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

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

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

Except for one small detail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With the Eternal Empire along for the journey…”

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

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

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

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

Both, perhaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If such an eventuality even exists…”

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right. Well, sorry for threatening you.”

“Apology accepted on account of amends offered.”

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

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

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

They would come. They would fight.

They would die.

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

It didn’t hurt. There was no pain. No blood. Nothing more than a slight pressure against his ribs. His armor didn’t have a hole in it and his shield was perfectly intact. That wasn’t to say that it wasn’t disconcerting, to see a blade embedded in his body, but it wasn’t real.

It was just an illusion.

He had to tell himself that a dozen times in the last hour.

Just an illusion.

Embarrassed by the yelp, especially after hearing some of his unit laughing behind his back, Barin channeled his embarrassment into anger and lashed forward with his spear. The scarred-faced soldier standing opposite to him shimmered and wavered as the spear slashed through him. But he didn’t vanish. Not immediately.

Instead, the soldier’s form began to contort. His rough features softened and his battle-worn armor shifted into something more familiar. Barin’s breath caught in his throat as the image before him transformed into the delicate figure of his daughter, Lurya. Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto his as she reached out a trembling hand, grasping onto his extended arm.

“Papa,” she whimpered, her voice trembling as if she just woke from a horrid nightmare. “Papa, please come home.”

Barin’s grip on his spear slackened and his heart ached. It was an illusion. Just an illusion. Yet, the sight of his daughter, the sound of her pleading voice, cut deeper than any weapon could. He wanted to reach out, to pull her into his arms and promise that he would be home soon, that everything would be alright.

“You aren’t real, Lurya.” His voice cracked as he spoke. This time, there wasn’t any laughter from the rest of his unit. “You’re not Lurya.”

“Please, Papa.” The illusion stepped forward, clinging to his arm. Great tears welled in her eyes as she leaned into him. “I miss you.”

Barin clenched his eyes shut. Keeping them shut, he shoved his arm, flinging the cruel illusion off his arms. He opened them just in time to watch his daughter go rolling through the dirt, coming to a stop with her legs twisted and arms bent and broken.

Lurya’s head turned too far then twisted just a little more, looking up at him. Her skin turned blotchy and ill. Those innocent eyes rotted and festered, leaving empty sockets behind. An evil smile spread across her face as her skin sloughed off her skull. “You’ll never make it home alive. Die for your false god and—”

“That’s enough of that,” Captain Vultan snarled, stomping a heavy boot down on the illusion, finally dispersing it for good.

Barin stumbled back, breathing heavily as sweat coursed from his brow. Just an illusion, he repeated in his mind. It wasn’t the first he had seen. The first had been his wife, not begging him to return, but claiming she hated him and had always hated him while proclaiming her love for Ming. That had been much easier to deal with… even if he felt guilty after.

This…

Barin shuddered. He had heard from some of the survivors about the magics their enemy used. Black magics that peeled apart soldiers into thin ribbons, fires that couldn’t be extinguished no matter the magic used, dragonoids and monsters and more besides. He had seen the unpleasant tactics for himself on the way here, watching some of his fellows fall into pits to be skewered on spikes at the bottom, bombs buried beneath the ground that exploded upon being walked upon, magics that caused soldiers to turn on one another…

Yet none of that had affected him quite as much as this.

The rest of his squad wasn’t faring much better. Those in the front were falling back after dealing with their own mental demons. One soldier’s illusion turned into an angry mother, berating them. Another turned into a comrade who had perished at the hands of their enemy. Yet another turned into His Holiness, looking around the soldiers with obvious disdain, disappointed in their performance.

One turned into a mass of spiders that swarmed over poor Yones. They had been dispersed quickly by his thrashing and flailing, but he was still shuddering on the ground, twitching every few moments.

“You’re all a bunch of babies,” Sydow barked out as he stepped ahead.

That had been their tactics thus far. While His Holiness searched for the source of the illusion, the soldiers were to clear it out manually. Just in case it couldn’t be found. A front row fought, dealt with the illusions, and then backed away to recover while another line moved forward.

Sydow, the big, burly man that he was, strode with confidence toward the nearest illusory soldier. He hadn’t been affected by the last illusion he faced, simply cutting into it with his curved sword until it vanished, uncaring of its form. “Come,” he barked, spreading his arms wide. “Take your best shot.”

The illusion didn’t acknowledge him. The scarred-faced soldiers never spoke or reacted. Battlecaster Wyn supposed that the illusions didn’t know how to act until they read their opponent’s minds in the first attack. So, it stepped forward, brandishing a black sword.

It thrust, spearing it straight through Sydow’s open helmet.

A hot liquid splattered across Barin’s face, making him flinch.

At the same time, Sydow’s arms lost all their strength, dropping to his sides. The sword ripped out of his face, spraying more blood across the field. Sydow’s hulking body collapsed, gushing blood, as the blank-faced illusory soldier turned to find a new target.

Screams and shouts started crying out all up and down the line.

Barin stood frozen, staring at the lifeless body of Sydow, disbelief coursing through his veins. The air thickened with the scent of blood and the cries of his comrades. Others fell, some fought back.

It was just an illusion… Sydow wasn’t dead. He was the strongest in the entire squad. He had never lost a spar to anyone else, not even solo against pairs. He survived the civil war with aplomb and—

“Hold the line!” Captain Vultan’s voice boomed over the chaos, snapping Barin back to reality. “Regroup and push forward. Don’t let them break us!”

Soldiers up and down the line had fallen in the surprise attack. Some hit back, slamming shields, swords, and hammers into their not-so-illusory assailants.

Barin’s hands trembled as he tightened his grip on his spear. He couldn’t let fear take hold. Not now. Not with so much at stake. He glanced around, seeing the fear mirrored in the eyes of his fellow soldiers. They were all struggling. He had to take action or they would all be overwhelmed.

He jolted forward, stepping over Sydow’s fallen body to slam his shield into the disguised skeleton just in time to keep its sword off Battlecaster Wyn. The older man shuffled back on his hands and knees while Barin jammed his spear into the soldier.

Pieces of the illusion fell away where his spear hit. The bladed tip was embedded deep within white ribs, chipping one as it slid between them. They were scrubbed clean of any flesh. There were no organs or skin. Just clean white bone.

For a fleeting moment, Barin hoped he was seeing another illusion. Whatever was under was fake just as the exterior was.

It was a false hope. Slamming his shield into his opponent again sent it staggering back. Ripping his spear out of its body jerked it back forward. The push-and-pull jerked it enough to dislodge the skull. It fell from the illusion, landing with a thump against the ground. The teeth clacked together in a chatter as the empty eye-sockets stared up at Barin.

Slowly, with almost deliberate gravitas, the illusion fell away completely, revealing the skeleton for what it was. It bent, hand grasping the top of the skull, before setting it back on its shoulders.

It grinned at him.

“U… U… Undead!” Barin cried out.

He slammed his spear forward, straight into the chest of the skeleton. But it just chipped off the bone, sliding right through the ribcage. The skeleton didn’t care at all. It stepped forward, raising its sword.

Barin put his shoulder into his shield once again, letting go of his useless spear entirely to put as much weight into shoving the skeleton as he could.

It fell backward, bones coming apart. But it almost immediately started trying to put itself back together.

“Wyn!” Barin shouted, turning his head. “Need magic!”

The battlecaster was on the ground, pinned down. Not by a skeleton. Not by an illusion.

Sydow’s hulking body was on top of the battlecaster, vomiting black sludge over the older man. The vomit slackened into a dribble and Sydow slowly craned his head to face Barin.

A gap split his face in two, straight between the eyes. The wound from the skeleton’s sword. With that kind of wound, he could never have moved. Yet there he was.

And his eyes… Gone were the whites, the colored iris, and even the dark pupil in the middle. It was as if someone had poured boiling tar into his eyes, melting the flesh until there was nothing left but the tar.

Something slammed into his back. It felt like a white-hot poker. With a grunt and a hiss, he turned, swinging his shield arm.

The skeleton on the ground hadn’t even finished putting itself together. It was one leg, the torso, and its sword arm. Barin’s shield slammed into the sword arm, ripping it out of his body and sending it flying across the battlefield.

He staggered away from the skeleton, arm clamped onto his side. It wasn’t a deep wound. He could tell that much. That didn’t stop the blood from trickling down over his fingertips.

Although the wound was hot, he could feel something else. Like something was wiggling and squirming inside him. He tried to take a step, only to stagger and fall. He tried to open his mouth to call for help, only to spew up black bile. His vision swam and wavered, even as he watched Sydow’s hulking form grasp ahold of another of their squad, ripping him away from fighting his own skeleton.

Barin sank into the ground, face hitting the prickly grass, as Wyn sat upright and started looking around with black tar in place of his eyes.

“Lurya…” he managed.

Barin’s vision went black.

 

 

“Three… two… one… stop,” Arkk said, watching as the sands ran out of a small hourglass.

Savren pulled a small glowstone from the center of a middling ritual circle and quickly began examining it. It took a few minutes to finish and then he still had to pull out a small notebook and scribble down a few numbers.

Arkk occupied his time watching as the landscape shimmered around him. A withered village, run-down and abandoned from the first time Evestani traversed the land, wavered and wobbled. The large fields, currently occupied with more debris and packed-down soil than crops, started misting away into nothingness. It was a depressing sight for a former farmer. Especially so when his gaze crossed the poor animals. Cows, chickens, and pigs had all been slaughtered by Evestani’s army, harvesting their meat and then just leaving the carcasses behind out in the open. It wasn’t quite as bad as salting the land might have been but it certainly did no favors to future attempts at growing crops.

Not that there were any people left here. Arkk didn’t know what had become of them. Perhaps they had evacuated to Elmshadow and beyond. Perhaps they had been slaughtered like the livestock. There were a few human bodies among the animal carcasses, but not enough for a village of this size.

He couldn’t even give them a proper burial.

Without the glowstone in the circle, the land’s true shape came into reality.

It was a pockmark of pits and holes. Lesser Servants scurried across the old village’s farmland, digging to their heart’s content. They burrowed holes into the fields that reached down to a layer of rock deep in the ground. Then, they dug a little deeper, carving out the rock and stone into sharp protruding spikes at the bottoms of each pit.

They left the bodies alone, digging around them. They were careful to not even touch the buildings. The illusory magic Savren had come up with worked poorly when it encompassed too many different materials. Right now, it focused entirely on the top layer of dirt and maybe a scattering of plants. All to hide the deep pits.

Nodding his head as he finished his calculations, Savren looked up to Arkk. “At the current rate of resource reduction, we can sustain the spell’s strength for up to twenty-eight hours.”

“A little over a day,” Arkk said, humming.

Evestani army had small units of scouts moving ahead of the main army. If they suddenly disappeared, the army should grow wary. But he had picked this spot for a reason. This village, which he didn’t even know the name of, occupied just about the only good spot of land for a fair while. To the south, a swamp sprawled out over the terrain. The muck and water would make it difficult and unpleasant for anyone crossing through it. The larger siege engines that Evestani hauled along, as well as their supplies and other carriages and carts, would likely get stuck in it entirely. They wouldn’t be able to use that route.

North of here, the terrain was mostly fine. A bit rocky and uneven for the likes of wheeled carts, but entirely passable for horses and foot soldiers. They would head up that way eventually, and he had plans for that stretch of land, but he wanted them to at least try making their way through this village.

All his hard work in digging out the pitfalls would go to waste otherwise.

“We’ll need to deal with the scouts first and then activate the illusion magic to hide the pitfalls,” Arkk said with a small sigh. “I don’t suppose I can rely on you for that as well, can I?”

“Manipulating the minds of mere mortals to make them miss no mishap should be manageable provided I possess sufficient span to scheme.”

“How long?”

“Ten to thirty minutes per person, pivoting on their perseverance and prefrontal poise.”

Nodding along, Arkk frowned in thought. “We’ll ambush them with gorgon, petrifying them. Can you affect petrified minds?”

“A mind must be malleable to mold.”

“Then we’ll have to unpetrify them, have you work your magic, repetrify them, and drop them off back here, ready to run back and report that nothing ahead of the army is amiss.”

“Workable,” Savren said.

“Good. I’ll contact Khan and get all the gorgon here.”

Arkk looked over the pits once again. The circular holes stretched out practically as far as he could see. There were probably far too many, if he were being honest. It wasn’t like the entire enemy army would continue forward once a few people fell into the pits. But if he could shave off a few of their number, maybe catch a few of their carts and catapults in the pits as well, it would be a victory considering the minor amount of resources it cost to set up.

Most importantly, it would delay them. Delay them long enough to staff Leda’s tower, receive the Prince’s army, and, hopefully, get Agnete back from the Anvil.

They didn’t have long. But every day they bought could only be to their advantage.

“Trigger in… three… two… one.”

The ground underneath Morvin’s feet trembled as he sparked a bit of magic into the ritual circle. A series of alchemical detonations blasted earth into the air in tall geysers of mud and dirt. Trees splintered and exploded. Wildlife, launched into the air, came crashing down in grisly impacts.

And the Evestani army, at the center of it all, disappeared behind clouds of dirt as the plain collapsed inward.

Morvin waited, sighing slightly in relief when the ground he stood on remained intact. There weren’t any explosives buried nearby but Rekk’ar’s words ran through his mind on the subject of accidentally causing a landslide. Fortunately, it seemed he wouldn’t have to worry about that. Now he only had to worry about that golden glow leaking out from behind the clouds of debris.

“We should leave,” Morvin said, grimacing.

“Just a moment,” Gretchen said, standing to the side with the telescoping spyglass pressed to her eye. “We need to confirm the result.”

“The scrying team can do that. Our job is done. Let’s get out of here before they figure out what happened.”

“You sound like we already failed.”

“Of course we did. You think they aren’t ready for this kind of thing? That golden glow means the avatar was here and watching. We’ve already seen it use plenty of protective magic.”

“Yes, but if half the army is buried—”

Gretchen stopped talking abruptly, making Morvin tense. He stared at the dust clouds, fearing the possibility of armored riders charging after them just like at Elmshadow. But, aside from a faint golden glow sufficed throughout the dust, there was no sign of movement.

“Wha—” Morvin started, only to pause as he heard it.

It began as a faint, high-pitched whistle high up in the sky that grew more and more urgent with every passing second. The closest sound he could think of was a keen whistle when the wind blew through a crack in the wall of his hut, something that only happened on the stormiest of days around Porcupine Hill. Even that wasn’t half as sharp and crisp.

Casting his gaze upward at the bright blue midday sky, Morvin squinted against the brightness of the sun. A dark black object, tiny relative to the sky as a whole, plummeted downward. It took a good ten seconds before he realized it was falling in roughly their direction.

The high-pitched howl continued all the while, filling his heart with dread. “Gretchen?”

Gretchen raised a hand. “Electro Deus,” she snapped, arcing a bolt of lightning from her fingers to the rapidly nearing object.

It exploded just as violently as any alchemical bomb that Arkk used. White hot bits of shrapnel scattered in all directions, sizzling as they embedded themselves into the ground around them. Morvin shielded his face with his arms, feeling the heat and force of the blast ripple through the air. Lines of heat scarred across his forearms as he felt warm liquid leak down his elbows. He sucked in his breath but kept his jaw clenched tight.

At his side, Gretchen hissed out in pain. “They know we’re here,” she said in that same hiss. “Or, if they didn’t before, they do now.”

“Let’s leave then,” he said, shakily standing. He plucked a thin bit of metal out of his arm, letting it drop to the ground as he sucked in another pained breath.

“Right,” Gretchen said, cupping her own bleeding arms.

Morvin didn’t wait around for her. The teleportation circle was just behind them. Right at its side, another of those alchemical bombs sat, ready to destroy the teleportation circle to prevent their enemy from using it.

The side of the clay pot was covered in small fletchings of debris. He shared a wary look with Gretchen—if one of those had broken the pot, they wouldn’t be standing around—before twisting the lid to the activation point. With that, he jumped onto the teleportation circle and activated it with a pulse of his magic.

He stumbled out the other side, clearing the circle just in time for Gretchen to appear in a flash of light. She almost immediately collapsed, grasping onto the side of her leg. A steady stream of blood leaked from between her fingers. In a slightly safer environment, he got a better look at her. She had cuts and scrapes all over, covering both her arms—same as him—but also her chest, her legs, and even some of her head. A trickle of blood streamed down her cheeks from a gash on her temple.

