Fortress Al-Mir

Arkk poured one vial of clear liquid into a larger kettle of clear liquid. Stirring with a narrow metal rod, he watched for a long moment until, all at once, the liquid turned a deep and translucent green. Pausing, he quickly glanced over at the book open on the counter and skimmed to find the next step.

Green was the correct color. As long as it was a clear green and not a murky green.

So far so good. This alchemy stuff wasn’t that hard.

Well, the book he was reading didn’t have anything too difficult in it. It was a step more advanced than the beginner treatise that he had gotten from Morford in Darkwood Burg but far from the theoretical concepts and more research-focused invention of new methods and recipes. Fortress Al-Mir, despite having more than doubled its population of employees since the Duke’s party, still had exactly zero alchemists within its walls. Arkk had thought it would be a good use of his time, familiarizing himself with everything he could from the books he had on hand. Not to mention, it was a good way to keep his mind busy on productive tasks rather than remembering once more how useless he had felt at Elmshadow.

Alchemy was a powerful discipline. It could create a wide variety of potions, powders, materials, and, if Morford was to be believed, even life. From something simple like the soakless solution that kept rain from drenching cloaks to those ghasts that had been the product of life alchemy. Some magical spells could be solidified or liquified for use in different ways.

But it was a rare discipline. Unlike magic, for which there would generally be obvious signs of propensity that would result in someone being sent off to an academy, there was no propensity for alchemy. It was pure hard work, having to learn the uses of hundreds of different materials, the uses of dozens of different pieces of equipment, and the dangers of combining them improperly. Not all too dissimilar to having to learn components of rituals or words for magic—which could be dangerous if spoken incorrectly—however that was only the first problem.

Magic could be performed with a stick dragged through some dirt. Cheap. Everyone had access to sticks and dirt. Alchemy required precision measuring tools, glassware formed into all manner of odd shapes, and the materials themselves which were often rare or simply located only in specific parts of the Duchy. It took gold to make and gather the equipment. That alone made it impossible to use for nearly everyone and unpalatable for the few wealthy enough to afford the materials. It was cheaper to hire a spellcaster on retainer than it was to hire an alchemist or learn alchemy.

But magic couldn’t solve everything. Or maybe it could if someone knew enough but there were some things that alchemy was geared more toward solving than magic was.

Ladling a small amount of the clear green liquid into a small glass, Arkk took a hesitant sip. Just a taste. Not even enough to properly swallow.

“Oh. That’s…” He grimaced, shuddering.

“Too hot?”

Arkk shook his head, sending pins and needles down his spine with the movement. It lasted but a second before being replaced with a soothing cool. He drew in a content breath, sighing in relief. “That’s rather good,” he said, shaking out his shoulders. Rather than pins and needles, that just sent the soothing feeling down to his fingertips and back. “Bit of a surprising kick at the start but I think this should work well. Not as smooth as what Morford sold us. Hope that’s alright.”

Katt’am shrugged. He patted his thighs right above where his legs ended in stumps. “It’s just the itch,” he said. “Drives me crazy. If it makes that go away for a little bit, I’ll be happy.”

“If I’m reading this right,” Arkk said turning back to the book. The pins and needles came back as he moved. The tiny droplet he had tasted was already starting to wear off. He ignored it with a shrug. “About as much as in this glass right now should last about a day. So the whole pot is roughly two weeks of the stuff? I’ll bottle—”

“Master.” Vezta stepped into the room, hands clasped together at her waist. She offered a bow to him and a smile at Katt’am. “They are ready for you.”

“Right. Thank you, Vezta.” Arkk handed the glass off to Katt’am. The legless orc didn’t hesitate to down the whole dose. He shuddered but, when it didn’t look like he would keel over, Arkk gave him a nod and pulled a large glass bottle from the shelf on the wall. Carefully, he poured the remainder from the kettle without spilling a drop. “Don’t drink more than I said,” Arkk said as he stoppered the bottle and handed it over. “Can you get back alright?”

