground. He wasn’t sure if the grass would interfere but definitely didn’t want to mess this up. Or rather, he did want to mess it up, but in a very specific sort of way. Tearing up the grass wasn’t easy. There was too much, and it was all too small.

Vezta saved him, gently moving him aside before a tendril swept across the ground. It left a thin smear of oil on the ground that ate the grass before quickly dissolving into nothingness, leaving dirt behind. She gave him a nod of her head before stepping aside, hands clasped together in front of her navel.

Arkk wasted no time, scrawling the tracking ritual into the cleared ground.

By the time he finished, the lesser servant had accomplished its task.

Vezta and Rekk’ar accompanied him into the newly dug tunnel, just in case there were still goblins clinging to the walls or if the chieftain had a surprise up her sleeve. However, they found nothing.

The altar was there, lit by a bowl of glowing stones in one corner. Arkk, having grabbed a leaf outside, smeared it through the still-damp blood on the surface of the heavy stone altar. What had to have been hours of work drawing out the intricate ritual were ruined in a second. Having what he needed, he turned to go.

“That’s it?” Rekk’ar said with a bit of a snort-like scoff.

“That’s it.”

Rekk’ar snorted again before grasping the side of the altar. Muscles bulging, he pushed. A bit of a creaking groan in the unstable ground had Arkk taking a few steps back down the tunnel, but Vezta stepped forward to assist. She grasped the altar with a myriad of tentacles and flipped it into the deep pit.

Screaming echoed out. Anger, not pain, unfortunately.

Rekk’ar looked to Arkk and shrugged. “Was hoping it would crush her. Now hoping it screwed up whatever she was surely planning down there.”

“If nothing else,” Vezta said, tendrils disappearing under her dress, “the glowstones may provide insight into her actions.”

“Well, shouldn’t be necessary now,” Arkk said, clutching the leaf tight.

He hurried back out of the barrow and rushed over to the ritual he had scrawled into the ground. Setting the leaf in the triangle, Arkk took up his position opposite from it. Just as he had done with tracking the stag, he poured just a little magic into the circle.

Ethereal silhouettes formed in his vision. He ignored the bush he had plucked the leaf from and focused downward. The orc chieftain glowed, appearing through the ground. She was working on something down there. From her movements, Arkk guessed that it was a ritual circle carved into the walls.

Not knowing what it did and definitely not wanting to find out, Arkk started to focus more magic into the spell. With the stag, the spell had started to fade and he had panicked, flooding it with magic in an attempt to keep the spell going.

Here and now, he opened the floodgates to their fullest intentionally.

The bush started to sparkle and crack first. Smoke drifted from its withering twigs. But Arkk’s eyes were on the chieftain down below.

She noticed something was wrong. Her scrawling stopped and she stared at her hands. That lasted a mere moment before she started panicking. Arkk couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing, but it didn’t matter.

Wincing, snapping his head back reflexively, Arkk grimaced at the sight.

He could see the chieftain’s blood, having used blood in his tracking spell. It was everywhere. The pit had a fresh coating all around its bottom. The largest mass of blood, presumably the remains of the chieftain, barely looked humanoid anymore. Just a smattering of ruined meat.

A cheer from behind him drew his attention to a whole crowd that had gathered around the crystal ball. A few of them, especially the villagers, looked like they were going to be sick. Hurtt, however, let out a loud whoop and promptly slammed his fist into Jorgen’s shoulder. The orcs were a bit more subdued in their reactions, though Arkk did not miss a glance exchanged between Olatt’an and Rekk’ar. The former nodded at the latter, a barely perceptible dip of his head.

“Vezta,” Arkk said, silencing the celebration with that single word alone. “Can you get me down there?”

“You wish to descend into that?” she asked, pointing a slender finger that dripped with a little tar toward the crystal ball. “Would you like to look first and reconsider? She appears to have suffered injuries quite incompatible with continued life.”

“I want to make sure.”

“It looks pretty sure to me,” John mumbled, averting his eyes from the crystal ball.