He had been crouched down into a small ball while she had been upright, taking that blast.

“You okay?”

“Do I Light-damned look alright?” she swore back, a harsh bite of anger in her voice.

Morvin looked around the new clearing they were in. A fairly desolate stretch of terrain. They were well away from the Evestani army. The teleportation circles were set at their maximum range. If the Evestani army could chase after them in any reasonable amount of time, they would have conquered the Duchy before any resistance could have been raised at the first Elmshadow defense. They were safe. For now, at least.

With a sigh, Morvin stepped forward, uttering the Flesh Weaving incantation.

“When did you learn that?” Gretchen asked, trying to step back only to stumble.

“After Elmshadow. I saw how useful it was when Hale patched me up. Didn’t want to have to rely on her.”

Gretchen didn’t look convinced. “Can you use it as well as she can?”

Morvin took a moment to consider, pinching his wounds closed. If she wasn’t going to let him heal her, fine, but he wasn’t going to sit around in pain. “No,” he said as he sealed together a wound on his shoulder. “But I probably won’t give you scales for skin or a third arm growing off your leg.”

A beat of silence passed with Gretchen doing nothing but staring at him. She finally nodded with a weary puff of breath. “Fair enough,” she said, holding out her arm. A deep gash ran from her wrist to her elbow. Far worse than any wound Morvin had.

It was only then that he realized how pale she was. The gleam of sweat on her brow and her labored breathing wasn’t a good sign either. And she had pulled away from him in that condition?

With a touch of magic at his fingertips, Morvin hurried to fix the worst of her wounds. Hale would probably still look both of them over when they got back, but he could at least keep her alive until then.

“Told you we should have left.”

“We got valuable information on enemy weapon capabilities. They can launch alchemical bombs from afar even with their army half buried in a pit.”

“I’m sure the scrying team saw that too.”

Gretchen slowly shook her head. “They should have been watching the army. They might have seen the explosion in the air—and more when it landed—but they might not have seen what caused it. We did.”

Morvin let the argument drop. He was fairly sure she was just trying to come up with a justification. An excuse. That was just like her. No matter what he argued, she could only be right in the end.

“You think his other ideas will work any better?”

Gretchen scoffed. “Has to, right? Throw a thousand darts at a target and one will stick eventually.”

“Guess we’ll have to see.”

“I’m not trying to destroy them,” Arkk said with a shake of his head. “Not with that avatar there. But we’re experimenting with new magic and weapons here. Besides, if we can whittle down their numbers a little, make sure their spellcasters have to use their magic instead of resting, and damage what morale we can, any advantage works out for our benefit, right? Not to mention delaying them until we can get Agnete back. Things are… a little strange over there at the moment. She’s safe, but…”

Ilya tapped her fingers on her chair’s armrest, frowning at him.

“What?”

Her silver eyes flicked to the board behind his back.

“What?” Arkk asked again, turning to follow her gaze.

The board had a large number of items scrawled over it.

1. Natural Barriers – Landslides, floods, trenches. Assigned – Lesser Servants. TEMPORARY SUCCESS – Forced army to reroute. Additional barriers planned.
2. Mind Magic Demoralization – Fear traps, turncoat traps. Assigned – Savren. PARTIAL SUCCESS – Stopped army completely until avatar showed itself and destroyed traps, turncoat traps caused intra-army fight, few serious injuries.
3. Impenetrable Cube – Xel’atriss magic to create an impassible boundary, trapping the entire enemy army (and avatar) until they starve to death. Assigned – Zullie. FAILURE – orthogonal misalignment.
4. Alchemical Bombs – Detonate bombs as army travels over them. Assigned – Morvin and Gretchen. FAILURE – Protective magic.
5. Supply Line Sabotage – Strike teams, no regular patterns! Assigned – Kia and Claire. FAILURE – No supply lines?
6. Direction Distortion Zone – Xel’atriss magic to shift the idea of forward and backward, making the enemy retreat. Assigned – Zullie. FAILURE – avatar ignored effect and led army through affected area.
7. Mind-Wipe Fog – Exactly what it says. Assigned – Savren. PROJECT DELAYED – Savren forgot where he kept his notes.
8. Natural Barriers with Illusions hiding said barriers – Savren and Lesser Servants. PARTIAL SUCCESS – a small portion of the army fell into death pits, unfortunately, the rest of the army realized what was happening and and waited until the avatar could clear the way.
9. Mirror-Realm Entrapment – Xel’atriss magic to shunt the army into alternate layers of reality. Assigned – Zullie. PROJECT CANCELLED – Accidentally swapped research notes with an alternate reality version, rendering them useless.
10. Poisoned Food Stores – Poison stocks of food left in ‘abandoned’ villages in the army’s path. Assigned – Larry and Lexa. FAILURE – Armies didn’t loot food? Related to lack of supply lines?
11. Maze of Infinite Paths – Xel’atriss magic to entrap the army in an infinitely looping space. Assigned – Zullie. PROJECT CANCELLED – DO NOT ASK. DO NOT SPEAK OF IT.
12. Spread Misinformation – Air drop leaflets containing false or demoralizing messages. Assigned – Ilya, Edvin, and Joanne. FAILURE – Unable to distribute leaflets safely.
13. Leda’s Tower – Requires additional employees. Assigned – Leda and Priscilla. PENDING DEPLOYMENT.
14. Illusory Opposing Army – Create illusion of a massive opposing army standing in their path. Assigned – Arkk, Zullie, and Savren. PENDING DEPLOYMENT.

Arkk looked back to Ilya, noting her deepening frown. “What?”

“Rather than demoralizing the enemy, I’m concerned that we’re demoralizing our side. Only three of the fifteen items on your list have been a success and they all have caveats.”

“It isn’t like everyone in the fortress is aware of all these operations…” Arkk looked back to the board for a moment, frowning at the final item on the list. It was, effectively, a continuation of the earlier mind-related traps that Savren had developed. The biggest difference was that it wasn’t exactly… accurate.

There were some things Arkk needed to keep concealed. Even from Ilya.

If this one worked out… there might not be anything more to this war at all. It could end here and now. At least in terms of the army. He imagined the avatar would still be after him. But an avatar without an army was far more manageable.

If it worked out. That was a fairly large if. The avatar was too versatile to be certain of anything. But if he could cause enough damage, that would work out as well.

One more day and the army would be in the right place…

One more day.

 

 

 

Agnete stepped into the vast chamber, her breath catching in her throat as she stared with wide eyes. The room was a colossal expanse, a domed structure as large as a moderate village, where rivers of molten metal flowed like lava throughout a great basin. Streams of red-hot metal fell like waterfalls from tall crucibles hanging from massive chains or wide-open pipes mounted in the walls.

The heat was oppressive, even for Agnete, but the hazy, burning air wasn’t enough to stop her. She stepped forward, ignoring the scraps of cloth bursting into flames as the heat blasted her clothing from her body. Her eyes were fixed in the center of the chamber where the molten metal seemed to come alive, rising to form a massive figure.

The Burning Forge emerged from the seething, glowing liquid, a feminine body towering above the flowing metals as if the liquid were part of her being. Only the upper part of her body was visible with the rest below the opaque lava, but even that was enough to overwhelm Agnete with awe. The god’s eyes burned with an intense orange light, far, far brighter than the embers in Agnete’s eyes. Her hair was a cascade of living flames, flowing down her back, flickering and crackling with every movement. Adorned in an armor of blackened steel, etched with pulsing magma veins, and wrapped in chains, the god looked ready for battle.

And yet, rather than a weapon, she held aloft a smithing hammer. The Burning Forge brought it down against an anvil. A thunderclap threatened Agnete’s ears, but she couldn’t stop staring as massive sparks the size of obese horses flew in wide arcs in all directions. Some merged with the grand pool of lava below while others struck the walls. The bits on the wall didn’t turn to slag but instead dribbled down the sides without leaving a trace behind.

Hanging the hammer from a gigantic hook, the Burning Forge reached a hand forward. She pinched together the clawed tips of her gauntlets, picking up a tiny black object that she promptly started inspecting—a little black box covered in gears, steam-spewing pipes, and narrow pistons. Turning the box over, she moved it to her left molten hand and continued the inspection. Satisfied, she swam through the molten metal to a small opening in the wall of the chamber and deposited the black box within.

The Burning Forge turned back toward the anvil in the center of the chamber, only to pause as those orange eyes crossed over Agnete.

Agnete’s breath hitched again as she felt something familiar reach out. The flames within her chest, unbidden, surged, drawn out to swirl around her. Agnete reached out to her fire, trying to pull it back in, but it wouldn’t obey. Before joining with Arkk, she had often lost herself in the flames, obeying their desire to be used, but she had never been refused. Never once since lighting her first candle had the flames disobeyed.

Gritting her teeth, irritation welling up, Agnete glared through the flames at the being before her. The fire, forced upon her as a child, had been the cause of everything in her life. Burning down her home village, being chased and captured by the inquisitors, exposed to the icy Binding Agent, meeting Arkk, arriving here… All because of this fire. And now this so-called god was trying to take its flames back?

Agnete stepped forward, onto a small obsidian platform that hung over the vast pit of molten metal. She stretched out a hand, grasping at the flames. Normal flames couldn’t be held in human hands. But Agnete wasn’t a normal human and these weren’t normal flames.

They were her flames.

Twisting her wrist, ignoring the blackening of her fingers, Agnete pulled the fire back toward her. She slammed her fist and her flames into her chest, biting down on the cry of pain. There was one final resistant tug before the flames surged back to where they belonged, back into her. As soon as she felt that flicker of control back, she pulled and pulled, drawing in every scrap of fire.

Her fingers and toes blackened with every passing moment. It wasn’t until the dark skin crept up past her knees and elbows that she realized she was drawing in too much. Far, far too much. More than she had ever held before. The heat in her core wasn’t just a flame, it was an inferno. And it was still growing.

Eyes wide, she snapped her gaze to the Burning Forge.

Her iron mask of a face was cracked in two, split horizontally in a jagged, ruinous grin. Not unlike the carvings villagers made of pumpkins to celebrate the harvest. It even glowed behind the sharp teeth, though it was far more intense than a simple candle.

The Burning Forge wanted this? Was that what the smile meant? She had to be allowing it, allowing Agnete to draw in too much, to now burn herself on her own flames. A little anger, even from an avatar, couldn’t possibly contend with the might of a god.

Agnete grit her teeth, trying to control the flow of the fire around her. It was a struggle just to stay standing. Sweat vaporized instantly, coating her in a thin layer of rapidly dispersing steam. All the while, she felt her limbs burning away, the heat creeping up toward her shoulders as her skin charred and cracked. It snaked upward, spiraling around her neck and down her chest and back. The pain stopped at some point. Her nerves burning out?

Whatever the cause, Agnete straightened her back and glared up at the Burning Forge.

Questions burned in the back of her mind—unless that was the fire. Why was the most prominent. Why give her these powers in the first place? Why choose her? Why put her through everything only to try to take back those flames now?

But, before she could open her mouth, she remembered Arkk. Or, rather, his advice to her. What answer would satisfy her? What question hadn’t she built up a profound answer for in her head over the years?

Would a god disappoint her with the actual answers?

Arkk would say yes. The Protector would say no.

“What does it matter?” Agnete said through clenched teeth. “It is what it is and it is my job to deal with it!”

The jagged smile on the Burning Forge’s mask slowly sealed back together, regaining its full form. Yet, there was something different about it now. The metal that had been shaped in an impassive mask of a human now looked somehow calculating. Her head slowly shook.

[Failure]/[inadequate]/[incomplete]|[understanding]/[assimilation]/[mental omega]. [View]/[observe]/[sightsee]|[problems]/[inadequacies]/[opposition]|[fight]/[eliminate]/[incinerate].

The words, if they could be called that, slammed into Agnete with the force of the giant blacksmith’s hammer. She had heard Vezta and, more recently, her own metallic clone use that language. But they had spoken the words that then forced concepts into Agnete’s head. The Burning Forge’s words were raw and unfiltered, a molten torrent of thoughts. Agnete staggered under their weight.

[Alternate]|[solution]/[victory conditions]|[exist]. [CREATIVE]. [CONSTRUCTIVE]. [DESTRUCTIVE].

Agnete grasped at her head without feeling in her fingers, wondering how her hair was still intact. “The orc blacksmiths have a saying,” she ground out. “When all you have is a hammer, every solution involves swinging it.”

The Burning Forge leaned back, using the massive anvil as a throne. Or perhaps a stool. She looked down at her with that vacant mask, almost as if disappointed that its words weren’t getting through to Agnete. Though thankful that it wasn’t wording at her at the moment, Agnete wasn’t sure that she and the god could come to an understanding. What was it the Protector had said about the Cloak of Shadows and the former inhabitants of the Underworld? Poor Lady Shadows couldn’t understand. The Cloak of Shadows had ‘saved’ the denizens of the land by turning them into mere shadows of their former selves, doomed forever to carry out the motions of life as if the ones casting those shadows were still around.

Hardly a salvation in Agnete’s eyes.

Now here was the Burning Forge, trying to communicate something to her. Despite the clear concepts slamming into her like a crystalline hammer, Agnete wasn’t sure exactly what they were trying to say. She had thought the Burning Forge was disappointed with how she had been using the flames, hence her response, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“What do you want?” Agnete hissed. Even her tongue, despite the lack of pain, felt charred and broken.

The Burning Forge stared. It was said that the designs and plots of the Light were impossible to understand for mere mortals and that the same held true for other gods before their departure. But something about the Burning Forge struck Agnete as different.

It was this world. Although strange and alien compared to what she was used to, the world itself was… understandable? Agnete couldn’t begin to guess what the machines were making, but they were making something. There was a logic to their processes. Raw material went into the furnaces, ingots went into molds, produced goods went elsewhere. Some amount of it must have come to this central area, for there were several buckets along the walls collecting pieces and parts that fell in from large hoppers.

And, while Agnete didn’t understand how they worked, she had seen the Burning Forge produce one of those black gearboxes. One of which now served as the core to the mechanical copy of Agnete, others had been the center of those flying serpents. They were… somehow… people. Or living beings, at the very least. Presumably, after being produced here, those black boxes would go elsewhere in the factory. Perhaps they would be turned into more flying serpents or those suited figures Agnete had only seen from a distance.

The Burning Forge was creating… followers? A population? The god existed here, on the ground level among mere mortals, working alongside them. A stark contrast to the Light, who shone down radiance from afar, or the Cloak of Shadows, or Xel’atriss, Lock and Key. Presumably different than the Heart of Gold or the Almighty Glory as well.

The Burning Forge leaned forward. She stretched out her bare hand, scooping it through the pool of molten metal. Pulling her hand up, she held out a small globule of the glowing viscous liquid. Bits of it dripped back through the god’s fingers, but once she moved her hand over the obsidian platform that Agnete stood upon, the drippings began moving, pulled unnaturally toward Agnete.

Agnete took an unconscious step backward only to realize the foolishness of her actions. If this god wanted to kill her, lower, more tangible god or not, Agnete doubted she would have been able to stop it. With the charred skin of her body spreading ever further because she had grasped hold of her flames only to pull in too much, Agnete doubted the god needed to do anything at all but wait a few more minutes.

With Agnete standing still, the thin strands of the molten metal dripping from between the Burning Forge’s fingers touched her. Her flesh hissed for a brief moment, but there was still no pain. The glowing red metal worked its way around her body, flowing as if it had a mind of its own, filling in the thin cracks left behind in her charred skin. The skin near the glowing strands of metal started to change as well, turning from crusty and rough to a near glass-like smooth. It remained black but looked more like the obsidian platform she stood upon than anything organic.

The heat in Agnete’s chest started to spread out. It didn’t leave her body as it had when the Burning Forge first spotted her, rather, it expanded, filling the metal lines that now covered her arms, legs, and neck. The burning of her skin slowed and subsided even as the metal started glowing ever so slightly brighter.

Agnete looked down at one of her hands, frowning as she flexed her fingers. Both the metal and the glassy skin flowed and shifted, allowing her to move. With a thought, she pulled out her flames just as she would have done before. A small burning ball ignited the air over her palm. Instead of the familiar red-orange flames, the ball of fire was blue. Almost white. Agnete sucked in a breath and forced down the amount of magic flowing from her. It took concentration and effort, but the blue flames slowly turned back to yellow and finally a deep scarlet.