Katt’am, looking far less tense than he had a moment ago, nodded a loopy nod. Setting the bottle in his lap, he reached down and patted the large wheels attached to the sides of his chair. A third, smaller wheel sat front and center where his feet would have been. “Made it here just fine, didn’t I?” Even his tone sounded far more mellow. “A chair with wheels. Who would have thought?”

“An obvious solution to an obvious problem,” Vezta said. “Though, if you would like, I could assist you back to your quarters.”

“Naah. You two go do your important things. ’sides,” he said, looking completely content. “Promised the kith I’d let them pile on my chair while one of the older boys pushes them around.”

Kith. A word from the orcish native tongue that essentially meant ‘battle children’. Orphans of war or other similar tragedies. Culturally, they would be raised by the group for the good of the group, whether that group was farmers, fishermen, or raiders. Arkk wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the orc effectively saying that he was indoctrinating children for use later on as raiders—or mercenaries—but at least it was just fun and games and not throwing them into the arena with real swords.

Katt’am, after losing his legs, had found a new purpose acting as the primary point of contact between the refugees and the rest of Fortress Al-Mir. For a warrior who couldn’t fight, Arkk had been worried that he would be offended or miserable or otherwise disagreeable toward the arrangement but he had taken to it with gusto.

According to Dakka, he had always wanted children but not to raise them in an environment like what their former chieftain had cultivated. Fortress Al-Mir was at least marginally a better environment and a whole litter of children, many of whom had no parents or other caretakers, had landed right on his lap.

How someone who loved children, apparently of any species, wound up in a group of raiders made Arkk wonder if he had some story like Larry’s accusations of murder that had driven him out of more wholesome societies. Arkk hadn’t wanted to pry, however, so he hadn’t asked.

With a thanks thrown over his shoulder, Katt’am wheeled himself out of the makeshift alchemy laboratory. The doors opened automatically for him and closed behind him. Arkk looked over to Vezta. “Everyone’s ready?”

“All relevant personnel have been gathered in the meeting room.”

“Good,” Arkk said.

In a blink of his eyes, Arkk and Vezta found themselves outside the meeting room door. He took a long breath of fresh air before realizing something.

“Do I smell like alchemy lab?”

“Fairly strongly. I wasn’t going to say anything—”

“Just a moment.”

Arkk teleported away again, reappearing in his private quarters. He quickly tossed the dark green tunic aside and started washing his face and hair in a small water basin he kept on the table. Hoping that at least helped, he grabbed hold of a black suit and quickly threw it on. It was a little more militaristic than the tunic he had on before, more akin to something Hawkwood would have worn. Not in battle, but around Cliff. It had a high collar and trim lines down the sides.

Looking less like he had just rolled out of bed and into a vat of potions, he teleported back to Vezta’s side. The servant waited patiently as he straightened his suit, only to brush his hands aside to smooth it down for him.

“Is the smell better?”

“Marginally, though you look more regal.”

“It will have to do.” He didn’t want to keep everyone waiting for too long.

Not everything could go according to plan all the time, unfortunately. There were hiccups, factors outside Arkk’s control, or just plain inaccuracies in what he expected versus the reality of the situation. There weren’t too many things that could be done to prevent such situations. Nevertheless, Arkk tried to account for as many issues as possible.

Hands clasped behind his back, he stalked into the meeting room. The table had been pushed aside, leaving an array of chairs. Everyone relevant to the ritual sat before him. Agnete, Savren, Zullie, and Hale—the latter with John at her side, along with Lexa and the other bandits capable of spellcasting. Behind him, seated at a long rectangular table, were all the primary advisors and ‘section heads’ as he had taken to calling them.