Vezta ignored him. “Very well,” she said, not offering any other argument as she walked to Arkk.

Together, they returned to the barrows. Vezta split apart into a mass of tentacles, losing her human guise from the waist down. Arkk raised an eyebrow but didn’t otherwise protest as she wrapped one tendril around his waist and under his arms while her arms wrapped around his shoulders, securing him in a harness made from herself.

The rest of the tendrils jammed into the rock walls of the pit. Using them as anchors, she started descending, jamming new tendrils into the walls as they went.

Arkk had experienced many strange things in the past several days, but this was probably the strangest. Still, he didn’t complain. Vezta was only doing as he asked.

The scent of viscera stung Arkk’s nose as they descended. He tried to breathe through his mouth alone, but it didn’t quite get rid of the pungent scent. It only made him taste a metallic note in the air.

He tried not to think about it.

He and Vezta soon reached the bottom. She kept hold of him, making sure that he stayed well above the pool of blood that had gathered at the bottom of the pit. The glowstones were coated in blood, making the light they put off an unpleasant, violent red color. It probably made the entire pit look worse than it was, but not by much.

Arkk… couldn’t take his eyes off the… thing. If someone had told him that it was an orc a few minutes ago and he hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have believed them. There was absolutely no skin left anywhere that had been exposed to air. He could see flaps of green flesh clinging to the interior of the cowl, which had also been thrown off the chieftain’s head. It had no eyes. No… anything. Bone. It had bone. The skull looked like something had tried to escape from inside it.

Arkk couldn’t help it. He vomited. Vezta kept hold of him, even going so far as to lightly pat his back.

“I did try to warn you,” she said, voice gentle.

“Yeah,” Arkk said, wiping the corner of his lip. “I… Remind me, if I ever want to try something like this in the future, to not.”

“But it was so effective.”

“Too effective. There have to be better ways of dealing with an enemy in a situation like this.”

“If you insist,” Vezta said with a sigh. “Shall we return?”

“Yeah, we—” Arkk paused, eyes roaming down the body of the orc chieftain. “Wait. Lower me, just a bit.”

“Lower?”

Though she questioned him, Vezta did as he asked. Arkk reached out, brushing aside now loose chains. The black book the chieftain had was, improbably, still black. It had managed to avoid the coating of blood that covered everything else. Arkk wasn’t sure if it was that its owner was dead or simply that he could easily grasp it, but the moment he touched it, he felt the [HEART] acknowledge it as his property.

The book vanished in a flash, reappearing on a shelf in his library for later perusal.

“Master,” Vezta said, her gentle tone absent from her now harsh voice. “I hope you are not planning something unbecoming of a Keeper of the [HEART] of Fortress Al-Mir.”

“I’m not going to summon a demon, Vezta,” Arkk said with a small sigh. “But if someone else has a similar book or similar magic, I want to know what they can do.”

Vezta hummed. Hugging him tighter, she somehow managed to turn Arkk around to face her. She didn’t say anything. She just stared into his eyes with her luminous golden suns.

“I promise,” Arkk said.

“Good.” Vezta moved her head closer, dropping her chin on his shoulder. She didn’t speak anything more, choosing to remain quiet aside from her tendrils puncturing the rock as they ascended the pit. When they finally reached the top, it felt like there was some reluctance in releasing him.

There was still much to do. The other orcs in the barracks needed to be dealt with. The wounded still needed tending. He needed to figure out what to do with the orcs they had rescued.

Their dead needed to be buried.

And yet, despite that, Arkk felt like a pressure had been removed from his back. The possibility of a demon appearing was no more. They could take their time. Do things carefully.

Arkk let out a soft sigh, wondering how an amateur hunter had wound up in this position.

 

 

“A barrow?” Arkk said with a scowl. There went his best plan.

The horde had holed up in an old burial mound some distance south and east of Langleey Village. He had been hoping for a nice open field where Ilya would have had a clear shot at the summoner from afar. Even if she couldn’t get a shot, somewhere open would have been better. Arkk had never been inside the barrows here. He knew from stories of mercenaries hunting down the odd necromancer that they weren’t spacious areas.