Movement from the Burning Forge pulled Agnete’s attention off her magic. Once again, the god dipped her hand into the pool of magma that surrounded the anvil. She scooped up a globule and held it over the obsidian platform. This time, she did not hold it near Agnete. It plopped down, landing in a large blob.

The Burning Forge used the sharp tips of her gauntleted fingers to carve into the blob as it quickly solidified. Having worked in a forge plenty of times, Agnete recognized some of the techniques that she used in manufacturing something, melting down specific parts while allowing others to cool and mold the metal. Except the skill with which the Burning Forge worked was unbelievable. The metal form started to take shape. A ruff of precisely carved feathers, complete with individually lined barbs in the vane… a beak with perfect roughing making it look as if it had been used… the sharp points of the talons gripping the top of the obsidian platform’s raised railing…

If Agnete had been as large as the Burning Forge, such fine details would have been impossible.

Yet it was clear. As the Burning Forge pulled her hand back, she left behind a raven. A life-sized raven cast in metal yet looking so realistic that Agnete was genuinely surprised when it didn’t take flight.

The Burning Forge pulled back, leaning against the anvil once again as she watched Agnete. With a lazy sweep of her arm, she gestured Agnete forward.

Agnete took a step, idly noting that she could feel her toes once again. The marvel of that would have to wait, however. She was fairly certain that the Burning Forge was, once again, trying to communicate with her. Having decided that those words weren’t working, she decided on… interpretive artwork, apparently.

Agnete threw a questioning glance up at her patron god, wondering if all of the gods were so…

So…

Obtuse.

Would it kill the god to just explain normally? Surely a god could figure out how to talk rather than use those concepts.

Concealing a sigh, Agnete looked back to the raven.

And stared.

And… something, somewhere deep inside her, was disappointed.

It was an impressive work, to be sure, as lifelike as it was. But it was just a raven. No matter how she looked at it, no matter the angle, it was just a raven. Not even a raven. A metal simulacra that couldn’t take flight. It wasn’t doing anything apart from sitting. It perched and sat, forevermore.

For a mortal, it would have been wonderous in detail alone. But coming from a god? Perfection was the bare minimum of expectations. A god whose domains included creativity? Disappointment was the least of the feelings surging inside Agnete at the moment. She reached out for the raven.

She paused, seeing her arm once again. Her once-charred skin was now a smooth, obsidian-like surface, crisscrossed with glowing veins of molten metal that filled the cracks and imperfections. The delicate lines of fiery gold traced intricate patterns across her fingers and palms, turning her hands into a work of art that celebrated the rebirth, forging beauty from her broken skin.

“Ah.”

Agnete looked back to the god lounging against her anvil.

“I… I see,” Agnete said. “I… I didn’t have a choice. Up until this last year, I had no choice but to burn and burn and burn.

“I’ve built things since then. Armor, mostly. But also a wheelchair, mechanical legs, and…” she trailed off, looking back to the door to the chamber where her copied body was presumably waiting.

The Burning Forge was disappointed. A god of fire, creativity, manufacturing, and automation wanted her powers used for more than just sweeping away enemies in gouts of flame. She wasn’t a god of war of domination, nor of purification through cleansing fire. She was a constructor. A builder. An innovator.

“There’s a war going on,” Agnete said with a frown. “I can’t make promises that things will change immediately, but…

“But,” Agnete said, straightening her back. “The war has left a full half of Mystakeen in ruins.” She looked down at her hands again before looking back up. “It can be rebuilt, grander than before. Even with your power, I’m only one person. I can’t do it alone…”

The Burning Forge crossed her arms, looking down with that mechanical mask shifting ever so slightly. Her gaze was judging, trying to decide if Agnete understood what the god was trying to say. Agnete… honestly wasn’t sure, exactly, that she had. Communicating in such an enigmatic way was surely less efficient than other methods. Then again, this wasn’t a god of efficiency.

With a casual, almost human-like shrug of her shoulders, the Burning Forge looked upward. Her fingers curled around a large chain dangling from the domed ceiling overhead. Each link of the chain was taller than Agnete and the metal bars were thicker than her entire body. Yet the Burning Forge grasped a hold of it with ease and gave it a light tug.

An ear-splitting whistle resounded through the air, drawn out. Agnete clapped her hands to the sides of her head, trying and failing to protect her ears. The whistle lasted until the Burning Forge released the chain.

[Understood]/[comprehend]/[know-it-all]. [Assistance]/[aid]/[SERVITOR]|[required]/[lifetime supply]|[begin manufacturing]!

 

 

“We cannot communicate, can we?”

The mechanical creature turned at Agnete’s question. The gears and panels making up its ‘face’ turned and shifted. A ratcheting noise came from somewhere deeper within. It clearly heard the question. There was no indication of understanding. It didn’t nod or shake its head, it didn’t speak back to her even in that language the clockwork eye used. It just… stared.

Communication wasn’t a skill Agnete thought of herself as possessing under normal circumstances. Brought in by the inquisitors at a relatively young age and then used by them for the majority of her life, speaking with others simply wasn’t something she did often. Reports, inquiries, interrogations, and all other matters of talking were Vrox’s territory. Or, occasionally, Chronicler Greesom’s. Agnete’s role was to be an imposing, unstoppable force they could wield to get others to talk.

To speak with something that couldn’t communicate with her was far beyond anything she could accomplish.

With a small sigh, Agnete turned and looked outside the window.

The backdrop of the endless factory rushed past at dizzying speeds. Barring teleportation, Agnete doubted she had ever traveled even half as fast as she was moving now. The mechanical version of herself that she had constructed brought her to a large metal carriage set atop thin beams of metal that stretched off into the horizon. Like carts in mines scaled up to an absurd degree. It moved along those tracks with great metal wheels, driven by some unseen magics at the front of the craft. Agnete wanted to look at what was surely an impressive magical array, even if she knew she wouldn’t understand it, but the mechanical version of herself had insisted she take a seat.

It wasn’t a particularly comfortable seat. Just a metal bench. The way it curved upward slightly made Agnete think that it hadn’t been designed for humans.

Presumably, this kind of transportation would carry those humanoids Agnete had seen before stepping through the portal. She hadn’t gotten a closer look at them since. She hadn’t seen much of anything living out here. Just the occasional lightning serpent flying through the dark clouds overhead, more of those mechanical eyes mounted on mobile gantries, and the thing she had created.

“ᚺᛟᚹ ᛞᛟ ᛃᛟᚢ ᚺᚨᚹᛖ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛈᛟᚹᛖᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚷᚱᛖᚨᛏ ᛖᚾᚷᛁᚾᛖ?”

The steam-filled pipes in the copy’s chest reverberated in a fairly light sound. It pitched upward toward the end like a question, but Agnete wasn’t sure if it was actually asking her something or if her mind was just seeking recognizable patterns.

Rather than try to parse the utterly alien sounds, Agnete decided on a different tactic. She pointed a finger to her chest and said, “Agnete.”

The metal head dipped, almost like it was looking where she had pointed despite its lack of obvious eyes. It stared a moment before its head turned back up.

“Agnete,” Agnete said again. “Can you say that? Agnete.”

“ᚨᚷᚾᛖᛏᛖ.”

Agnete frowned. The sounds were close. Not exactly. “Agnete,” she said again, this time pointing toward her face so that the thing wouldn’t think her chest had a name.

“ᚨᚷᚾᛖᛏᛖ.” This time, with its words, it bent its arm in several places an arm wasn’t meant to bend and pointed.

But it pointed at itself.

Agnete shook her head. Reaching out, she grasped the thing’s hand and twisted its finger to point to herself. “Agnete,” she said, pointing with the mechanical creature’s finger.

“ᚨᚷᚾᛖᛏᛖ,” it repeated, much quicker on the uptake this time. Though Agnete wasn’t sure it understood.

“Agnete,” Agnete said, pointing to herself once again. She then turned her finger to the machine. “Who?”

“ᚨᚷᚾᛖᛏᛖ.”

“No. No…” Agnete said as it repeated the same thing it had been saying for a while now. It didn’t understand. She sank back into the seat, resting her back against the chair with a sigh. She wasn’t sure why she had bothered. It wasn’t like teaching it her name or learning its name, if it even had one, would let them communicate at all.

The creature made a noise. A low whining tone—or perhaps a whistle. It stretched on for a brief moment before shifting back into the strange words it used. “ᚨᚱᛖ ᛃᛟᚢ ᚢᛈᛋᛖᛏ? ᛞᛁᛞ ᛁ ᛞᛟ ᛋᛟᛗᛖᛏᚺᛁᚾᚷ ᚹᚱᛟᚾᚷ?”

Agnete ignored the creature, looking outside the window once again.

She felt… hotter than usual. Not as hot as when she actively used her flames, but the outside air was warming up. The windows of this vessel were positioned on its sides, negating her ability to look where they were headed. Nevertheless, she could see a red glow staining the forward side of the factory around her. The morning sun? Or evening sun? The dark clouds overhead reflected a lot of the factory lights which made it difficult to tell the time. If there was something akin to the time of day. The Underworld lacked any semblance of a day-night cycle.

But the red-orange at the front of the craft didn’t look like any morning she had ever seen. It was more like the flickering of a campfire against the trees of a thick forest. Except far more intense. A better analogy would be Agnete’s own flames against the brick walls of Elmshadow during her assault on the burg.

Was it one of the great furnaces? Agnete had seen several while atop the moving pathways. Other moving pathways, assisted by mechanical grabber arms, carried massive loads of raw ore to the furnaces. A steady stream of ore went into them and came out the other side as shiny ingots, all of which ended up transported elsewhere.

But none of those furnaces had been quite so bright as the light ahead of the vessel.

Agnete stood, wanting again to move to the head of the craft, this time to look at where they were headed and the magic that propelled them forward.

The mechanical creature latched its many-jointed hand onto Agnete’s wrist.

The heat in Agnete’s core flared and, for a moment, she thought of simply melting the creature to scrap. It kept getting in her way, dragging her through this place, all without even a hint at where they were headed or what they wanted from her. But something stopped her. Some strange feeling deep in her chest.

She wasn’t quite sure why, nor was she sure how, but the way those mechanical cogs turned on the creature’s face struck a chord somewhere inside Agnete. It was looking at her with… worry? Agnete didn’t understand how she could read any part of its expression.

“ᚨᚷᚾᛖᛏᛖ,” it said, trying to repeat her name. “ᚨᚷ… ᚨᚷ… Agnᛖᛏᛖ…”

Agnete raised an eyebrow. It almost got it right.

Releasing Agnete’s wrist, it pointed a finger in her direction. “Agneᛏe.”

Agnete slowly nodded her head.

The construct turned that finger on itself. Agnete adopted a preemptive frown, fully expecting it to repeat her name while pointing at itself.

“ᚹᚺᛟ.”

Agnete raised her other eyebrow. “Who?” she repeated. “I don’t know. That’s what I was asking you.”

“ᚹᚺᛟ,” it repeated again, moving its finger from its chest to its face. “ᚹᚺ… ᚹᚺ… Wᚺo.”

“Oh.” Agnete stared at the mechanical construct that looked so similar to herself yet so alien at the same time. With a sigh, she clasped a hand to her face and ran her fingers down her cheeks. “Oh no.”

“Wᚺo,” it said, then pointed to Agnete. “Agneᛏe. Wᚺo. Agneᛏe. ᛁ ᚨᛗ Wᚺo. ᛃᛟᚢ ᚨᚱᛖ Agneᛏe. ᛁ ᚢᚾᛞᛖᚱᛋᛏᚨᚾᛞ ᛃᛟᚢᚱ ᛗᛖᚨᚾᛁᚾᚷ ᚾᛟᚹ.”

“I still have no clue what you’re saying,” Agnete said, shaking her head. “Unless you can tell me where—”

Agnete jerked as an ear-splittingly loud whistle sounded somewhere above them. She heard the familiar screech of metal against metal. Almost immediately, the vessel lurched. It would have thrown her forward had the construct not grasped hold of her shoulders to steady her.

Her first thoughts were of violence. Already running hot, her flames flared brighter in her chest, fearing that they had somehow come under attack. Only the utter calm of the construct made her think that everything was going as expected.

Outside the window, the scenery slowed from the blur it had been as the vessel came to a stop.

Only when it finally finished moving did the construct rise to its feet. “ᚹᛖ ᚺᚨᚹᛖ ᚨᚱᚱᛁᚠᛖᛞ. ᛏᚺᛖ ᛒᚢᚱᚾᛁᚾᚷ ᛖᚾᚷᛁᚾᛖ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᛃᚢᛞᚷᛖ ᛃᛟᚢᚱ ᚹᛟᚱᛏᚺᛁᚾᛖᛋᛋ ᛏᛟ ᚺᛟᛚᛞ ᚺᛖᚱ ᚠᛚᚨᛗᛖᛋ.”

“What…”

The construct looked to her again, gears meshing together in obvious thought. “Agneᛏe,” it said, pointing a finger toward her. It then pointed toward the carriage door as it hissed open with a gout of steam. “ᛗᛖᛖᛏ. [Eternal Engine]/[Molten Artisan]/[Burning Forge].”

Agnete’s breath hitched as she snapped her head to the construct. It spoke in that language. The one she had heard only rarely coming from Vezta’s mouth. The one that was less a language and more a way of forcing concepts into other people’s heads.

And Agnete just had the concept of a god shoved into her mind.

“The Prince is sending a few thousand soldiers to help with the defense,” Arkk said. “Including a full detachment of spellcasters who can help operate both magical protections and bombardments. They’re stopping in Cliff first before coming here, so it will be a while. Perr’ok will have ten of his… prototypes ready before the army is expected to arrive. Leda’s tower is nearly complete and ready to move, though it is still understaffed. Our tower has extended its influence about as far as possible through burrowed tunnels all around Elmshadow. We have a countermeasure for the avatar of gold—”

“Untested and with a limited range.”

Arkk nodded at Rekk’ar’s assessment. “True, but that is still more than we had before. I’m not going to say that this battle is going to be easy but I don’t think we’ve ever been more prepared. And if it works, we might be able to end everything once and for all.”

“And yet, their army still approaches. They are either fools or they’ve got plans of their own.” Rekk’ar leaned over his plate of steak, prepared by Larry, with a heavy glower. “I wouldn’t bet on them being fools if I were you, no matter how nice of a surprise it would be.”

“It’s the Eternal Empire. Nobody I’ve spoken to knows much of anything about them, other than their utter dominance of the continent across the seas. They rule over a land larger than the Kingdom of Chernlock, Evestani, the Tetrarchy, and the Beastmen Tribes combined without any dissident or even banditry.”

“Allegedly. Wouldn’t put it past some king to say their land is one of peace and unity while the truth couldn’t be further in reality.”

Arkk nodded in agreement. “Then there is that thing you saw. Still can’t find any evidence of it with the crystal ball—”

“I know what I saw,” Rekk’ar said, thumping his fist against the table. The plate rattled as it settled.

“Not calling you a liar. Just saying that I can’t see what you saw.”

Arkk had half a mind to head out on a scouting mission of his own. Unfortunately, that was too dangerous. In Gleeful Burg, the avatar had been able to detect him, roughly at least. He wasn’t sure if it was the teleportation or just his presence. Either way, approaching that army was too great a risk. So he just had to trust in Rekk’ar’s words. His and a handful of others he had sent out to double-check.

A few scouts had reported the same thing Rekk’ar had. A few others hadn’t noticed anything amiss. All that told Arkk was that whatever Rekk’ar had seen, it wasn’t always with the main army.

“Any updates on getting that purifier back?”

Arkk frowned, shifting his focus to Agnete. The area she was traveling through was hot enough that a bright orange glow washed out just about everything. Although looking through the link was purely in his mind, it still made him want to squint.

The lesser servant was on its own, conducting a mission on Arkk’s orders that would hopefully bring Agnete back home. The distances it had to traverse, all while keeping hidden and out of sight of those mechanical eyes and flying serpents, meant it wasn’t making as much progress as Arkk would have hoped.

If it failed…

Well, Agnete would well and truly be on her own.

“For now, I believe we’ll just have to trust her to figure things out for herself. She is an avatar of that world’s god and, based on everything I’ve seen through the link, she is being treated… well?”

“I’m less interested in how she is being treated and more interested in finding someone else capable of standing up to that avatar. Your little countermeasure doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“We just need to figure out how to use it properly,” Arkk said with a small sigh. “But you might be right. We can’t assume we’ll have Agnete for this battle.”

What did it mean to meet a god?