Rekk’ar and Olatt’an represented the orcs. The former wasn’t too happy with delving into the unknown of this ritual. Arkk fully expected that of him given that he wasn’t happy with too many things that fell outside ‘orcs doing orc things’. Although Arkk appreciated his caution on occasion, he often ignored the man’s grumblings. Olatt’an, on the other hand, maintained a calm demeanor on the outside but there was something in there… an anticipation in his eyes like he had been waiting for this for a long while.

Khan represented the gorgon in the matter. Although, Arkk had mostly included Khan as a courtesy. The gorgon didn’t have much input one way or another here. Which did feel a little strange. If Vezta was correct, the gorgon—or their ancestors—came from an alternate plane of existence. They weren’t native.

Katja, with Horrik crossing his arms as he towered behind her chair, was here as a courtesy as well. She wasn’t an official employee but he was using spellcasters loyal to her for this ritual. Arkk had… concerns about her presence. None of the bandits had been allowed to see the ritual chamber so far. Arkk didn’t want them getting any ideas on how they might utilize it toward their ends or otherwise sabotage it.

Arkk had spoken to Zullie about the potential issue. The bandits would be occupying the less vital segments of the ritual. All they needed to do was contribute a bit of magical power. Without having seen the ritual beforehand, the most she suspected they would have to worry about was people deliberately not pouring magic into the ritual or people trying to overload it. The latter notion had elicited a small laugh along with a quip about how weak their tests had proved them to be.

“Capable of parlor tricks and little more,” Zullie had said with a scoff. “Lexa is far and large the most talented of the bunch and her power is likely being augmented by her employee contract. I wish I could have tested her before but…”

If they simply did not contribute in an attempt to sabotage the ritual, it should fail gracefully, leaving him frustrated but perfectly able to try again. A second attempt would have to wait until after casting Katja and every single bandit out of Fortress Al-Mir. He wasn’t quite sure if he would toss them to a burg or not. They had a lot to worry about with the war and didn’t need a hundred and fifty bandits dropped in their laps.

Vezta, sporting an anticipatory grin far more obvious than Olatt’an’s, made up the final member of the table as she entered behind him, taking a seat up at the front. That left just one seat empty.

Ilya should have been there.

As he did every time he thought of her, Arkk quickly checked in on Ilya. At the moment, she looked to be in a session with some healers. It was hard to tell with no real communication and no way to listen in, but as far as Arkk could tell the gouging that the assassins had done was almost completely healed. The emergency work that Arkk had done to keep her alive until the proper healers could arrive, on the other hand, still looked exactly how Arkk had left it, raw and half complete. He wanted to go to her. He wanted her here. Unfortunately, Inquisitor Vrox had told him in no uncertain terms that entering Cliff would do no good favors toward their ‘ignore each other’ truce.

There wasn’t much he could do aside from make sure that the Duke wasn’t harming Ilya.

If that changed… well, screw that truce. He would be there as fast as Vezta could scribe teleportation rituals.

Shaking the distraction from his mind, Arkk focused on the task at hand. “Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming. We will be conducting the ritual today. Individually, on your parts, it will be quite simple. You are to stand at your assigned spot and, on cue, pour magic into the ritual array. Zullie will be the primary monitor for the ritual. Savren will be the secondary. They are positioned on opposite ends of the room so everyone should be able to hear at least one of them,” Arkk said, indicating the positions on the diagram on the wall. “You will adhere to their commands. It shouldn’t be anything more complicated than adding power or holding back.”

“Also, should we call out ‘Stop’ please cease any magical expenditure entirely,” Zullie added, finger in the air. “Though that will only be called out if we detect something going catastrophically wrong.”

Arkk nodded his head and then looked back to the rest of the room. “Any questions?”

One of Katja’s bandits raised his hand. A young man with a chin as wide as his face. “I’ve never actually done any ritual that requires multiple people,” he said. “What does catastrophic mean in this case?”