Tight quarters with around over a hundred goblins and a few dozen orcs sounded like a good way to get overwhelmed. If they were only attacked from one direction, the terrain might favor Vezta. Arkk couldn’t guarantee that, however.

“Is the summoning being conducted inside the barrow or out here?” Maybe there was still some hope for Ilya’s skills to put a quick end to the situation.

Olatt’an, the elderly orc with the battle-scarred face, shook his head. “The chief was preparing it within.”

“Damn.”

“Problem, ‘boss?’” Rekk’ar, the leader of the four orcs, said with a curl of his lip.

Arkk didn’t rise to his tone, instead taking the crystal ball from Vezta. He didn’t have as much control over it, being less experienced, but he had enough to scan through the tunnels beneath the earthen mound.

Goblins packed the tight corridors. There was only one entrance to the barrows, a narrow entrance that would probably force most orcs to duck as they walked through it. A short way in, the path split in three different directions. Following one goblin-stuffed path in the crystal ball, Arkk found what looked like a temporary barracks inside a larger chamber with skulls and other bones lining the walls. A little over a dozen orcs had cleared away the goblins, leaving space with small mats for sleeping on. The room and the corridors seemed to be lit with glowing stones similar to those that lit Fortress Al-Mir’s new library. Arkk wasn’t sure if they had been left behind by the ancients who had built the barrows or if the orcs had brought them in.

Following the center path, Arkk saw a much smaller chamber with a low altar. The altar was adorned with the same symbols as the Langleey church and it looked to have been built into the ground, meaning it was part of the original architecture. However, new symbols had been scrawled into the top using… well, it looked like blood, so it probably was. A much smaller orc stood hunched over the altar wearing a dark cowl and long robes, drawing a fresh profane symbol with her fingertips. It looked like she had cut her hand for the blood.

“That’s the chief,” Rekk’ar said, leaning over the crystal ball. “Fool,” he spat, watching her work.

“I thought orcs tended to follow the strongest of the group. She doesn’t look like much.” There were two other orcs in the room, standing near the entrance. Both towered over her. She might even have been shorter than Arkk or any other average human.

“Ah, but you don’t look like much either,” Olatt’an said, a smile creasing the wrinkles on his face. “Yet here we are, following you.”

“I… intimidated you into following me.”

Olatt’an nodded, then motioned toward the crystal ball. “The same is true here, though it is true that the only thing that saved the chief from being the runt of the group was her brother. Then she found that book in a village we… visited.” Tapping the ball, Olatt’an pointed at a thick tome that was chained to the cowled orc’s hip. A thick black book with glimmering red circles interlaced within each other on the cover.

Abbess Keena, though she stood a few paces away, narrowed her eyes. “The symbol of desecration,” she said, making a gesture with her right hand from her navel to her chin, then left shoulder to the left hand. She murmured a prayer as she did so.

“Whatever it is,” Olatt’an said, “it taught her magicks of foul nature. Put herself and her brother in charge after… embarrassing the previous leader.” Both Rekk’ar and Dakka, the shorter orc, looked to Olatt’an as he spoke with frowns spreading across their faces, but neither commented. “Turned our little group toward more vicious activities, taking more risks and… subjugating every goblin we came across. Be warned, the chief will not go down as easily as other orcs and the goblins will not fight against her.”

“Noted.”

After watching the summoner work for another moment, Arkk pulled the vision in the crystal ball back to the crossroads and followed the right path to another small open space inside the barrows. Goblins swarmed the room along with twelve heavily armed and armored orc guards.

“Humans!” John said with a gasp, looking over Arkk’s shoulder.

Three humans sat, huddled together. One was dressed in the tattered remains of what might have been a fancy suit at one point in time. To his left, someone wearing boiled leather armor tried to keep a straight back, but his face, black and blue with an eye swelled shut, looked like it had been used as a punching bag. A woman sat to his left, looking better than either of the other two yet still wearing the remains of a once fine dress. Arkk could see gashes along her arms and face, though none so bad as the armored man.