Agnete, as a purifier of the Inquisition of the Light, had been expected to uphold the values of the Abbey of the Light. They sought to enlighten the common populace, encourage harmony, preach the word of the Light, and otherwise advance the influence of the Abbey. More realistically, Agnete was only called in when situations devolved to the point of violence. Abnormal magics and their wielders failing to fall in line with the Abbey, heretics threatening common people, and monsters rising against the innocent. Agnete could count how many actual sermons she had attended on one hand and have fingers left over. She knew exceedingly little about the actual Light or what it wanted, if such things could even be comprehended by mere mortals.

Nobody met the Light. The Ecclesiarch was said to converse with the Light, but she hadn’t ever met him. Only once had she been in the presence of an oracle and she hadn’t been allowed to speak to the seer for fear of tampering with future visions. The closest she had was Darius Vrox and if the Light was anything like him, she imagined the world would have been a far more… orderly place.

To Agnete, her serving the Light had been no different than a common mercenary following his captain. A captain of a mercenary team went wherever they were paid to go and Agnete went wherever she was told to go.

Arkk had described the experience of encountering Xel’atriss to Agnete once upon a time. The way Vezta practically tackled him to the ground, covering his eyes out of fear that merely seeing a god would break his mind. He then described what effectively was a vision, seeing the god as it interacted with him. He spoke of awe, fear, and eventual calm as he realized that the being hadn’t intended him harm.

Yet, despite the actual encounter with such a being, Arkk didn’t seem all that reverent toward them. If Agnete had to put a single word to his demeanor towards the Pantheon, it would be annoyance. Which, she supposed, was understandable. Vezta had given him a task to fix what the gods had ruined. A practically insurmountable problem for any normal person. But to Arkk, it was just another problem he had to solve to fulfill a promise. And the gods were the cause of that problem, making them all something of an irritant.

The Protector, on the other hand, had never spoken with or properly encountered the Lady Shadows. Yet, alone and isolated for uncountable years, it had developed an intense devotion to its god. One that rivaled even the most pious devotees of the Light that Agnete had seen. Even greater than the fanatics of the Golden Order. Agnete was fairly certain it had built up an image of the Cloak of Shadows in its mind that was far greater than the actual being could possibly be, given the sorry state of the Underworld.

Vezta was the only other example of someone truly serving the Pantheon that she could think of. While Vezta’s devotion didn’t go as far as the Protector’s, she still revered them. Often with a special emphasis on Xel’atriss. But in Vezta’s eyes, the Pantheon as a whole had been wronged by the whims of three of their number. The entire group, crippled by the traitors, needed mortal hands to help them get back to their former glory.

That always struck Agnete as an oddity. How could gods end up diminished to such a point, especially the majority of them? She might have been able to understand it if all the rest fought against one, but as it was now? Agnete wasn’t sure the title of god was fitting for a being who needed aid from mortals. It wasn’t just the current situation that sent that thought through her mind.

Avatars had always existed in some form or other, according to Vezta. Beings granted slivers of the Pantheon’s power, presumably to carry out their will. That implied that these so-called gods had always needed help.

And she was one of them.

What did that mean? Was she expected to bow down and kiss the floor her god walked upon? To follow along with its every command without question? Agnete might not be the most assertive person. With the inquisitors, she had been pointed at a target and threatened with ice if she dared to deviate. With Arkk, though more willing, she still ended up aimed in a direction and told to carry out tasks. Now, she stood before grand iron doors that stretched up high enough that she had to lean back to see the top and wide enough to fit an entire warehouse, she had to wonder what awaited her in the next chamber.

More strings for the puppet?

At least with Arkk, Agnete got the impression that she could burn away her strings and he wouldn’t try to reattach them. She doubted the same could be said here. Or, rather, the very flames she wielded with such freedom lately were her strings.

“ᛏᚺᛖᛃ ᚨᚱᛖ ᚹᚨᛁᛏᛁᚾᚷ ᚠᛟᚱ ᛃᛟᚢ, Agneᛏe.”

Agnete’s eyes flicked to the mechanical version of herself. Her own creation, minus that black box of gears and steam. It simply stood in an uncannily stiff stance that almost perfectly mirrored the one Agnete held.

Turning back to the door, Agnete’s black hair whipped about her with a sudden rush of air. The air came from her back, slammed into the door, and rocketed upwards to join with a column of twisting flame that stretched high enough to reach the smoggy clouds overhead. Gears on the tall tower turned in smooth motions, some driven by pistons on the outside, others driven by internal mechanics. The rhythmic thumping of metal against metal sounded like a blacksmith’s hammer striking over and over again. It was loud enough to resound throughout the factory, drowning out every other noise that cropped up during the long pauses between strikes.

Agnete drew in a breath, feeling the heat rush into her chest with the hot air. She took a step forward, leaving her mechanical clone behind.

The great doors shifted. Long metal bars withdrew from the doorframe, pulled along metal tracks by the rotation of cogs, ratcheting and clicking with every moment. The doors cracked open.

An inferno rushed out from the thin gap, enveloping Agnete in familiar flames.

 

 

 

“This is it?”

Arkk leaned over Zullie’s desk, frowning at the object clasped between the metal claws. It… wasn’t exactly what he had expected.

His researchers had been hard at work. Since they couldn’t try to connect to the Anvil until the scrying team found another portal archway, Sylvara, Zullie, and the others went back to the binding agent project to oppose the avatar of the Heart of Gold. This binding agent was constructed using items recovered from the Silence. Although several plant clippings had been brought back, the two main items of note had been a hammock and those flowers that put people to sleep. So, he had expected rope or a flower to sit on top of the table. Or, failing that, a skull to represent the Eternal Silence’s other dominion.

Instead, he got… that.

A horrifying bundle of dried twigs and grass, tied with thin strings into a rough, humanoid shape. The entire thing looked like it had been dipped into a vat of molten gold—which might have explained a minor deficit in the treasury—but the dipping job had been poor enough that the somewhat charred plants were still visible at various points and the gold was flaking off. It looked like a haphazard mess, far from the quality he had come to expect from most of Zullie’s work.

Arkk folded his arms, looking around the assembled group. Sylvara sat with heavy eyelids, clearly trying to use pure frustration to stay awake. The witch in the next seat around the table wasn’t even trying. She was stretched back in her seat, head resting on one shoulder. Savren hadn’t shown up at all. Morvin and Gretchen had their backs to one another, both fast asleep. Only Hale was looking at Arkk, frowning slightly but not any more than normal.

“It isn’t affecting you?” the youngest of his research team asked before breaking out into a long yawn.

And when had Hale joined the research team properly? At some point, she had just become a fixture of the group and Arkk hadn’t questioned it. Did she contribute or just observe?

She took in all the magic around her and just made it work so easily? He had struggled for years. It wasn’t until he contracted with an ancient magical artifact that he found himself able to control his magic enough to utilize it. It was true that she had proper books and even a tutor in the form of Zullie rather than just what he had gleaned from passing travelers… If he were being honest… seeing her like that made him feel like he could never compete. There just wasn’t a point in trying further. He really should just lie down and quit…

Arkk’s thoughts jerked to a stop. He looked around the room at everyone’s lethargic state before his eyes settled on the gold effigy. With a thought, he teleported it off to a secure vault down in the lower reaches of Fortress Al-Mir.

The instant it was gone, it was like the air itself became lighter. Hunched shoulders relaxed, droopy eyes picked up, and Morvin and Gretchen shifted but failed to wake.

Arkk looked at Hale again.

She shifted, looking uncomfortable. “What?”

Smiling, Arkk reached out and ruffled her hair, prompting a brief shout and a sudden scramble to get away.

It was a good thing he had checked in on them. Or, rather, it was a good thing Hale had tugged on the employee link. He hadn’t been paying attention to what they were doing. A dangerous prospect. If they had been left to sit in that thing’s presence, who knew how it would end up.

“So,” Arkk said, knocking the tip of his boot into Zullie’s chair, startling her awake. “Apathy? Or sleep inducement?” Arkk looked to Sylvara. “Is that going to work on the avatar? You were fighting it off.”

“It was a test,” Sylvara snapped, her fingers digging into the table’s edge. “If I can resist it then the avatar can too.”

“It’s fine,” Zullie said as she lazily waved a hand back and forth. She was still fully reclined in her chair, not even able to muster the energy to look at anyone else. “I proved it gets stronger with proximity. Couldn’t even get close enough to touch it.”

Arkk pursed his lips into a frown. “If we have to touch the avatar with it, I might as well hit him with a lightning bolt.”

“Ah! But that’s the beauty of it,” Zullie said, snapping her fingers. “Allow me to explain…”

“We should bombard them now.”

Rekk’ar slowly shook his head, lowering the looking glass. The motion made the thin cloak of shadow draped over his prone body shift uncomfortably. He tried to adjust it without moving too much only to find a twig digging into his side in the new position.

“Think about it, all we have to do is move that magic thing out here, activate it a few times, and then run away. Come back a day later and do the same thing. They can’t march while protected by the golden dome so they have to take it down at some point. We slow them down and, by the time they even reach Elmshadow, they’re beaten down to a tenth of what they are.”

“Being out here like this is a risk as it is,” Rekk’ar grunted, pulling the twig from his side. “Maybe it works once. Try it a second time and the bombardment team will be eating one of those golden beams. I guarantee it.”

Dakka scowled, shooting him a glare. With the shadow cloak in the way, her face was little more than a haze against the forest backdrop. He knew her well enough to fill in the gaps. “Maybe once would be enough. Get them wary and sluggish. Wait a few days until they think they’re safe and then do it again.”

“You want to? Be my guest. You have Arkk’s ear. I’m sure you can figure out the words to convince him—if he isn’t already planning something similar on his own.” Rekk’ar grunted as he pulled up the spyglass again. “But don’t come haunting me when you get your name scrawled up on that memorial wall of his.”

The wide open plains made Rekk’ar uneasy. Five steps forward and there would be nowhere to hide even with these shadow cloaks. The army had lookouts specifically on guard for anything out of the ordinary.

The army itself stretched long in several serpentine lines of soldiers, horses, and wagons. All looked out of place in this landscape. Their armor glinted in the fading light as their banners fluttered in the weak breeze. There were two distinct banners among the lines of soldiers. One of Evestani, encrusted in gold. The other were simple black banners bearing a ring of white blades—the so-called Eternal Empire.

The lines began to bunch up as the sun set, all gathering around the campfires that sprung up in their midst. He could make out the figures of soldiers setting up tents in a methodical, practiced way, just as they had every night since invading Mystakeen. A group of their scouts returned, speaking in tones too distant to hear to an individual who seemed to command respect; they were tall and imposing even among the Eternal Empire’s already tall men.

“So?” Dakka said, whispering as the night fell. “What’s your plan?”

“Plan?”

“You didn’t come out here just to watch, did you? I sure didn’t volunteer to join you just to sit around.”

Rekk’ar lowered the spyglass. Peering into those tiny crystal balls strained both his back and his eyes. Seeing things in person had a value of its own. Not that he expected Dakka to understand. “Didn’t ask for your presence,” he said with a grunt. “You want to tag along? Fine. But don’t complain about my job.”

It didn’t help that he didn’t trust those crystal balls. Sure, they worked fine for random scrying, but an army like this knew they were being watched. They weren’t using that white mist to obscure their forces this time, at least not while marching. There wasn’t much point. A blob of white fog or a blob of men, both were obvious.

Information allowed them to plan. The enemy knew that. They wouldn’t march directly toward Elmshadow without a plan of their own. Simple logic dictated that they would try to conceal crucial aspects of their plan just as Arkk burrowed his secrets beneath the ground.

“So what is it?” Rekk’ar grumbled to himself. “Is it a larger army than we expected?”

It was hard to tell the size of the opposing force. Scrying was typically conducted from overhead, allowing them to look down on the entire enemy army. His position now only afforded him a look from a lower angle. Even still, he didn’t think there was a significant difference between what he had seen in the crystal balls versus what he was seeing now.

Was it their carts? There were a number of siege engines in the army. Wheeled catapults and trebuchets capable of launching alchemical bombs or even just stones if the situation called for it. Some of the covered carts were magically protected against scrying, showing nothing more than a black void. Arkk’s current theory was that those carts carried magical bombardment arrays much like the one he had stolen from Evestani in the first defense of Elmshadow. Unless Rekk’ar was willing to venture forth and leave the safety of the forest, venturing straight into the center of the enemy encampment, he wouldn’t be able to ascertain the accuracy of Arkk’s theory.

That was a little too risky. Perhaps the gremlin would manage with her light feet and stealthy spells. Neither Rekk’ar nor Dakka would make it far enough to peek inside those carts, let alone escape with the information.

Even still, that didn’t feel like the answer either. Arkk was likely correct about the contents of most of those carts. If only because of the absence of such magics elsewhere in the army.

“The stars are strange tonight.”

Rekk’ar shuddered as he lowered his spyglass once again. Olatt’an had muttered some words like that before they got themselves into this whole mess. Despite himself, he craned his neck and looked up.

Night had only fallen a short while ago, during their little stake-out. The sky wasn’t totally dark yet. An orange hue struck the undersides of distant clouds, looking an awful lot like the Underworld’s persistent lighting. But directly above, in a cloudless section of the sky, Rekk’ar could see the faint dots of light gleaming down.

He was about to roll his eyes and focus back on the army when one of the stars winked out. That, on its own, wasn’t particularly odd. Stars twinkled. They brightened and dimmed depending on their whims. With the light still in the sky, even if it wasn’t on the ground, he could easily imagine a star being washed out.

But that wasn’t what happened. It had been one of the brightest lights in the sky. Now it was simply gone.

And it wasn’t the only one. Another star disappeared, not far from the first. And another. And another. All in a rough line. There was simply a void where those stars had been.

Except, a short distance back, a star appeared. It popped into existence like it had never left. And another. And another. Even the bright star reappeared after a moment.

Rekk’ar rolled onto his back, staring up with the aid of the spyglass. He aimed it directly at the next star that should disappear if the pattern held up. And sure enough, it did. But it didn’t disappear all at once. Though it was a tiny dot even in the spyglass, he could still see it disappear from one side to the other. As if something crossed between him and the stars above.

Realizing that, he mentally traced out the pattern of missing stars. It was like a leaf. Pointed at one end, wider in the middle, pointed at the other end. Oblong.

Or… not a leaf.

A slight chill ran down Rekk’ar’s spine. That…

That wasn’t possible.

No. Thinking something was impossible was foolhardy. A year ago, he would have said everything about Fortress Al-Mir was impossible. He would have said other worlds were impossible. He would have said monsters like Vezta weren’t possible. Just a few months ago and he would have said giant walking towers were impossible.

“We need to get back,” Rekk’ar said. He had a report to make.

“My father’s armies will finally be arriving within the week.”

Katja tensed, fearing the next words from the Prince’s mouth. Thus far, most of their interactions had been cordial. Even accepting. Which was exactly what Katja had been aiming for.

It honestly felt like she was a slave again, putting on the polite smile to avoid her master’s beatings. The entire charade made her sick. If only the Prince had died like he was supposed to have, she wouldn’t have to suffer through this. The only thing that kept her from snapping was the knowledge that it wasn’t a permanent situation.

She wasn’t a slave. He wasn’t her master. The situation was more akin to that of an employer that she needed to appease.

And the reward for her patience? A chance to take his position. To be named the reagent of Mystakeen, whether that was as Duchess, Countess, or whatever other title she might be able to scramble and scrape for.

But there was always that fear that the Prince or his father might have someone else in mind. And if an army was approaching, so too was the possibility that a less deserving replacement for her was on its way.

The way Prince Cedric was drawing out the conversation did not fill her with confidence. He sat on the former Duke’s throne, surrounded by aides and advisors, of which Katja had effectively become one. She wasn’t quite sure why, but the Prince had seen fit to assign her to a position of effective honor, directly on his left. His right-hand man was, naturally, one of his chief adjutants.

Katja eyed the adjutant with envy. More than once, she had pondered the possible changes to her position should the bearded man fall victim to an assassin from the Eternal Empire. Never enough to engage in any plotting. Given her earlier… actions, she didn’t want to tread through any dangerous waters at the moment. Not when things looked to be going so well.

She held a respected position. In no part due to her intimate knowledge of the territory Evestani currently occupied. Moonshine Burg and its surroundings had been her own territory at one point. What she didn’t know personally, she knew from Arkk. The information he fed her ensured she always appeared ready and competent. Indispensable, in other words. There was no need to vie for a position with the Prince’s clear favorite.