“Tumultuous tremors tearing terra to tiny tidbits or malefic monstrosities managing migration to materiality—”

“What my esteemed colleague is trying to say,” Zullie started, shooting a glare across the table, “is that you shouldn’t worry because any of our projected possibilities are extremely improbable. However, there is one thing you all should be aware of. No matter what seems to be going wrong—or right—please do not move from your assigned positions. There is a not-insignificant chance that you might experience a sudden discorporealization event if you do.”

“Discorpo-what?” the same bandit asked.

“You will find yourself feebly flailing as your fingers fail to firmly find footing, falling from our foundations into fantasy.”

Arkk shot Savren a flat look, rolling his eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered just what kind of curse he suffered from and whether or not it re-translated his thoughts with alliteration in mind or if his vocabulary was simply good enough to push through it, even if his meaning came out somewhat less clear than it otherwise should have been.

The ritual they were doing was designed to weaken the boundaries of reality, allowing the portal to reconnect to the [UNDERWORLD]. If things went wrong, there was a possibility that some people might fall out of reality. Or so Zullie had put it.

“Uh…”

Seeing the confusion on most of the bandits’ faces, Arkk decided not to elaborate on what Savren had been trying to say. He didn’t need to frighten them all off now of all times.

“Just don’t move,” Zullie said, removing her glasses to rub at the bridge of her nose. “We have safeguards in place within the ritual circle and once the ritual is depowered, everything will go back to normal.”

“Any other questions?” Arkk asked, forcing a little cheer into his tone. Better to get off this track sooner rather than later.

“We being paid?” another bandit asked.

“Katja has already received a sizable compensation for your services,” Arkk said before the bandit lord could answer. Smiling, he continued, “I presume she will distribute your portions according to your working contracts.”

It was brief but Arkk spotted Katja shooting him a glare as she carefully crossed her arms. He watched her a moment longer through his Keeper vision, fully expecting some kind of complaint. Maybe even an argument that he would be paying them more than he had already agreed. However, she simply looked at her caster and nodded her head. Arkk wasn’t sure if he should feel alarmed or relieved.

“As for those of you working for Company Al-Mir,” Arkk said. He was mostly speaking to Lexa and the one orc that Zullie had cleared, Vezz’ok. Agnete, Zullie, Hale, and Savren might want to know as well though they were already likely aware. “This counts as an active task—but not a hostile task unless the ritual turns dangerous—and will be compensated accordingly.”

Vezz’ok nodded his head. Lexa just grinned, winking at Arkk. Not sure what that wink was for, Arkk ignored the gremlin and looked around the room. When nobody else brought up a question, he clapped his hands together. “Okay,” he said, feeling a fluttering in his stomach at how close they were. “Zullie and Savren will escort everyone related into the chamber. No one else will be permitted entry due to the aforementioned hazards for those wandering around outside the ritual circle.”

Arkk took in a deep breath, rubbing his fingers against his thumbs as he watched the room shift and move. His two spellcasters quickly maneuvered people out of the room and down the hall. He leaned back against the wall, resting for just a moment.

“Second thoughts?” Olatt’an asked, his voice calm as usual.

“Nervous,” Arkk said. “Honestly, I almost want to delay a bit. Savren and Zullie deciding to redo the original ritual design did make me a little worried that this might not be correct either. Another competent caster’s opinion wouldn’t have hurt…”

“But the war…”

Arkk nodded his head. “Dire. Too dire.”

He had already been through a long debriefing regarding the events in Elmshadow with all his advisors. That golden light, likely an avatar of one of the traitor [PANTHEON] members, was far too potent. More potent than Agnete’s flames or Tybalt’s void fields.

At least they had their answer as to how Evestani was crossing the winter terrain with such ease. Before Elmshadow, Hawkwood had a whole team trying to figure out what Evestani was doing that was allowing their troops to move so quickly even through areas of heavy snow and icy winds without succumbing to frostbite. Now they knew. It was divine intervention.

“Additional allies, boons from gods, lost magics, and who knows what else we might find.” Vezta had given him a long list of possibilities. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been there in well over a thousand years, since before the Calamity was a thing. Knowing anything for certain was simply impossible. “I imagine a hundred beings like Vezta would be able to stop that army’s march where they stand.”