“The ones the chief is planning to sacrifice,” Rekk’ar said. “Looks like some more orcs have joined them.”

Six orcs were in the room as well, stripped of their weapons and armor. They sat apart from the humans yet they had not been treated any better.

“If we free them, they’ll help against the goblins and the chief?”

Rekk’ar crossed his arms. “We don’t speak for all orcs,” he said, then dipped his head slightly. “But it is likely, yes.”

“Good. Then—”

“Wait!” Dakka said, leaning close to the crystal ball. She pointed to two of the guards standing to the side of the room near the entrance. “That’s Orjja and Pett’en. They were thinking about leaving with us. If they knew there was another option…”

“Too late, girl,” Rekk’ar said with a sad shake of his head. “After our desertion, the chief will have her most loyal on watch. You’d never get in there. The most you can hope for is to shout in the fight and hope they hear over the bloodlust of battle.”

Dakka bared her tusks but slowly nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said, teeth clenched together.

The ones on watch, Arkk had already seen. The orcs had helped to point out where they would be. Three orcs stood outside the cave, crouched around a small campfire along with a bunch of goblins. But there were others, further out. The area around the barrows was made up of gently sloping hills with the occasional tree. Nothing as dense as a forest. Arkk had called the villagers and orcs to a stop well in advance of getting close specifically to avoid being spotted over the relatively empty plains.

“We need to take the watch out first,” Arkk said. “If we can get close before raising the alarm, we have a better chance at catching them before they bunker down. It looks like they rigged the entrance to collapse unless it was always that unsteady looking. Either way, I would drop the entrance, buying time to begin the summoning while any invaders were trying to dig their way in.”

“Master,” Vezta said, sliding forward. “If I may remind you of Fortress Al-Mir’s mines…”

“Mines? What… Oh. Oh!” Arkk’s eyes flashed with acknowledgment. “That… Does that work out here?”

“I don’t see why not. Those walls are hardly fortified and this barrow does not appear to have an active claimant that would hamper the magic of their teeth.”

“Got it,” Arkk said, mind churning over the possibilities. No matter what, however, they needed to deal with the watchers first to get closer. “These guards in the trees around the barrows need to go. Ilya, can you and…” Trailing off, Arkk looked over the group.

They had not brought most of the teens from the village. Only the eldest two. Nine men and six women had joined up. Of them, only Archie carried a bow. Despite his name, Arkk knew he was nowhere near a good enough shot to hit someone in a tree from a hidden spot.

Looking back to the orcs, Rekk’ar carried a particularly nasty-looking pike—more of a halberd—and Dakka wielded a shield covered in thick spikes alongside a battle axe large enough that Arkk doubted he could lift it. Olatt’an carried a crossbow but was quite the elderly man for an orc. The other carried a crossbow too, but… his size… any guard worth posting would see him coming long before he got within range.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Arkk said to the rotund orc.

The orc stiffened, drawing in a deep breath. “They, uh, they call me The Butcher,” he said, voice slightly deeper than normal.

“I’m not calling you that,” Arkk said, tone flat.

“Oh.” His shoulders slumped slightly, earning mocking laughs from all three of the other orcs. “I guess you can call me Larry then.”

“Larry.”

“That’s my name,” he said with a sigh.

“Not… Larr’ak or… something else?”

“No, I was raised among humans,” he said with a shrug. “Had a nice little shack to myself on the outskirts of Pineberg Burg. The village huntsmen would bring me their kills and I’d chop it up for them in exchange for keeping some for myself.”

Arkk blinked. “You were literally a butcher.”

“That’s what I said.”

Arkk closed his eyes and let out a small breath. “Why don’t we have you sit this one out?”

His comment got another round of laughs from the three orcs. Arkk got the distinct impression that they didn’t think too highly of their comrade here. Though, probably rightfully so. He didn’t look like a fighter and, if what he was saying was true, probably wasn’t a fighter.

How did he wind up in a group of raiders? A question for later. They only had about two hours before this ritual was supposed to begin. No time for chatting.