The adjutant—Mack or something to that effect—turned his head toward her and smiled just a little too wide. It was a polite and agreeable smile, but it just widened at the corners of the lips a little too much. He always smiled like that at her. She might have thought he fancied her if not for the look in his eyes. The way he stared always made her feel like she had been speaking her thoughts aloud.

“My lord?” Katja said, prompting the Prince as she looked away from the adjutant. “You don’t sound pleased with that. Is the army a problem?”

With a small scowl, Prince Cedric lowered the letter he had been reading. “Only eight thousand strong. Less than what I requested. With the chaos in Mystakeen, my father wants to ensure that no section of the border between it and Chernlock goes undefended.”

There was something in his words. Some odd hint that he wasn’t quite telling everything he knew. It wasn’t anything big, but Katja had well learned how to spot a liar. “Did you not have your own army in Vaales?” Katja asked, gently prodding. She wasn’t about to call him out for lying. The Prince obviously had his own secrets and she liked her head attached to her shoulders too much to question his plans.

“Only the elites I brought with me.” Cedric drummed his fingers on the throne’s armrest. “Vaales has little need for a standing army. We have other methods for dealing with our problems.”

The adjutant’s smile grew ever so slightly wider at the Prince’s words.

“No,” Cedric continued. “The problem now is what to do with them. I intended to send a detachment about as large as we are getting to Arkk for the defense of the realm, contingent on an in-person meeting with the man. But that plan involved a much larger force that I would direct at my will. With only eight thousand… I either send them all and risk feeding a man with already too much power the notion that he can use them for his own goals, keep them all for myself and risk another incursion through Elmshadow, or split them and potentially fail in all regards due to low manpower across the map.”

He feared lending the full army to Arkk and having Arkk turn around to try to conquer the land with them. Arkk, Katja knew, wouldn’t do that. He had shoved this job off on her, after all, when he easily could have taken it for himself. Of course, perhaps he foresaw the problems that would come with usurping the Duke’s throne right out from under the King’s nose, but, simpleton as he was, Katja doubted that. It was still a reasonable worry for someone who didn’t know the man…

“But wouldn’t the men remain loyal to you? Or your father, at the very least. Just because they would fight with Arkk against Evestani—”

“Company Al-Mir has accrued a large amount of power in a very short amount of time. Not in the least because of a seemingly endless supply of gold that Arkk uncovered somewhere.”

Katja had to hide her scowl. It wasn’t endless. She knew that. A large portion of the gold he used was her gold. Not that she could say that aloud.

“I imagine many soldiers would be loyal. But many more wouldn’t. Never underestimate the greed that lies within the hearts of men.”

“My liege,” the adjutant said. “Why not entrust the army to me? I will march them to Arkk—or rather, to Elmshadow. They will not be under his command, but mine. We will defend the realm, and even continue the march all the way through Evestani until there is nothing left of it.”

“If eight thousand were enough to destroy a nation, no nation would exist,” Katja said with a scoff.

“Eight thousand alone? No. But Eight thousand with unprecedented magical might at their backs?”

Katja pursed her lips into a frown. If Arkk’s fortress could manage that, he surely would have already.

Or perhaps not. Reclaiming Elmshadow had taken about two thousand men. Most of whom had been under Hawkwood’s command, all of whom had pulled back immediately after the battle because of the Prince. Arkk had been left with nothing but his own few men.

Hawkwood, at the moment, was running an errand for Prince Cedric. Katja had not been privy to the details. Another secret. Maybe related to the other lies Cedric was telling?

“If he continues to ignore a meeting with me,” Prince Cedric said slowly, trailing off without finishing his thought. It wasn’t hard to guess at his meaning, however.

Katja slowly drew in a breath. Arkk had been planning on meeting with the Prince. He had sent her letters stating so. But then some emergency cropped up with his men and had been forced to delay. And now…

Katja’s eyes narrowed as she looked to the adjutant. The way he had phrased his plan… March with the magical might at their backs, but not necessarily Arkk. Was he planning on taking Arkk’s power for himself? Katja had abandoned those plans early on in her stay with Arkk, if only because that monstrosity kept killing the men she sent out into the restricted areas of the fortress. It had to be the source of Arkk’s power and it was clearly loyal to him.

A sly grin spread across Katja’s face. If the adjutant wanted to try for himself… who was she to stop him? And if he left Cliff, all the better. She would be here, alone, with the Prince.

“Your adjutant makes an astute point,” Katja said. “Keeping control of the soldiers through a trusted subordinate seems ideal given the situation.”

Cedric turned his head, eying her with a piercing look. “You would nominate yourself?”

Katja let out a short laugh. “No, absolutely not. I am self-conscious of my position. I’m well aware that you would never trust me with an army like that at this stage. But your adjutant suggested himself. I can see how much you trust him. Unless there is a more ideal candidate that I am unaware of…”

The Prince shot a look at his adjutant. Almost a glare, for which he got an even wider smile in return.

Katja made sure to keep her own smile restricted to dainty, no matter what kind of grin she wore inside.

 

 

“ᛈᛚᛖᚨᛊᛖ ᚲᛟᛗᛖ ᚹᛁᛏᚺ ᛗᛖ.”

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

But that voice had not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for trying, Perr’ok.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was it worth it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And…

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

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

Or… not a human at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Arkk stared at the crystalline archway with a mild nervousness. He couldn’t stop sweating. Granted, part of that was Agnete at his side, running a little hotter than normal, but at least a little came from worries over what might come through that portal.

The former orc homeland was a wide and, as with all of the Underworld, desolate place. A few days of labor had rebuilt some of the ruins around, providing shelter and, more importantly, fortifications around the portal. Flying, lightning-spewing machines wouldn’t take them by surprise again. Not to mention, Arkk was present and completely ready to cast slowing spells, explosions, haste spells, and whatever else might help bring such an opponent down enough for Agnete, Claire, or Dakka’s crew to dismantle them.

The most unnerving thing about the situation wasn’t the thought of monsters on the other side of the portal coming through. It was that he might not be able to return if something went wrong. Zullie had assured him that nothing would. They had effectively tested shutting down and reactivating the Fortress Al-Mir portal both in rescuing Olatt’an’s expeditionary team and a few times since then just to make sure it hadn’t been a fluke.

But, while the portal was inactive and the orc homeland portal redirected to the Anvil, Arkk would be entirely cut off from his home world.

A thin membrane of translucent liquid stretched across the interior of the archway. Arkk felt a prickle of magic against his skin, not unlike the sensation of walking into a spiderweb. It wasn’t pleasant. Was that normal? It hadn’t happened when they had rescued Olatt’an. It could just be a product of stress-induced imagination.

He exchanged a glance with Agnete. The flame witch stood stoic and impassive as always, but the embers in her eyes betrayed a hint of the same anxiety that he felt.

“Worried?”

“Excited,” she said, her tone flat. Maybe it wasn’t anxiety then. “Though, perhaps I am somewhat concerned. I don’t… I wanted to know why I am the way I am ever since you told me about the Burning Forge. Why or how I was chosen, who They are, what reasons They have for creating purifiers like me. But now that we’re here, ready to step foot into the world of my patron, I feel like I’m not sure I want to know. What if the answers are lacking? Or nonexistent. It isn’t like we’ve had an audience with the Cloak of Shadows here. The gods might simply not wish to speak to mortals.”

Definitely anxiety then.

Pressing his lips into a thin smile, Arkk nodded, understanding Agnete’s mix of emotions. Frankly, he had been feeling roughly the same since encountering Vezta for the first time. Or, maybe even before then.

“Isn’t that just life?” he said, not quite meaning to say it aloud. Agnete looked over at him, making him shift in mild discomfort. He bought a moment of thought by clearing his throat. “I mean, why are any of us here? Why am I the first to stumble across the fortress in a millennium? Would a massive war have broken out if someone like Hale had come across it or am I at direct fault for that? Or you and Vrox—you probably would have destroyed it, right? What might the world have looked like then?

“Answers might… No, whatever answers you get, if any, will undoubtedly be disappointing compared to any expectations you have built up in your mind,” Arkk said. “Based on what I know of the Pantheon, none of them operate on human-level thought. Listen to the Protector talk of the Lady Shadows and how she doesn’t understand that living beings are different from the shadows she turned them into.”

Agnete’s black lips twisted into a tight frown. “If you mean to comfort or reassure me, you are performing poorly.”

Arkk chuckled, clapping a hand on Agnete’s shoulders. It burned a little, even through her clothing, but not so bad that he pulled back. “I guess I’m just saying not to worry too much about it. Regardless of what answers you find, if any, you have a place here with us.”

Agnete’s frown softened somewhat at his words, prompting him to give a firm and hopefully reassuring squeeze of her shoulder before letting go. He tried to subtly waft his hand behind his back to cool it back down. Judging by the faint smile that graced her lips, he wasn’t too successful.

“A place here,” she mused. “I believe that is a line I have heard coming from ramblemen and bards more often than not when their stories involve people uncovering uncomfortable truths.”

“Langleey got the occasional bard but I was always more interested in stories the adventurers, mercenaries, and bounty hunters had to tell. And learning what little magic they could teach in their short visits to the village.”

“Really? Didn’t just copy one of their lines?” she said with… teasing in her tone? That was unusual. Agnete must have been feeling quite excited. Or anxious. Both.

The conversation trailed off as a ripple spread through the portal. The shimmering membrane, looking like a vertical pool of liquid silver, shifted and spread out into a view of yet another world.

This one was unlike anything he had seen before. The Underworld was a desolate wasteland, much like a desert or the Cursed Forest. The Silence looked like a lush forest; though colored strangely, it hadn’t been anything out of the norm. His world had a whole variety of landscapes and biomes from mountainous forests to sweeping planes and wide oceans. Perhaps that was why those gods had fought over it all those years ago. The variety.

Then again, he had only seen very small slices of both the Underworld and the Silence. They could easily have more variety further out.

But the world before him now was…

It hardly looked like a world at all.

It was a landscape dominated by a monstrous edifice of gears, pipes, and towering metal buildings. Massive stretches of moving pathways snaked back and forth between, through, and around the buildings, carrying an endless stream of glowing rocks, metal ingots, and manufactured creations that Arkk couldn’t begin to name. The pathways fed the materials into hulking machines that belched smoke and hissed steam. Elsewhere, giant arms made of grime-covered metal and bristling with tools moved with precise, eerie efficiency. They lifted components from the pathways with exacting accuracy, assembling intricate devices that whirred to life as soon as they were completed.

Sparks flew from grinding wheels. Furnaces roared with an intensity that could only be matched by Agnete at her highest, though he couldn’t feel them from this side of the portal. Small, boxy carts zipped along narrow rails as they carried more materials throughout the world. Black tar spewed from the open end of a pipe in brief yet intense spurts. Flames at the top of narrow towers burned bright, lighting the horizon.

There were creatures there as well. Monsters, more like. High in the air, he could see a pair of those lightning serpents patrolling about, the crackling electricity on their backs was blatantly obvious against the black clouds in the sky. Neither seemed to have noticed the open portal just yet.

Other creatures moved about. He was pretty sure that they were living beings… but they could well be more artificial constructs. Human-like creatures fully enclosed in tight-fitting suits. They carried tools that emitted a multitude of lights as if they were covered with dozens of tiny glowstones. They seemed to oversee the operation of the machinery around them, walking along on high catwalks that crisscrossed above, around, and between the moving pathways and turning gears.

There was so much to see, so much movement in every speck of Arkk’s vision that he felt utterly overwhelmed. Every time he looked back over a spot that he had already moved on from, he saw something new there. One of the buildings was even moving on massive treads like it was trying to copy a Walking Fortress.

He was far from the only one overwhelmed. It took effort, but he dragged his gaze back to his employees. They were all staring, most with wide eyes and equally wide mouths. The only ones somewhat unaffected were those who had been part of Olatt’an’s expedition. They had obviously seen the other side before and even they still stared.

Agnete started to step forward. Arkk held her back with a much firmer hand on her shoulder.

“Let the lesser servant go first,” Arkk said, looking over to where a servant bubbled and glopped. One of its eyes burst, only to be replaced by a fresh one. In the new eye, he saw mild resignation as he gave the command for it to move forward.

The moment the servant crossed over the threshold, the entire atmosphere on the other side changed. First, mounted atop a massive moving gantry, a spherical orb rushed through the air. A single ray of off-yellow light danced in the smoggy air. As the gantry came to a stop in front of the portal, metal plates on the orb constricted, tightening the beam of light to a thin ray that swept over the lesser servant.

The eye-like orb stared for just a moment.

Spinning red lights lit up at the corners of every building, several of the nearby mechanical arms and moving pathways jerked to a stop, and the two lightning serpents turned and plummeted from the sky. The more human-like figures on the catwalks stopped and turned toward the portal, stared for a moment, and then immediately took off in hasty sprints toward the nearest building.

Arkk didn’t even get a chance to try to pull back the lesser servant before a bolt of electricity splattered it across the smooth surface on the other side of the portal. The serpent that hadn’t fried the servant slithered through the portal high in the air. It opened its metal maw as lightning coursed up and down its spine.

But it didn’t get a chance to attack. The portal structure was low enough that Dakka, leaping even in her armor, managed to bisect it with her scythe. The two halves crashed to the ground.

If the serpents had any sort of self-preservation instincts, the second one didn’t show it. It came through the portal on the tail of the first, stopped over the assembled crowd of soldiers like the first, and promptly got bisected by Raff’el’s scythe as he copied Dakka’s attack. With Dakka’s team here, it seemed the greatest threat they posed was their bodies landing on someone.

“Excellent work you two,” Arkk called out. “Keep ready. We don’t know if there are more.”

He couldn’t see any others, but he could only see one side of the portal. There could be an entire swarm of them behind the portal or more on their way. It wasn’t like he could see all that far with the massive buildings and columns of black smoke. The red spinning lights were still running and none of the humanoids had returned, still hiding. If Arkk could just convey to them that he had come in peace…

With a small sigh, he summoned up another lesser servant and directed it through the portal. It didn’t die instantly, which he took as a good sign, though that mechanical eye mounted on the gantry stared and stared. He had it move around a little on the large circular platform that surrounded the portal. It was about the only space on the other side that wasn’t in motion.

“I’m going to take a quick step over, just to see what I see,” Arkk said when the servant managed to survive for a good three minutes. He took a breath and chanted a brief spell. “Xel’atriss Pargon Bankorok Santak Pargon.”

A swirling void wrapped around Arkk, curling tight against his skin. It let him see out, but it was a bit hazy. This was a perfected version of the spell that had taken Zullie’s eyes. It called upon Xel’atriss, Lock and Key’s dominion over barriers and separation to effectively cut Arkk off from the rest of the world, though only partially. It should keep him safe—it worked on most magic and all physical weapons—though they had never actually tested it against lightning. Or the shadow scythes, for that matter.

Testing it was, unfortunately, a bit dangerous. With it wrapped around his skin, there wasn’t much margin for error. If something pierced the shield, it would pierce him too. He couldn’t even have Priscilla use it to test stronger weapons against her tougher body. Thus far, no one had been able to cast it without instantly collapsing aside from Arkk. The drain on their magic was just too great. And he couldn’t cast it on anyone else, it was a personal spell only.

At least she had worked out a better incantation. It wasn’t as short as Electro Deus, but it wasn’t as long as modern magic.

The moment Arkk stepped through the portal, he staggered in shock.

There were three things that the barrier did not stop that they knew of. It didn’t stop light, allowing him to see. It didn’t stop sound, allowing him to hear. And it didn’t stop air, allowing him to breathe.

All three hit him at once.

The lights, he had expected. There were flashing and blinking lights everywhere in the other world, on buildings, on catwalks, on the moving pathways, and on the machinery. Flames topped tall towers and massive furnaces ate raw ore, belching out sparks and more flame.

The light of the gantry’s eye settled over him, though it did nothing to attack or flee. It simply watched.

While he had expected the lights to be a little more intense, he hadn’t expected the sound.

The noise was overwhelming—a cacophony of clanging metal, hissing steam, and the rhythmic thumping of pistons. Arkk clapped his hands over his ears, but with the barrier in place, he couldn’t quite seal the sound off. Not that he expected it would have helped. The whirring of movement around him and the crackling of electricity somewhere beyond where he could see was noisy to the point that it surely would have made it through his hands. The entire place vibrated like it was some kind of living being. A massive mechanical cat purring loud enough to shake him apart. To top it all off, a truly deafening whining drone heightened in pitch before falling and then rising again, incessantly whining as it oscillated.