“Master,” Vezta said, stepping into the conversation. “I did warn you not to expect more of myself. I am quite unique.”

“Like you, not you exactly,” Arkk said, shaking his head. “Even a hundred beings on par with orcs or elves who are willing to join us would bolster our forces. I don’t know about stopping the army with just that but it would be a start.”

He had posted notices around all the nearby burgs stating Company Al-Mir’s intent to recruit. They were hardly the only ones, however. White Company, the Order of Claymores, First Legion, and practically every other mercenary company had similar notices out there. Having spoken with Hawkwood, Arkk was well aware that almost every recruit who might have thought about joining up with him had gone over to White Company instead. That wasn’t a bad thing. Hawkwood could use recruits more effectively than he could at the moment.

Still, Arkk felt Company Al-Mir desperately needed additional forces. Especially if his suspicion about the assassin’s reaction to his glowing eyes was correct. They were coming for him. Not the Duke or the Duchy as a whole.

Rekk’ar leaned back in his chair, scowling at Arkk. “Not sure you’re going to have a lot of success. What idiots would go to a whole other world to die in a war unrelated to them?”

Vezta was the one to answer him, looking over with several of her eyes. “Those who wish to see the world restored and the Calamity reverted. Just by reaching the [UNDERWORLD], we will show our sincerity and capability in getting tasks done. While there may still be persuasion required, it is likely not as hopeless as you believe.”

“Bah,” Rekk’ar said, standing. “Don’t know why I bother. Let’s get to the archway,” he said, clapping a hand on Olatt’an’s shoulder.

Arkk quickly checked through his fortress. Dakka stood at the head of a contingent of orcs and gorgon, equipped in full armor with shiny new weapons hot out of the blacksmith’s quencher. Not literally… but they all had mostly new equipment.

While Vezta promised allies, Arkk was taking a slightly more pragmatic approach. No one, including Vezta, could say they knew what would be on the other side of the portal. Arkk felt it only prudent to set up defenses and guards to make sure nothing unpleasant slipped into the fortress.

In the worst-case scenario, Arkk had lesser servants standing by, ready to collapse the entire passage. He could teleport all of his minions out of the way and then pull the ceiling down on anything that looked too much for his guards to handle.

“Remind them not to attack first if anything comes through,” Arkk said. “We’re trying to get allies, not more enemies.”

Rekk’ar rolled his eyes but Olatt’an gave a firm nod of his head. “When we go through ourselves, I will be at your side,” the latter said.

Arkk blinked. That was quite possibly the first time he had ever heard the older orc make anything resembling a demand. Still, it wasn’t anything unreasonable. Arkk nodded back. “According to Vezta, we might have to go through just to get the portal open in the first place. I’m fine with you joining. Speak with Dakka while you’re waiting. We should go through with a few people. Get some volunteers.”

“My pleasure,” the old orc said as he departed with Rekk’ar.

Agnete stepped up to Arkk as the others left the room. He could tell even without looking simply because of the warmth that followed her around. He looked over to her, one eyebrow raised. “Agnete. You sure you’re alright?”

After her collapse and exhaustion in Elmshadow, Arkk had kept a close eye on the purifier. It had been a few days since she had diverted that golden ray of light, saving his and Hawkwood’s lives. Almost all of which had been spent in her room. She had spent a great deal of time sleeping, an activity broken only to eat.

Agnete merely nodded her head, so Arkk asked, “Input from a former inquisitor?”

“Not exactly,” Agnete said, voice soft. “This Underworld is… the locale of a being titled Cloak of Shadows, correct?”

Arkk slowly nodded, looking at Vezta.

“Accurate,” Vezta said.

“The Cloak of Shadows is a being similar to the Burning Forge. This implies that the Burning Forge has a locale as well.”

“Correct. It is referred to as [ANVIL OF ALL WORLDS].”