Arkk, left with little choice, looked to Vezta. He didn’t want to send her away. Without her at his side, even a small group of goblins would overrun him in moments.

Then again, this time he had the villagers at his back and the orcs, as long as the latter didn’t break their bond and backstab him, but he was fairly sure a lightning bolt was faster than a battle axe.

“Vezta, Ilya, can you take out the guards in the trees without alerting the others?”

“Of course,” Vezta said with a deep bow.

“Yeah. As long as your monster doesn’t get in my way.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You—”

“Please,” Arkk said. “We need as much time as possible.”

Vezta bowed again and, after taking a few steps away from the group, tendrils ripped out from her own shadow, lashing around her as they pulled her down into the grass. That got a few gasps from everyone else around. Ilya headed off toward the southeast, opposite Vezta, drawing her black and white bow as she sprinted. Despite the speed at which she moved, Arkk heard nothing of her footsteps in the grass. Years of keeping silent and hidden from wild game would hopefully serve her well against the orc guards.

Luckily, orcs didn’t see any better in the darkness than humans did.

“Right,” Arkk said, waving both humans and orcs to his sides. “Don’t be too alarmed. Slave Natum,” he intoned.

“You know,” John said, “telling us not to be alarmed just makes me more nervous.”

“Might want to close your eyes,” Arkk said, pushing magic into the intoned spell.

A bubbling mass of flesh, eyes, and mouths formed before him, earning a groan from John.

“I was right.”

Arkk shook his head, focusing on summoning the lesser servants. He managed five before he started to feel the exhaustion. Stopping there, for now, he leaned down and whispered a few words. The lesser servants listened intently before turning away. Their bodies turned into one large mouth which promptly aimed downward at the ground. The five disappeared beneath the surface of the ground.

Turning back to find a group of sick villagers and orcs, Arkk frowned.

He wondered if Vezta could modify that spell so that miniature Veztas popped out instead.

Later.

“While they’re doing that, let’s go over the plan I have in mind…”

Arkk stood on the opposite side of the burial mound from the entrance. The large heap of earth was eerily silent. Being filled to the brim with goblins and orcs, Arkk would have expected some noise, but the air was as dead as those interred within.

Vezta and Ilya had been successful in their task, allowing Arkk, the villagers, and the orcs to approach the barrow. They had left the guards out front alone. They were too close and their deaths would surely cause a ruckus. Right now, Arkk had the element of surprise and he did not intend to give that advantage up.

A large hole now existed on this side of the mound where there had been none before. The lesser servants were swarming over the mound as Arkk directed. Why fight through a horde of goblins and trapped passages when he could simply make his own tunnels? He was just waiting on a few finishing touches.

Arkk glanced around, making eye contact with those around him. The majority of the villagers stood alongside him, as did Dakka, the brown-skinned orc warrior. She had a serious look in her eyes, staring at the incomplete tunnel ahead of them. No one spoke. Not even Jorgen and Hurtt. Everyone knew the plan and, with a few alterations suggested by Olatt’an and John, they had agreed that it sounded like the best course of action.

Olatt’an, along with Vezta, Ilya, Rekk’ar, and the braver villagers were a short distance away, positioned in front of a near identical hole in the mound. Vezta either sensed his gaze or noticed with the multitude of burning eyes positioned around her body. She turned her head, meeting his look with her proper eyes, and offered a small nod of her head.

Arkk could sense the lesser servants nearing the completion of their tasks. Turning his gaze to the crystal ball, he checked in on each of the rooms. Orcs in the makeshift barracks looked to be rousing each other. Likely in preparation for the ritual. Goblins still packed the corridors, but he was hoping to avoid dealing with the majority of them. There was movement in the prisoner’s room as well. One of the guards looked to be having a bit of a disagreement with the others, who were advancing on the human prisoners.

They were running out of time.

The summoner herself seemed to have finished drawing her patterns on the altar in the barrow. She stood over it, inspecting her work. Arkk couldn’t hear through the crystal ball, but he watched as she barked out orders at the pair of guards in the chamber with her. One turned back to the corridors immediately, but the other hesitated. He opened his mouth, saying something.