And even the sound was nothing compared to the smell.

A potent blend of metallic tang, caustic musk, and acrid burning coal and hot metal. Arkk had once thought that being in the Darkwood alchemist’s workshop had been the worst smell he had ever experienced but even Morford’s most potent concoctions were like flowers compared to this. The smell alone left a greasy, oily feel that lingered in the back of his throat. The occasional whiff of sulfur in the smoke only made his nausea worse.

Arkk wasn’t sure how long he stood there, gaping in shock at the sounds and smells. It could have only been seconds and yet, staggering back into the Underworld coughing and sputtering, it felt like it had been an eternity since he breathed fresh air. The air in the Underworld wasn’t exactly the kind found on a crisp morning in a lush forest and yet he couldn’t get enough of it.

He fully emptied his lungs, canceling the protective spell as he did so, and drew in a completely fresh breath of air until he couldn’t breathe in anymore. The air was stale but somehow oh-so-refreshing.

“Are you alright?” Agnete asked, looking concerned.

“Fine,” Arkk said before breathing a few more times, just to make sure he wasn’t about to throw up. “I don’t know that we can…” He trailed off, breathing again. Air certainly was nice, wasn’t it? He steadied himself and shook his head to try to focus.

“I don’t know that we can do anything over there,” Arkk continued. “It’s worse than the Silence. The air is vile. I’d rather stick my face over a forge’s flume and breathe nothing but that for a week than take another breath inside that place. And the sound…” He wiggled a finger in his ear, opening his jaw as wide as it could before he heard a popping sound.

Agnete stared at him, keeping up her usual impassive look but tainted with a hint of disappointment. She looked away, frowning at the portal. “Would it be alright if I stepped over?”

Arkk waved a hand toward the portal as Ilya found her way to his side, lightly patting his back. She could see for herself.

Agnete gave him a curt nod and, hands tense at her sides, she stepped up alongside the lesser servant on the smooth platform through the portal.

Arkk narrowed his eyes at the bubbling slop of oily tendrils. The lesser servant didn’t seem to care about the air or the noise. The traitor. It could have warned him.

Agnete, on the other side of the portal, appeared to be handling the situation much better than Arkk had. She stood straight, clearly wrinkling her nose but not hacking and coughing. Maybe the forewarning helped. Or maybe her avatarness was helping out in a way that Arkk lacked. She even took another step forward as the gantry eye swiveled over to focus on her.

As soon as it did, the other world changed. The red lights stopped spinning, going dark again. The gantry shifted, its gears twisting in a rapid spin. The orb dropped down, lowered on a series of thick black cables. Agnete tensed as the orb came to a stop directly in front of her. A glowing pane of glass on its surface constricted like an eye, staring directly at her. It waited a long moment before shifting its gaze to the portal.

The membrane popped like a soapy bubble, leaving a space in the crystalline archway.

The shock wore off quickly. He could still see Agnete if he followed her employee link. She was unharmed. So far. Several more of those lightning serpents were coming in from above, but they weren’t attacking just yet. Shaking his head, Arkk turned.

“Zullie,” he called out. “What happened?”

“I… I don’t know! It wasn’t supposed to do that!”

“Get it open again,” Arkk ordered.

Zullie hesitated before rushing up to the crystalline archway. Even sightless, she quickly found the runes in the crystal as if she could see them without trouble. She ran her fingers over the nearest before moving to the next. Calling over the Protector, she got it to lift her where she could continue inspecting the higher ones. It took a few minutes, the entire time Arkk sat tense as the serpents drew closer to Agnete.

Agnete didn’t look all that upset with the situation. She stared up at the serpents, wary but unconcerned. Flames coiled between her fingers, but she wasn’t attacking. They weren’t attacking either.

Did they recognize her for what she was?

“Nothing is wrong with it,” Zullie said as she finished the inspection. Her voice was strained, worried. Which weren’t usually emotions Arkk would have ascribed to Zullie if something went wrong with one of her experiments. Even losing her eyes, after she had recovered enough to speak, she had sounded… excited with what she had learned. “It should be active. This portal is fine,” she said, this time with some amount of relief. “The only reason it isn’t working… if it got cut off at the other end.”

Arkk pressed his lips together. Glaring at Zullie didn’t help. Both because it wasn’t a productive action and because Zullie, though she could somehow see the runes on the portal, couldn’t actually see him. “Solutions?”

“We… know the planar coordinates to the Anvil now. We could try to force a connection to a different portal just like we changed the Fortress Al-Mir-to-Underworld portal to get here.”

“How long?”

“Without you able to give me the coordinates like you did last time? It’ll take a bit… If we can scry over there… I wasn’t able to take magical level readings, but if it was like the Silence rather than the Underworld, they might be low enough that scrying works.”

Arkk closed his eyes. The crystal balls were back at Elmshadow and Fortress Al-Mir. “Get the portal connected to the fortress again,” he said, trying not to snap. “As fast as possible.”

Agnete was alright for now. The large orb hanging from the gantry had moved aside, leaving a short opening to one of the moving pathways. The serpents seemed like they were escorting her toward it, though she was somewhat reluctant to get aboard.

The lesser servant was still over there. It was still alive at Agnete’s side. For a moment, Arkk debated. He could command it to stay by the portal. Perhaps it could repair it on that end if the serpents continued to leave it alone. There was no guarantee of that given how the first servant had fared. And that assumed this portal could even be repaired. It was also his only method of communicating with Agnete. He could see her through the link but without the servant, he might not be able to direct her toward another portal if they got one working.

Agnete reached the moving pathway. She hesitated but stepped up.

Arkk had the servant coil its tendril around her leg, following her on as the pathway began moving, carrying them off through the massive machine that was the Anvil of All Worlds.

 

 

Prince Cedric Valorian Lafoar stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out to sea from the tall tower of the Cliff manor. The early light of the Mon morning gleamed off the glassy surface of the calm ocean. Clouds, high and wispy, did little to diminish the light.

It gave him a clear view of the three dozen ships spread out around the Cliff harbor in a defensive arrangement.

None of the ships were even half as large as one of the Eternal Empire’s warships, but they didn’t need to be. They were mostly for show, demonstrating to the citizens that they were well protected. Their other purpose was troop and material delivery.

When the Duke had stopped the King’s army at the borders to make his ill-conceived alliance with the Evestani without their interference, the King had not simply sat around doing nothing. Sensing a rebellion of some manner, he had recalled a portion of the soldiers, leaving some to watch the border, and loaded them up on these ships to secure the Duke’s seat of power. They were supposed to have arrived with Cedric but the weather had delayed them and he had never been one to wait around.

Their original purpose was a moot point at the moment. Lady Katja handed over control of the city with hardly a word of protest. It was… unsatisfying. If she wasn’t going to fight, why was he even here? He could be on the other side of Mystakeen, leading the charge in person. The whole situation left him feeling like he had wasted his time. Like they were wasting his time. Katja was hiding something—because of course she was. It was obvious the way the eggshells she walked upon kept cracking. But she wouldn’t bare her fangs. She wouldn’t show her claws. She bowed her head, said the right words to ingratiate herself with him, and waited patiently for the opportunities she wanted.

Cedric had half a mind to push her, to find out just how far he had to go to get those claws out.

Katja was lucky that more interesting targets existed to occupy his focus and attention.

“Staring out at sea again? One expects action from you, not idleness. You aren’t going soft as your age advances, are you?”

Cedric didn’t turn to face the light and innocent voice. “Mags. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I shouldn’t be anywhere. But I am. Thanks to your beloved Jewel—”

A rage erupted deep within Cedric’s chest. He whirled around, hand snapping out as he moved to grasp the cheeks and jaw of the creature. Only to find himself frozen upon turning and seeing what was behind him.

The princess pulled back, her heart-shaped face going pale at the sight of him. Her eyes sparkled with a deep, expressive blue as she fluttered her long eyelashes. The long, flowing hair cascaded down her back in soft waves of rich chestnut. She looked… frightened. The playful quirk of her lips was nowhere to be seen, replaced with a slight opening of her mouth.

It was her. Again. She was there, in front of him, looking as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes upon her. Heart aching, his hand slowly dropped to his side.

“Ced?” she asked, her voice light and innocent but filled with an air of trepidation. “Are you alright? It’s early. You should come back to bed.” Her fingernails, painted solid black, tapped together with a nervous clicking. “We can… do that thing you like.”

His eyes followed the movements of her fingernails. Her black fingernails. One flaw was all it took.

Cedric’s hand shot out, grasping her face. With a wrench of his wrist, he ripped his Jewel’s face straight off.

The flesh came apart in long, sinewy strands that clung to his fingers like sticky tree sap. A waterfall of blood erupted from the gaping wound, cascading down Jewel’s neck and staining the pristine white of her nightgown. The body melted apart, crumbling in on itself until it was nothing more than a compacted pile of meat, bones, and flesh.

“I’ve told you to leave her alone,” Cedric snarled.

A deep, hearty chuckle echoed off the coned tower roof.

Cedric turned again, hand reaching out, only to pause once again.

His father stared back, face lined with age. Hard, steely eyes met with his. “You’ve let that woman live,” the King said, voice dour.

“She’s cooperating,” Cedric said.

“I’ve spied on her, seen her meet with that mercenary commander everyone is talking about. They plot against you, you know? She grew tired of stealing gold and has turned her sights on stealing the entire kingdom. From me.” Cedric’s father shook his head. “A thief and a bandit to the core. The only cure for the likes of her is a short drop from a long rope.”

“It… isn’t necessary.”

“But it would be fun, wouldn’t it? Remember the look on that count’s face when he realized there was no hope for his little rebellion? You were far more willing back then. What happened to you? You’re no fun at all, anymore.” The King’s eyes widened as he emphasized his words, with his mouth splitting into a too-wide grin that showed off too-sharp teeth. “Or are you wanting other kinds of fun with her?”

The King melted away on his own without any contact from Cedric. The bloody mess left behind let off clouds of steam in the chill morning air. Cedric tried to turn around but a pressure on his back kept him facing the bloody mass.

“Her body is shapely,” a low, seductive version of Katja’s voice whispered in his ear. Hands snaked up and over his shoulders. Dark arms with tattooed black stripes crossed over his chest. “She likes the pleasure as well. Shares her bed with her men—and women—more nights than not. If you just ask…” Those hands moved up and the long, black fingernails caressed the underside of his chin. “You could have a new princess to replace that little Jewel of yours.”

Cedric gripped one of the hands around his neck, squeezing it until he heard bones crack and crumble. “Mags,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Why are you here?”

A fully nude Lady Katja sauntered around Cedric, managing to hang off him the entire time. The bent angle of her crushed wrist didn’t bother her in the slightest. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” she said with a pout that didn’t fit on the former bandit’s face. “Why am I here? You promised me the blood of your enemies dripping off my skin. But look.” She ran a hand over her chest. “Completely dry. I’m bored. I’m so bored it is threatening to break our little contract.”

It was useless to try to decide if the creature was telling the truth. The contract shouldn’t have such an easy hole in it. Yet, if there was a loophole that she had seen, leaving things as they were was dangerous.

“The Eternal Empire has a cutter out in the waters a league away from shore, watching our movements. Go have your fun with that.”

“Another warship?” the nude Lady Katja said. She shook her head in disappointment. “You can’t keep giving a woman the same gifts over and over again and expect her eyes to light up with the same excitement as the first time. How about that girl? I won’t even break her completely if you want to use her after I’m done. It isn’t like humans need all these arms and legs and hearts, right?”

“You destroyed the first ship in the blink of an eye. Go have fun with this one.”

That only made her pout grow stronger, probably more at her last quip being ignored than at his suggestion. Letting out a disappointed hum, she flashed him a quick smile. Then… disappeared.

“My lord?”

Cedric turned to find a fully clothed Lady Katja standing at the stairway leading up onto the tower proper. A part of him was tempted to reach out and rip her face off. This wouldn’t be the first time Mags had sought to trick him like this, usually in an attempt to break some clause in the contract.

He managed to restrain himself.

“Sorry to disturb you and…” Katja looked around, face poised and serious but with an air of confusion. “I thought I heard you speaking with someone.”

“Musing to myself,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he looked around for any sign of Mags. The creature was gone. For all he knew, she had never been here in the first place, still stuck in her warded carriage. He shook his head, disguising his glance about by looking out to sea once again. “Did you require something from me?”

“I received a letter from Arkk of Company Al-Mir. He says he has a plan for forcing the invaders out of Mystakeen for good—he has a solution for the Golden Order’s avatar—but not the manpower to carry out the plan. He requests a joint operation with men under my… my command, your command, White Company, and any other free company that is still intact.”

Cedric closed his eyes, very much doubting the wording of the last line. “How soon? How many men, exactly?”

Katja hesitated in answering, looking down at a paper in her hands. “He… proposes… meeting in person to discuss further details would be best.”

“Does he now,” Cedric said, his tone flat as he looked back over his shoulder.

Katja didn’t manage to suppress her grimace. Cedric wasn’t all that surprised that the letter didn’t have all the information needed. If what he had read and heard was true, this Arkk wasn’t qualified in the slightest to wield the influence and power that he did.

“Very well,” Cedric said, dismissing Katja with a short gesture. “Send a return letter inviting him to Cliff for discussions.”

“Of course,” she said, bowing and backing down the steps.

“And, Lady Katja?”

She paused, looking up at him from several steps down. She didn’t look afraid. Was that good or bad? Mags wouldn’t like it. But, despite making good points on occasion—when it suited her purposes—he tried to avoid doing things Mags liked.

“Good work,” Cedric said.

The beginnings of a sly smile touched the corners of her lips. It only lasted a moment before she bowed again and ducked fully out of view. That left Cedric narrowing his eyes, watching the stairwell for a long moment.

Perhaps Mags was right about her.

“I’d love to break her,” Cedric said, watching the stairs. “Twist her little lips off her face.”

Cedric looked to himself, fingers flicking to the black fingernails on his hands. Something about the way he spoke rubbed against the grain. “How would you hold up against that so-called avatar?” he asked, ignoring the call for violence.

Cedric looked to Cedric, flashing a maw filled with sharp teeth. “No clue. Never encountered one before. No matter what, it’ll be fun to find out.”

Cedric frowned at Cedric before clasping his hands behind his back and turning to face the sea. He didn’t say a word.

“Ah, but the little fortress keeper? I have encountered their kind before. They’re always so arrogant. Watching the glow in their eyes fade as their confidence amounts to nothing is… most entertaining.”

“He isn’t our enemy.”

“Yet,” Mags said, voice dropping a dozen octaves behind Cedric’s back. “But don’t worry. I can fix that. You just leave everything to me…”

Cedric turned, a protest hanging off the tip of his tongue, only to find himself standing alone at the top of the tower.

“Do you think he didn’t get my message?”

Darius Vrox looked up from a tome he was in the midst of modernizing for proper reading. He slid his reading glasses down to the end of his nose, looking out over the top rim at the so-called archivist who was lounging across one of the nearby desks. She was on her back with her dark red hair spread out around her head, hanging off the edges.

Lyra Zann, if that was her actual name, had become something of a fixture during the study sessions Darius engaged in. She was the High Librarian. Within the library, not even an inquisitor could claim authority over her. Not without cause. With everything she had told him—and had shown him, especially in that little hidden segment of the library—he could certainly find cause.

As she turned her head to face him, a silver glint shined in her eyes despite the lack of any light in the room that might have caused it.

No. Finding cause to accost her wasn’t going to turn out well for him. And it wasn’t like her presence was unwanted. She was knowledgeable. She didn’t necessarily know everything that he wanted to know, but she would know which tomes held the answers he sought.

“I warned you that he is a simpleton,” Darius said. “His greatest attribute is his luck with, perhaps, a secondary ability toward charisma given the forces he has managed to amass in the short time he has been active.”

Lyra let out an elongated hum as she brought a finger to her chin. She tapped a few times with the white, almost glowing nail. “Perhaps another revelation for the oracles is in order. I wanted to cloud the true intentions of that prophecy as some individuals in the Abbey are likely to be sharing information with undesirables, but if he isn’t going to understand… Or maybe I should just try a more direct route.”