“Will it be possible to visit this… Anvil?”

“The [UNDERWORLD] is, metaphysically speaking, the closest plane,” Vezta said. “It is why we are attempting to breach it. The Anvil is fairly distant and will likely require the power of at least one additional [HEART] along with additional territory and minions, though I do concede that we may find alternate routes, methods, or assistance inside the [UNDERWORLD].”

“Why are you interested?” Arkk asked, feeling like he knew what the answer was going to be.

“I am supposedly an avatar of this Burning Forge. I don’t know anything about it. I don’t know anything about myself or why or how I came into this power. All I know is that I have been used all my life. I would like to know why.”

Arkk nodded along with her words. It wasn’t exactly what he had been thinking but close enough that he wasn’t even mildly surprised. “I don’t know if it will give you answers but, if we find a way, I will bring you along. Here and now, however, I would prefer if you remain inside Fortress Al-Mir.”

“Remain behind? But—”

“Rest assured that even if we find a convenient door to this Anvil place over there, we’ll stay out of it until you’re with us. It’s just that you are probably the most powerful person here. I would like you to stay behind and make sure nothing goes wrong while we’re on a completely different plane of existence.”

The faint glow of embers in Agnete’s eyes dimmed as she shifted her gaze across the room. Katja was leaning against the door with her arms crossed, Horrik at her side. From the way she was standing and the fact that Arkk met her gaze when he looked over, she had positioned herself there so that Arkk couldn’t slip past without running into her.

Well, he could just teleport away. It wasn’t like anyone could stop him while he was within the fortress’ walls.

“I understand,” Agnete said, voice even quieter now. “I will maintain order in your absence.”

“Thank you, Agnete,” Arkk said, resting a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t maintain contact for long, quickly pulling his hand back. He flicked his wrist a few times through the air, trying to cool it back down. He hadn’t burned himself. At least not bad enough to rush to a pool of water. He made a mental note not to pat Agnete on the shoulder again. “Although it might not be soon,” he continued. “I promise we’ll look into the Burning Forge more thoroughly after things calm down.”

Dark lips pressed together, Agnete nodded her head. She walked away after, heading through the door without a single glance toward Katja.

Arkk let out a small sigh. All things considered, Katja wasn’t that terrible of a person to deal with. He had to keep in mind that it could be worse. Edvin could have been the leader of the Moonshine Burg thieves.

“Sorry if I ruined any plans to further plunder my coffers,” Arkk said as he approached the door where Katja was waiting. “I’m not too keen on double-dippers. That said, if you are interested in more gold, you could join up officially.”

“And die when you put me on the front lines?” Katja shook her head, sending her black hair swinging around her shoulders. “Not interested in your war. I intend to cruise through it and come out the other side as rich as possible. Maybe take over the ruins of a larger burg. Hell, might even pretend to be benevolent, and get myself a fancy title from the Duke. Wouldn’t say no to Queen Katja being made official.”

“I… don’t think the Duke has the authority to give away the title of Queen.”

“No, but Duchess Katja declaring herself Queen of Mystakeen after the tragic death of her husband sounds about right. Maybe after, you would like to become my King? You’re certainly rich enough for it.”

“And wake up the morning after our marriage to find a dagger deep in my heart? I’ll pass, thank you.”

“I’d make sure you died happy,” she said with a lascivious grin that would put Lexa’s more lecherous smiles to shame. “Your loss,” she added when he just shook his head.

Arkk just shook his head, slipping past her. “If that’s all…”

“For now,” Katja said, licking her lips. “Do keep what I said in mind though. Word is you aren’t keen on the current rulers of our fair nation. Should a most unfortunate incident befall our beloved Duke, do remember those who helped you out.”

Arkk looked at her with a frown, wondering if Lexa had been talking to her former employer about things that she really shouldn’t have been talking about. “Right,” he said slowly before turning away.

It was time.

The ritual awaited.