Fortress Al-Mir

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” Arkk said. “I…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see. What about your father?”

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

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

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

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

“Unpleasant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lexa drew back. “You’re firing me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Business. Raiding people?”

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

He could only shake his head at that.

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

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

Lexa put on a pout. “More than me?”

“A couple.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

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

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

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

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

As for the slavers…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Katja. The Bandit Lord of Porcupine Hill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dead. Died in combat.”

“Casualties on your end?”

“Just one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Compensate me for their time, you mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Highwaymen and marauders are peaceful?”

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

“Like Marv’s group of bandits.”

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

“I see…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re leaving?”

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

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

“Was our presence so terrible?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not a child.”

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

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

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

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

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