The chieftain took exception. She raised a finger, muttering something. A bolt of sickly green light crossed the distance between them.

The guard started screaming, tugging at the skin on his face. Blood started boiling from his mouth, eyes, nose, and ears. Lacerations split his skin. Blood gushed from his chest and arms and even his fingernails. He collapsed in short order, shuddering a few times before going still.

All the while, the chieftain simply turned her back to him, hardly a care in the world as she looked back to the altar.

If she had been a little more attentive, she might have noticed the crack split the rock between her feet. The gap widened, splitting apart to the point where she did finally notice, but it was too late. The ground disintegrated under her as the maw of a lesser servant ate into the floor of the room. She screamed as she drew a crooked knife from her sash and dark magic erupted from her free hand. Arkk felt the servant die near instantly, but not before wrapping a tongue around the chieftain’s leg, dragging her down into the deep, deep pit it had been digging for the last hour.

As other servants began collapsing the corridors on the goblins, Arkk drew a sword, dropping the crystal ball.

“Now!”

Servants ate through the walls of the prisoner room, completing the tunnels just as Arkk and the others charged in.

“Electro Deus,” Arkk shouted, frying an orc that Dakka had pointed out as one that would never betray the chieftain. Several goblins fell to lower-powered bolts as others rushed into the room.

The captive humans were screaming. They had probably been screaming ever since the orcs had started advancing on them, but that didn’t change now.

A cloud of dust billowed out from the collapsed corridor, but it brought with it a large horde of goblins that had managed to get out of the way of the falling ceiling.

They were intercepted, along with the surprised orcs, by Vezta’s group. Two orcs, a few humans, an elf, and a servant charged into the barrow, attacking anything that looked like a threat. Dakka rushed forward as well, running after her two friends to try to get them to give up… or else to be the one to grant them a warrior’s death. Her words.

The rest of the villagers behind Arkk weren’t here to fight. They had weapons, but their task was the prisoners. Both humans and orcs. John helped the leather-clad mercenary to his feet while Jorgen hauled the man in the wealthy clothing over his shoulder.

Arkk himself headed to the orcs along with Hurtt and the village blacksmith, Irving. The two largest non-orcs among their group. Larry followed as well. Not a fighter, but the hope was that a familiar face would convince the captive orcs to move a little faster.

A few lightning bolts sent after stray goblins were more for a display of strength than killing them. Vezta certainly needed no help. Fingers still crackling, he held his hand out to the orc in front of the group of prisoners, which caused a wince, but the orc set his jaw in defiance.

Arkk twisted his wrist, now holding his palm out as if to help the orc to its feet. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“It’s okay,” Larry said, sweating profusely as Hurtt slammed his weapon down on another goblin. “He hired us. Said he’d keep the humans from hurting us if we help take down the chief.” He paused, then glanced to Arkk. “Uh… Right?”

Arkk glanced aside, speaking in a flat tone. “Yes, Larry. That’s—”

A cry had him whirling around.

Ilya, back near the tunnel entrance trying to shoot arrows from afar, cried out as a goblin crawling along the wall pounced on her back. The goblin’s weapon was more a rusted slat of metal than a proper knife, but it was still sharp enough to cut as it flailed its little arms around. Blood spurted from Ilya’s face just below her eye before the goblin rammed the blade into her side.

Arkk didn’t even get a chance to cast a lightning spell before a crossbow bolt appeared between the goblin’s eyes.

His eyes traced the path of the bolt in a flash, noting Olatt’an already whirling to use the blade fixed to the end of his crossbow against one of the larger orcs. He slammed the butt of the weapon into the larger orc’s face before the blade sliced open his neck.

“Electro Deus.”

Six other goblins that had been clinging to the walls fell to the ground in smoking, twitching piles of limbs. The last one hit looked like it was about to get back up, only for a thick tendril to sprout from the floor and crush it against the wall.