Darius narrowed his eyes. The Ecclesiarch was supposed to lead the Abbey. It was he who supposedly received direct revelation from the Light. The oracles were there to assist, granted their information-gathering abilities through hard work and training, though they nominally acted more as clairvoyants than seers. Yet here was Lyra, the unassuming librarian who hadn’t left the library in years if Darius understood the rumors correctly, casually suggesting that she could give out visions on a whim.

Darius wasn’t a fool. It was one thing for a librarian to have access to a hidden trove of books. But he and Sylvara had been doing research on avatars, purifiers, and the ways they used their powers. He could connect the dots as easily as anyone with a modicum of cognizance.

He didn’t want to admit it, however. If the avatar of the Light really was sitting across from him…

The implications were unsettling. Both in that he wasn’t sure how he should act—thus far, treating her simply as the archivist was working well for him—and in that her existence here meant that their side of the conflict could have had a powerful force behind it if she had just left the library.

The previous war with Evestani that had ended a little over thirty years prior had been before his time. He had barely been born at its conclusion. Had it also featured avatars slinging powerful spells at each other? None of the historical records he had come across mentioned great beams of golden light or winter-time assaults throughout the Duchy.

Lyra was watching him again, her eyes glinting with that impossible silver light. It was like she was looking through him.

Darius turned back to his book, pushing his reading glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Another historical record of war, this one from centuries past. A great war that left such a mark on the land that the scars still remained in the form of the wastes the Beastmen Tribes now occupied, west of Evestani and Mystakeen. He had never heard of the war before coming across this book, nor had he ever questioned why the Beastmen Tribes occupied a wasteland beyond the simple fact that nobody else wanted the territory.

“We signed a treaty.”

Darius jolted. Lyra wasn’t draped across the desks any longer. She hung over his shoulder, looking down at the book he had opened.

“To stop something like that from happening again, The Eternal Empire, the Golden Order, and the Abbey all signed a treaty that none would use such tactics in future conflicts. Any future disagreements were to be fought through the hands of mortal men and the magics they could wield, nothing greater.”

“It would seem the Golden Order has forgotten the treaty,” Darius said after a short breath. “Unless you are suggesting that those golden rays capable of leveling large swaths of land are mortal-level magics.”

He hadn’t seen the magic used in person. Sylvara had. The picture his fellow inquisitor painted of the situation was far and beyond what even purifiers like Agnete could accomplish.

“Magics that mortals can wield,” Lyra corrected in a chiding tone before she continued. “Technically, the Golden Order is not assailing the Abbey in this current war. They’re after Arkk and, perhaps more specifically, the being of the Stars at his side.” She paused, donning a wan, humorless smile. “Of course, if the Abbey were harmed or even wiped off the face of the world as a side effect of this conflict…”

“Loopholes,” Darius said with a scowl.

“Don’t sound too upset. Loopholes benefit everyone if they’re positioned to take advantage of them. Purifiers, for example, are mortal men wielding higher-level magics. Were it not for the Abbey’s policy of… nurturing purifiers, the war thirty years ago could have ended far worse for us.”

Darius raised an eyebrow. “What stops our enemies from using that same loophole? Or were their purifiers simply weaker than ours at the time?”

“That,” Lyra said with a chuckle, “is an accomplishment that I cherish. It is all about knowing the natures of your opponents when writing out loopholes like that. The Gree… The Golden Order would never make use of purifiers. They are run by an envious, jealous, and utterly insecure individual who sees everything as threats. The Eternal Empire has a similar problem, except it comes in the form of pride.”

“Knowing is half the battle,” Darius said. He decided to not comment on the implication that Lyra had written out part of the treaty.

“Knowledge is the most important thing in this world of ours,” she countered with a grin. “Wisdom comes in at a close second. Which,” she said, smile turning to a frown, “is why it is so disappointing that I haven’t received any response from your boy. Did he even pay attention to the words? And now he is off galivanting through the land of darkness? No signs of wisdom or knowledge there.”

Darius considered for a moment. “I told you about him, but I know Arkk. Perhaps if I were to write out some suggestions..?”

Lyra Zann put on a small smile, looking at him as if she had expected him to offer all along. “Lovely. Let’s get started then.”

 

 

They said that the heat of battle could do one of two things to age. The adrenaline, the sudden happenings, and the drive to survive in the face of death could erode the effects of age, temporarily lessening the wear and tear on a soldier’s body, making them move with the agility and vigor of a man ten years younger. Muscles, remembering past and training, might stretch and react with a quickness honed to a fine point in years past. Reflexes would hasten, senses heighten, and, for a few fleeting moments, one might reclaim a vitality they had long thought lost.

The opposite could equally be true. Olatt’an dived to one side, feeling every ache, every pin-and-needle in his creaking bones. Hitting the ground shoulder-first only exacerbated the relentless strain. If anything, he felt aged beyond his years. But, as a jagged bolt of lightning arced to the sword he had jammed into the ground and dived away from instead of his chest, he felt some small surge of elation.

He didn’t pick himself up. He simply twisted, bringing his crossbow to his shoulder. Holding his breath, he waited just a moment and finally loosed the bolt.

The crossbow bolt closed the distance in the blink of an eye, striking the strange flying machine’s inner cogs just as his last three had. Once again, gears locked up, spinning bits of metal jammed, and the entire contraption seized. But it only lasted a moment. The metal serpent lost some height, falling low enough to the ground for Zojja to slam her axe into its ribs of iron, but quickly recovered. Its movements seemed a bit stiffer once it resumed the undulating movements of its serpentine body.

Olatt’an grunted as he shoved himself off the ground. He crouched behind the sword in the ground, now warped from the lightning strike, hoping it would serve as cover long enough for him to reset his crossbow.

His bolts were having an effect. Eventually, with enough of the serpent’s gears locked up, it had to fall and stay down. Three of his bolts were jamming three different sections of its innards. How many more were needed?

How many more could he land before his luck ran out?

Drawing the string back on the crossbow was not an easy or quick task, but it was a mindless one. It allowed him a brief moment to scan the battlefield.

Things were not looking good. They hadn’t been prepared to face a flying opponent. Only three of the group had crossbows and Eiff’an was either dead or down for the rest of the battle. Vippa picked up his crossbow but the one and only shot she got off before being fried wouldn’t have hit the creature even if it had been ten times its size. One Protector was dead. The other had shouted something before rushing off to the portal.

Olatt’an hoped it knew what it was doing. If it opened the portal and another of these things came through, there wouldn’t be the slightest hope.

The elf was missing entirely. Not surprising. She wasn’t a combatant. Better for her to hunker down and stay out of everyone else’s way.

As for everyone else… They were more or less useless. Early on, it had tried biting a few of them. And it got a few of them, but they got it in turn, even hacking off one of those pylons on its spine. Now, it was admirable that they were trying to draw the serpent’s attention away from Olatt’an, usually by flinging rocks before ducking for cover, but their efforts just weren’t enough. After this third crossbow bolt struck true, the serpent wasn’t even turning to snarl at the minor pelting of stones it was receiving. Its eyes, crackling with the same lightning that ran along the pylons on its back, were locked on Olatt’an.

He sucked in a breath, trying to steady his shaking hands as he finished setting the crossbow. It took time for the serpent to ready another lightning bolt. But with it staring straight at him, he doubted he would get an opening.

In the distance, he could barely hear his men shouting—cries of desperate defiance and fear as they tried to draw the serpent’s aggression toward them.

His eyes flicked to Zojja, who was reeling from her latest strike but not backing down. She stood almost directly beneath the creature, glaring up at where her axe had chunked away a small bit of the creature’s metal ribs. As if knowing she was being watched, she lowered her head. Her eyes met his and, in a brief moment of understanding, she nodded.

With a feral roar, Zojja clambered up the slope of a toppled wall. She swung her axe around, using its weight to counterbalance her brief spin. Then, she let it go. An orc letting go of their weapon was something simply not done unless they were dead or unconscious. Yet she did. And it was a perfect throw, flinging high until the bladed edge struck the underside of the serpent.

It could ignore rocks. It didn’t overlook the axe. The blade crashing into its underside nearly knocked it out of the air. Not quite, but it still turned to face Zojja.

The orc stood there, weaponless, glaring defiantly as lightning surged up and down its pylons.

Olatt’an wasn’t about to let her sacrifice herself. From the moment they made eye contact, he had been ready.

He loosed a bolt.

It opened its jaw, lightning crackling between the sharp points of metal that served as its teeth.

The crossbow bolt struck another gearbox, locking it up. Just like last time, the creature lost altitude, this time landing in the dirt of the ruins completely.

But it didn’t stop the buildup of lighting. Zojja didn’t have anywhere to run and had nowhere to hide. Her legs were poised to leap to one side at any moment, but it wouldn’t be enough. Olatt’an had seen those lightning bolts veer toward their targets.

Just before the crackling buildup reached its peak, a small flare of red formed just below the machine’s chin.

A conflagration erupted, knocking the serpent upward. The bolt of lightning it had been charging crashed into the orange clouds overhead.

Three dark shadows dashed toward the serpent, each wielding long curved blades at the ends of staves. They moved far faster than the dark armor they wore should have allowed, closing in on the creature before it could recover from the explosion.

It seemed to sense their presence, even with it still roughly facing Zojja. The serpent squirmed and shifted, twisting out of the way of two of the three blades. The third cut through the strong metal with only mild resistance, slicing off a quarter of the creature’s end.

Even with that bit flipping and flopping on the ground like a fish tossed on a sandy beach, the rest of the serpent managed to take to the skies.

And, once again, they were back to where they started. The creature high above. Them down below. The lightning along its back sparked and fizzed, no longer simply cascading up and down the pylons on its spine. The lightning jolted and jumped at random, arcing to random points in the air in instant flashes of light. The creature itself dipped and rose, unable to keep itself at a steady height. But it didn’t come crashing down again.

Despite the damage it took, it was charging up once again. Maybe even faster this time, with all the mechanics inside it going haywire.

Until… something happened to it. It slowed to a crawl. For a brief instant, it looked as if the undulating movements simply stopped, but in reality, it simply moved so slowly as to look like it stopped. Even the lightning took several seconds to arc between the pylons.

Another spark of fire appeared near the serpent. This time, above it. The resulting conflagration blasted it toward the ground. Whatever slowness took over its body didn’t affect its fall. The three scythe-wielders and Zojja had barely a second to dive in opposite directions, barely avoiding being crushed.

Before any one of them could get back to their feet, a blur moved through the air. A haze that shimmered past Olatt’an, moving toward the serpent. It passed through the mechanical monster, consolidating to a stop on the creature’s other side in the form of a dark elf who simply stared down at a short sword held in her hands.

The serpent’s sparks sputtered a moment more before, in slow motion, it peeled apart into a dozen thin strips of metal, split cogs, and broken gears.

“Hale! Help Eiff’an. He’s still alive. Morvin and Zullie, get to Krett’al.”

Olatt’an, bones aching to their fullest, turned to find Arkk alongside an entire crew from Fortress Al-Mir. They were surrounded by the dark knights, all clearly on guard for any additional threats both in the air and on land. Arkk himself, eyes ablaze far brighter than Olatt’an could remember, knelt over Vippa. From the frustration on his face, Olatt’an didn’t think his healing was doing as much as he hoped.

Grunting as he stood fully, Olatt’an stretched his back, felt the grinding of his bones, and ignored the aches. He turned, assessing the changed situation.

The crystalline portal was active once more. This time, rather than an infernal land of metal machines and movement, he could see the familiar interior of Fortress Al-Mir. More of Arkk’s men were on their way through. Not ready to fight as Dakka’s troops were, but ready to lend aid and help recover what needed recovery. They were already spreading out, moving to the less injured who weren’t currently receiving attention from the healers.

Dakka, her men, and the dark elf stood around the metal serpent, watching it warily as if it might spring back to life despite having been taken apart. It didn’t look like it would, but Olatt’an couldn’t fault their caution.

The silver-haired elf, Ilya, hurried through the portal as Olatt’an watched. She had fear and worry on her face, but not for any of those who deserved it at the moment. As soon as his stare caught her eye, Olatt’an raised a hand and pointed off in the direction he last saw the elf’s mother. Ilya gave him a curt nod and immediately hurried off.

“Alive?” Olatt’an grunted as he limped toward Arkk. That last dive had jolted his hip enough to send a spike of pain through him with every step.

“No,” Arkk said with a heavy scowl. His glowing red eyes lifted from Vippa’s body, locking onto Olatt’an. In an unnaturally calm voice, he asked a single question. “What happened?”

Olatt’an took his eyes off Arkk, looking around once more. This time, it wasn’t at the people around, but at the scenery. The ruins. A desolate expanse of crumbled stone and shattered hope. The jagged remains of a once-proud fortress—a proper, above-ground fortress—jutted up from the ground around him. Blackened stones still bore the scars of ancient fires, visible even through the layer of sand and dust that coated everything. Here and there, the rusted hulks of long-abandoned war machines lay half-buried in the soil.

“We found the orc homeland,” he said, sighing somewhat. “Or, at least, the homelands in this world. It is just as the old songs say, if a bit less intact.”

Despite his obvious anger—directed more at the situation than at Olatt’an, at least for the moment—Arkk did raise a curious eyebrow. “This world?”

“I don’t know exactly where orcs come from. The songs tell of a people on the run, moving from land to land all while learning and, in some cases, plundering what unique magics they could from the locals. I once thought that referred to orcs traversing actual land, such as the lands of the Beastman Tribes, the Tetrarchy, Evestani, and even lands across the seas. But after meeting you, my notions changed. We—my people—traversed planes.

“The bones we found in this place prove it. As does the utter lack of those living shadows. Orcs arrived here from another world, built this fortress, and, perhaps, spread out and learned local magics to become those black knights your servant speaks of.”

“And what,” Arkk said, looking to where Dakka and the dark elf were standing guard, “you found what they were on the run from?”

“I don’t believe so, no. I’m not sure what that is but it fell far too easily to force an entire people on the run,” he said, turning his from the serpent to the portal. “We found the portal and, wanting to take as much information back with us, started investigating it. None of the team are spellcasters or magical experts and we didn’t mean to activate the artifact. I suspect that some of our investigation work combined with the overwhelming magic in this world to spontaneously activate it. We managed to shut it back down by damaging one of the runes, but not before that thing made it through.”

Arkk pursed his lips into a thin line, following his line of sight to the portal. “I suppose it is something that you didn’t mean to activate it. But this… this is a mess, Olatt’an. I expected far better judgment calls from you of all people. If Alya ended up hurt…”

“It is a shame,” he said, kneeling down to Vippa’s body. He tried to keep the annoyance in his tone as low as possible. It wasn’t like he had room to complain. Arkk was right. Rekk’ar was the brash one. He was supposed to be the wise one. He should have realized that fiddling with a magical artifact in a world of abundant magic wasn’t the best idea.

But what had happened happened. There was no changing that. All he could do was to make up for it.

And he had a way to make up for it. “It isn’t going to lessen injuries or bring Vippa back,” Olatt’an started, “but I think you might be quite interested in what we’ve found here.”

Arkk closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, they were still glowing a bright red, but it wasn’t quite as intense as it had been just a few moments prior. “Hold onto that thought, unless it is an emergency—”

“It isn’t,” Olatt’an admitted.

“I’m going to ensure everyone else survives this. Then we can speak.”

Olatt’an simply nodded his head. Arkk cast one last pitying glance at Vippa before he turned and hurried off toward where Hale was working on replacing the missing flesh of Eiff’an with something bulky and scaled.

Olatt’an didn’t follow. After running around for his life as much as he had, he needed a moment to himself more than he thought he had. Resting his crossbow on the ground, he sat down next to Vippa’s body. It really was a shame. There wasn’t supposed to have been danger here. Nobody had been prepared for it beyond the basics. Half his team didn’t even have armor with them, let alone on them. Would armor have saved Eiff’an’s arm from being bit off by that machine? Possibly. Possibly not. Would it have saved Vippa? Krett’al?

Probably not.

Olatt’an could have saved them. Activating the portal had been accidental, he hadn’t lied about that. But they hadn’t tried to shut it down immediately. Olatt’an could have given that order. He could have stopped that creature from coming through with plenty of time to spare. But he wanted a peek. A selfish glimpse at the likely next land his people had once called home.

When Arkk had activated the portal to the Underworld, he had ensured that there were contingencies in place. An entire group of guards to keep anything that might come through from posing a threat, traps and pitfalls in the corridors beyond the portal, and even lesser servants burrowed in the walls, ready to collapse the entire chamber if the threat proved greater than traps and guards could handle.