Ilya, teeth clenched, had her hand pressed against her side, pinning the rusty blade in place as blood dripped from her fingers.

Arkk wanted to run over to her. She was alone, separated by the distance she had been trying to use to her advantage.

John made it to her first. With the battered mercenary already leaning on him for support, John scooped up Ilya into his arms and started carrying her out through the tunnels. The Abbess was outside. She could do more for Ilya than Arkk could.

“The Throatripper joined you?”

Arkk whirled back to the prisoners he had almost forgotten about. Something in his expression must have betrayed his anger; the entire group flinched backward as he faced them.

“Olatt’an,” Larry whispered, answering the question before Arkk had a chance to ask it.

Throatripper sounded far more vicious than Larry’s epithet, especially knowing that Larry’s was his profession. He wondered what kind of history Olatt’an might have behind him to garner that. Whichever of the prisoners had mentioned it had done so in reverence, not scorn. He probably had quite the body count. Then again, that was the man who had just saved Ilya from further injury entirely on reflex while engaged in his own battle.

“Are you coming or not?” Arkk said, deciding not to address it to anyone at the moment, prisoner or even himself.

The orcs seemed far less hesitant now, nodding near instantly.

Arkk turned away, unleashing a bolt of lightning over Vezta’s shoulder. She probably had been aware of the orc coming at her from behind, but it didn’t look like she had been moving to handle it.

The battle was dying out. With the corridors collapsed, the enemy couldn’t reinforce their numbers. Were it not for the goblins, both those in the room and those that had survived the collapse, the twelve orcs would probably have fallen long ago simply due to the villagers having superior numbers.

Dakka had blood on her axe. The woman she had pointed out earlier was at her side, but not the other one. She had blood dripping from under the leather armor she wore, leaking from a gash around her waist. Not that she looked to care. She wasn’t even hunched over.

The captive humans were gone, as were those who had been assigned to escort them out. Larry, Hurtt, and Irving were leading the captive orcs out. One enemy orc had thrown his weapon to the floor, keeping his arms in the air in the universal signal for surrender.

The rest were dead. Rekk’ar lifted his blade from the punctured skull of the last one who had been fighting.

Arkk couldn’t help but grimace as he noted that their side had not survived entirely intact despite surprise, numbers, and Vezta. Ken, the village brewer, was on the ground. A blade had bit into his neck, leaving him partially decapitated. The Abbess couldn’t cure death. Several others were sporting wounds that ranged from scrapes and cuts to deep gouges, especially in the arms. Vezta was treating the worst injury in much the same way as she had treated Arkk after a goblin gnawed on his arm. The village shoemaker, Benji, was missing his left arm below the shoulder. Vezta had his stump wrapped in her tar-like body.

Clenching his teeth, Arkk gnawed on his lip. He should have done more. He could have done more. The plan had been made with him going to the captive orcs in the hopes of keeping them from attacking their backs if they decided to stick with their kin. He had expected more of the orcs to switch sides after what Rekk’ar and Dakka had said. But only two had, the one who had thrown down his weapon and the woman at Dakka’s side.

And the night wasn’t done yet. They needed to get back to the Abbess. They had left her a few villagers—the teenagers and one other—as guards, hoping that everyone else would rejoin her before anything happened. The orcs and goblins at the entrance would surely have noticed the collapse and while they might spend a few minutes investigating there, they would eventually make their way around.

Then there were the orcs in the barracks. With the corridors collapsed, they would be trapped. Arkk had half a mind to leave them there after this.

But he was already forming a plan for them. Without captives in their room, Arkk had no reason to enter. A lesser servant could eat a small hole into the side of the barrow, forcing them to crawl out if they wanted to ever leave. They could be captured one by one from there.

That still left the chieftain. Arkk was hoping she had fallen to her death—the servant had dug quite a massive pit—but he wasn’t going to count on it. If she lived or escaped, she would certainly try again.

The chieftain was now the priority.

Teeth clenched together, he led the group out of the barrows, back to the field where Vezta and the Abbess could tend to the wounded before they had to continue.