A farmer and a hunter with barely a lick of sense between his ears had taken the threat of other worlds far more seriously than Olatt’an had. It was, frankly, embarrassing.

He rested a hand on Vippa’s chest. “Sorry,” he said, grunting the word out. There wasn’t much else he could say.

He sat there, staring out with a scowl on his toothless face, until Arkk returned.

Everyone else survived, though several suffered varying levels of injury. That was a small consolation. His mistake hadn’t gotten everyone killed.

“Those hulking machines,” Olatt’an said without preamble, gesturing at some of the ruins that weren’t buildings. “They’re something similar to your walking tower, except on a smaller scale, designed for a single occupant to fuel them with magic. These are obviously little more than rust and dust, but they are intact enough to see how they’re made, aren’t they?”

Arkk frowned, staring at the nearest of them.

“And the serpent too. It was a machine, not a living creature. I think it was protecting the other side of the portal. When we inadvertently activated it, it saw us as invaders and attacked. I’m not sure how to make it see us as allies rather than a threat, but there is someone in your employ who might be the right person to figure both the hulks and the serpent out.”

“Agnete,” Arkk said, earning a nod from Olatt’an.

“Indeed. In addition, I believe she would be very interested in the world we found, if it is possible to open the portal there once again.

“I think we found the Anvil of All Worlds.”

 

 

 

“Excellent work, keep it up,” Arkk said, leaving Sylvara and the rest of his research team.

Following the information Sylvara acquired from the Abbey headquarters, they were well on their way to creating an actual weapon against the Heart of Gold’s avatar. They were utilizing both the flowers and the hammock from the Eternal Silence’s domain. Judging from early trials, the hammock was going to work better as whatever catalyst Sylvara needed. Arkk didn’t care much what they used so long as it worked. And so long as they didn’t have to go back to that plane of existence again.

Three people had fallen asleep there. Today, half a week later, one still hadn’t woken up. He seemed to be having fits in his sleep. A nightmare that he couldn’t quite wake from.

It was… disconcerting. Not the kind of place they would be building a long-term outpost like the Underworld. Even if they could get the portal open permanently, it was just too dangerous. That wasn’t going to stop Arkk from investigating other realms if he could. As soon as Savren was done lending his expertise to the anti-avatar project, he wanted the warlock trying to use the ice marble to figure out how to access the Permafrost’s domain. It wasn’t his first choice to venture to but, at the moment, it was their only other hard link to one of the god’s realms.

Everything was falling into place. Leda’s tower was nearing completion, the Prince had not killed Katja yet and had, in fact, responded to a letter Arkk sent, and Zullie’s other projects were progressing well. The Evestani army, accompanied by the Eternal Empire, was still on its way toward Elmshadow. If not for that, everything would have been perfect.

Arkk strode down the corridors of Fortress Al-Mir. With everything going seemingly well, he decided to physically walk. Just to keep up with his efforts toward connecting with his employees.

Perr’ok passed him outside the canteen, waving Arkk down with a raised hand. “We’re ready to equip another twenty with shadow armor.”

“Really? Already?”

“The boys are getting better at working that forge.”

“Excellent. Speak with Dakka. She’ll know who to equip next.”

“Is she here or at Elmshadow?”

Quickly checking in on Dakka’s state, Arkk said, “Here, for now. Sleeping in her quarters. Probably best not to disturb her this very second.” A lot of those who had gone to the Eternal Silence’s domain had been sleeping a bit more than usual these past few days. Arkk hadn’t been feeling too exhausted himself, but Ilya had barely been able to keep her eyes open for the first day and a half.

It was getting better, thankfully. That was just another reason to avoid that domain going forward. If they did need more flowers or hammocks, they would be getting in, grabbing the item, and getting out as fast as possible. The less exposure, the better.

“Any luck fabricating armor for… less bulky bodies?” Arkk asked, raising an eyebrow. He would have loved a set for himself. But it was all sized for orcs.

Perr’ok shook his head. “Sorry. Agnete tried to make some other molds but… something about her magic just doesn’t work with the Shadow Forge. I tried my hand as well but didn’t get anywhere. Testing takes up work time on the forge, so I could put more time into it. It will delay the next batch of armor, however.”

Arkk hesitated. The chance of having some human-sized armor for himself and his other employees was tempting. But it was only that, a chance. It could be a complete failure or it could take an extended amount of time. If he had to weigh a distant hope against getting another squad of orcs outfitted and ready to go now… “Focus on orc armor until everyone has a set. Then experiment,” Arkk said.

“We’ll see if we can’t get the next batch out even faster.”

“As long as it doesn’t sacrifice quality,” Arkk said, clapping Perr’ok on the shoulder as he moved past the head blacksmith. “Good work.”

Fortress Al-Mir was feeling fairly empty these days. Much of his fighting force, including Richter and his soldiers and battlecasters, were out at Elmshadow. Roughly six hundred men in total, including some fresh faces recruited from the survivors of the burg’s occupation. In comparison, Al-Mir had a mere hundred stationed in its walls.

Even the refugees had mostly departed. With Evestani having been pushed back, the villages west of the mountain range felt a little more secure in their positions. That combined with the dawn of spring had villages a little more willing to accept additional hands for tending fields, collecting lumber, and anything else that needed doing. Fortress Al-Mir still housed about a hundred and fifty flopkin, who made up the largest single group in the refugee section of the fortress, and about a medium village’s worth of humans, demihumans, and other beastmen.

It was a wonder how much gold he saved not providing food for over a thousand refugees.

“Arkk.”

Turning, Arkk found Kia standing in a doorway, fiddling with one of the many piercings in her ear. Her eyes were off to one side, not looking at Arkk directly.

“Is Claire…”

“She’s alright,” Arkk said quickly. “Have you not seen her since she volunteered?”

“I did a… week or so ago? She could barely get out of bed.”

Arkk nodded his head. “There was a bit of an after-effect that had her dizzy whenever she did anything. But I understand she’s adapted to it a bit more now. Do you want to see her?”

“I don’t know…”

With a small sigh, Arkk teleported himself and Kia down into the lower levels of Fortress Al-Mir. They appeared in front of a heavy door covered in various runes, all of which were inactive at the moment. They were originally intended to keep the rest of the fortress safe from Claire should anything have gone amiss with Project Liminal. Now, they were unnecessary.

Arkk thumped his knuckles against the door. “Claire?” he called. “Are you in?” He already knew the answer but felt it was polite to ask anyway.

Kia stood back, looking like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be present at all. Arkk didn’t know what had transpired a week ago, but the last time he saw them together, they had a bit of a fight. He could easily see that there was some lingering awkwardness. At least on Kia’s half.

A translucent afterimage of Claire appeared at the edge of the door before it opened, leaving her looking like she was poking her head through the metal. The door opened just a crack as the afterimage solidified into Claire. Her sharp blue eyes flicked from Arkk to Kia and back.

“Morning,” she said with an exhaustive yawn large enough to make Arkk wonder if she hadn’t managed to sneak into the Eternal Silence’s domain.

And… it was actually late afternoon.

“Demon problems?”

“Not yet,” Arkk said. “Hopefully not ever. The Prince responded to one of my letters in a most cordial manner, thanking me for my and Company Al-Mir’s efforts against Evestani thus far. I am hoping that is a positive sign. Though he did have a few words to say on my ‘attack’ on the Duke’s manor… I’m still trying to decide whether or not to claim that was an imposter from Evestani or just a misunderstanding.”

He had the return letter half-written up in his quarters right now.

“I… see. Then perhaps a test against the avatar?”

Arkk shook his head. “I have some plans for throwing a few things in Evestani’s direction. Partially to slow them down and give us more time to develop weapons, mostly to see what may or may not be effective against the avatar’s magic. You are part of those plans, but they aren’t quite ready yet.”

She nodded her head, afterimages bobbing up and down before the rest of her head. Watching her short brown hair split apart into various afterimages was somewhat nauseating, but Arkk kept his expression firmly neutral.

“We’re here because Kia was wondering how you were doing.”

Claire’s eyes blue eyes flicked over to Kia. Her expression didn’t change at all. She simply said, “Better.”

“You haven’t been out of here at all,” Kia said with obvious concern in her voice. It was probably the most genuine emotion Arkk had ever heard from the dark elf. “You aren’t…” Kia’s eyes narrowed as she turned a glare on Arkk. “She isn’t here against her will, is she?”

“She opened the door on her own,” Arkk said quickly, absolutely not wanting to upset either of the dark elves. “She is free to go anywhere she pleases now that Zullie has confirmed that her state is stable.”

“It’s fine,” Claire said with a faint sigh. “It’s safer down here.”

Kia frowned. “Safer?”

Rather than answer her, Claire went for a demonstration. An afterimage of her hand appeared through the door, punching through it. Unlike when she peeked her head through, this time, the door started falling apart around her wrist. The metal simply came apart, as if made of millions of individual granules that had simply been pressed together into a flimsy sheet. By the time her actual hand caught up to the afterimage, there was a completely clear hole in the door for her arm to occupy.

“I keep doing this,” she said, pulling the afterimage of her hand through the door again. Even though the hole was barely wide enough for her wrist to fit in, her fist slid through as if it didn’t care at all about the piece of metal that should be blocking her way. “Accidentally.”

“You can’t control it?”

“I’m getting better.”

“At least it isn’t making you dizzy anymore,” Arkk said.

“No,” she agreed. A wide and unpleasant smile made its way across her face. “It makes me excited. I can’t wait to see what I can do in a fight.” Her fingers blurred through the door, taking away long narrow streaks of the metal as she dragged them down.

“Please don’t destroy the fortress more than necessary,” Arkk said.

Claire never looked embarrassed or sheepish about anything. She still pulled her hand back.

“Thank you,” Arkk said. He waited a moment, watching the two dark elves. Neither spoke further but neither looked like they wanted to leave each other either. “If you two would like to talk for a time, I can leave you in peace,” he said, reading the room. “Kia, the way back to the fortress proper is fairly convoluted, so if you get lost, feel free to tug on the link and I’ll move you back up.”

Neither objected to his proposal. Kia nodded her head.

Arkk teleported away. He finished his walk around Fortress Al-Mir, greeting his employees and doing his best to project an air of confidence about their path forward in this war. He was about to head over to Elmshadow to do the same there—there had been no calls for his attention for several days now and no notes left on his throne for him to read from afar, but he figured it would still be a good idea to meet with people there in person.

A tug on the link stopped him before he could. He first peeked in on Kia and Claire, figuring they had finished their discussion, only to find them engaged in a rather intense discussion that he should probably not ever admit he had seen if he valued his life. Quickly turning his attention away, he followed the link. It was far off. Through the Underworld portal and then some. Far, far further than the little outpost they had constructed around the portal archway and beyond even the village where the Shadow Forge was.

Arkk found himself staring down at Olatt’an, engaged in a fierce battle against… something. The other members of his expeditionary crew were fighting alongside him. Two of the Protector’s bodies were fighting as well. That was probably the only reason none of Arkk’s men had been killed so far.

A bright flash of light drew Arkk’s gaze back to the creature they were fighting against. It was some kind of flying serpent, long and narrow. It didn’t have… innards. It was made up of large metallic rings, joined together by flexible metal bars along their tops and bottoms. The only interior it had was made up of cogs and springs, looking rather like some of Agnete’s projects in the forge. Large poles jutted out from its body periodically along its spine, each capped with a small ball. Lightning coursed between the balls, arcing from one to the next like it was constantly casting the Electro Deus spell on itself.

One of the orcs tried an Electro Deus spell. It veered off to the side, slamming into one of the pylons without doing any obvious harm.

“There is a situation.”

Arkk jolted, surprised at the heavy voice. He turned to find the Protector looming over him.

“I’m aware,” Arkk said as he immediately teleported them both away. He reappeared in the library alongside the Protector. Sylvara jumped to her feet, not quite used to people suddenly appearing around her. Savren jolted somewhat as well, locking eyes with the Protector.

Zullie carried on dictating what sounded like a simple introductory to planar magic, probably for Sylvara’s benefit, until Arkk interrupted.

“I have an immediate need to travel rapidly through the Underworld,” he said. “Is there any possibility of getting that done.”

After a brief silence fell upon the group. Zullie, looking irritated at being interrupted, planted a hand on her hip. “Teleportation rituals don’t work in the Underworld.”

“I know. I’m asking for alternate solutions.”

“If I may interrupt,” the Protector said, leaning high over the table where one of the Eternal Silence’s flowers sat under a glass dome. “The creature came from a world-hole. There is one in the vicinity.”

“World hole?”

“A crystalline archway covered in runes.”

“They found a portal over there?”

“And managed to activate it. The creature we fight now slipped through before we could shut it back down.”

Arkk grimaced. That was careless of them. They should have… spent weeks returning only to spend weeks heading back out with a proper force? He could see why they made that choice. But now they were in a mess and Arkk had no way to help. He could only watch.

“A working portal might work,” Zullie said, thumb furiously rubbing at her chin. “Especially with the Protector there. We can reconfigure the portals to connect to each other. I know how to do this.”

Arkk looked at her. She stared back with those eyeless eyes, with glimmers of starlight magnified by the lenses she still wore. He had shut her down earlier, not willing to risk the expeditionary party by changing the portals. With the glowstones still depleted from their excursion to the Eternal Silence’s domain, they didn’t have any other choice but to shut down the portal here and use it, hoping it would come back up afterward.

Could the expeditionary team beat the creature and survive? There were several injured already. Eiff’an was on the ground, by far the worst, with half his arm torn off in what looked like a massive bite. He would bleed out if he didn’t get immediate assistance.

The lightning coursing down the back of the serpent grew in intensity, surging forward from back to front. At the base of the metal creature’s head, it jolted down inside the thing’s body. It opened its maw, a solid jaw of sharp metal shards, and a lightning bolt as strong as some of Arkk’s strongest shot out.

One of the Protectors caught the blast square in the chest despite its best attempt at dodging. It immediately collapsed, smoking.

The Protector at Arkk’s side jolted but otherwise made no noise of alarm or panic.

One of Olatt’an’s crossbow bolts struck the side of the creature during the brief moment it had stopped to line up its lightning. It slipped between the skeletal-like ‘ribs’ of metal, jamming up one of the cogs inside it. But that wasn’t enough to bring it down.

If it fried the other Protector, they might not have a chance at redirecting the portals. Arkk assumed there were other Protectors out there, but he didn’t know how close they might be.

Arkk teleported everyone to Fortress Al-Mir’s crystal archway. “You!” he barked, pointing at a random orc on guard nearest to the portal. “Get on the other side and ring the recall alarm bells. Everyone over there has two minutes to get on this side or risk being stuck over there.”

Arkk turned away, knowing the order would be carried out. “Zullie,” he said. “Tell the Protector what to do.”

“I need to know what the portal over there looks like. The runes are like a key. We need to shift the ones here to match.”

“Protector,” Arkk said, “disengage from the fight immediately or get one of the orcs to run to the portal. I’ll be able to see it.”

“Understood.”

Arkk couldn’t hear through the link, but he could see the Protector move to carry out his order. He was pretty sure the Protector shouted something to the others. They all shifted their formation, moving to protect the remaining Protector.

Another buildup of lightning surged out of the serpent’s mouth. Livva dodged in front of it, taking the bolt on her metal armor to save the retreating Protector. Arkk swore out as she collapsed, smoking as well, but, strangely enough, she didn’t die. It was like the lightning caught her armor and decided to simply flow along it to the ground. She wasn’t unharmed. Arkk could feel the pain and panic over the link.

But she was still alive.

Another in need of emergency aid.

Arkk pulled Hale to him even as the Protector drew close enough to the portal for Arkk to see it. Hale looked around in confusion for a moment. She saw the emergency going on and steeled herself for administering medical aid.

Without a second thought, Arkk dropped Dakka in front of him as well. She was not armored up. “Equip yourself,” was all Arkk said before teleporting her to the armory along with her main team. Then, with slightly more of a second thought, Arkk teleported Kia and Claire into the room—a short distance apart from one another. They brought with them a strong stench of sweat, but that wasn’t worth commenting on given the situation.

“Claire,” Arkk said. “Are you prepared to test your abilities against a real opponent?”

Her afterimages nodded before her actual head.

“Good. Gear up,” he said, teleporting both her and Kia to the armory. “Zullie. Starting at the bottom left of the portal, the first rune is a loop with a dot in the middle…”