Fortress Al-Mir

While trying to look mildly embarrassed over how the inquisitor admonished him, Arkk looked over the room. His eyes skipped over the gaudily dressed nobles, wealthy merchants, and mercenaries, focusing instead between them, on the servants that otherwise went unnoticed.

There were two kinds of servants at the party. The entertainment, mostly made up of non-humans showing off their bodies, dressed similarly to what Dakka had ended up wearing. The attendants, on the other hand, moved about in fine clothes that were nonetheless designed not to attract attention as they brought food and drink to guests, set up tables and chairs, and otherwise attended to the partygoers. They were predominantly human, though Arkk did spot a few elves among their number.

The body had been human. That didn’t exclude that he had been part of the entertainment but Arkk felt it was far more likely that the assassin had taken on the guise of an attendant. It would have been less notable.

Did one look suspicious?

The one shaking so much that the glasses on his tray rattled? The bald one handing out wine glasses? The one Dakka had up against a wall, stealing every one of the miniature snacks from his tray? Or maybe the one standing at one end of the room, hands behind his back as he looked over the guests for someone who needed attending?

There were only two dozen but that was too many for Arkk to guess at from looks alone. If he went up and inspected the hands of every one of them, he might have been able to pull the same trick as Hawkwood and Vrox. From hair and posture, Arkk couldn’t point out anyone in particular. Which was probably intentional. If he had come here intending to steal a disguise, he would have done his best to figure out how to appear so as to not draw attention.

Vrox didn’t look like he was trying to find the assassin. He moved, as casually as he could, through the guests. The throne room, while large enough to fit half of Langleey’s buildings, wasn’t as large as the ballroom, leaving far less space between the little cliques that formed among the guests. The Duke, sitting at the overly opulent throne, was at the far end of the room. Alya and Ilya weren’t far away from him, talking quietly off to one side of the hall at the far end. Ilya looked like she had either just gotten over crying or was just about to start. Alya didn’t look upset in the slightest. Pained, maybe, likely at having to come up with excuses instead of enjoying the extravagant food.

Arkk shook his head, trying to shove his irritation aside before his eyes started to glow. In doing so, he caught sight of Zullie, glowering at the crowd from where she leaned against one wall not far from a hefty winch that was connected to one of the great chandeliers. She was probably upset at the lack of strange magic to investigate. This room was lit by a series of grand chandeliers, topped with an array of amber glowstones. While the intensity at which they glowed indicated extremely high-quality stones, they were a far more mundane solution compared with illegal magic siphoning light from somewhere else.

Zullie met his gaze. Something must have shown on his face. She narrowed her eyes and started looking around, clearly aware that all was not as well as it seemed.

Sighing, Arkk tried to massage away any stress, rubbing the sides of his temples. It wouldn’t be good if he gave everything away. This wasn’t his battle anyway. There were guards here. Vrox was handling things.

In fact, should he even try to stop the assassin? The obvious target was the Duke. Hadn’t he just been ranting to himself about the Duke? Now someone was here, ready to do his job for him. Or close enough.

Actually… If the Duke did get assassinated, thus removing that problem from Arkk’s back, and then he swooped in to apprehend the assassin after the fact… He could go to the state funeral, shed some tears, but come away smelling like a proper hero for having caught the Duke’s killer.

“Everything alright there, Arkk?”

Arkk lowered his hands, giving a mild smile to Hawkwood. “Got turned around on the way to the latrine. Luckily, I bumped into the Master Inquisitor. He helped me find my way back.”

The look Hawkwood gave him was one of utter disbelief. “Few people would say that they were lucky to bump into any inquisitor. You least of all. Hasn’t the inquisition been… interested in you?”

Arkk quirked an eyebrow. “You heard about that?”

“Put out the word with a few of White Company’s branches to keep an eye on your advancements. It isn’t every day I get to mentor an up-and-coming company, let alone one that has risen to such prominence so quickly,” he said with a laugh.

Arkk glanced away from Hawkwood. The inquisitor, tall as an elf, was easy to spot as he made his way toward the Duke. He wasn’t taking a direct path, likely not wanting to agitate the assassin. He even paused to talk to someone for a few words.

“He isn’t that bad,” Arkk said eventually. “Just doing his job. We’ve had some disagreements but… I guess, as a person, I don’t find him all that disagreeable.”

Hawkwood’s bushy mustache ruffled as he let out a softer laugh. “That wasn’t even a proper compliment and it still sounded like torture to get it out.”

“I’m not saying I’m going to invite him to any parties I might hold in the future. Just that he isn’t the manic fanatic I expected from someone with the title of Master Inquisitor. He’s just doing his job.”

Hawkwood chuckled, clapping Arkk on the shoulder. “Any more of these backhanded compliments and I’m going to start worrying that I need to watch my back for angry inquisitors. Come. Since we’ve moved rooms, it seems the meal has been delayed. We’ve some time to kill. Did I introduce you to Victor Vector? Head of Sanctuary, a company that specializes in smaller-scale combat much like your own.”

Arkk felt his smile start to strain. He had been introduced to so many people between Hawkwood’s mercenary contacts and Wolf’s trade partners that he honestly had no idea whether or not this Victor had been included.

More than that, Hawkwood’s comment made Arkk reconsider the situation at large. They had moved rooms. While Arkk believed in coincidence, a lighting array going wrong for the first time in decades on the same night that an assassin was prowling the halls seemed unlikely. Why force the move? Was it something about the meal, delaying it to buy time to poison it, perhaps?

If the meal was poisoned, letting the assassin continue could lead to a lot more people getting hurt than just the Duke.

But if it was poisoned, the assassin might not even be here. They would be in the kitchens.

Were there other reasons for wanting the room to be swapped? Having a trap prepared in advance made the most sense. Perhaps a deadly magical circle hidden underneath the Duke’s throne. Underneath this room might be some cellar filled with explosives. The possibilities could easily spiral out of control. There were too many unknowns. Was the Duke even the target? There were a number of wealthy and powerful people here, all of whom likely had more than their fair share of enemies.

Even Arkk had probably stepped on a few toes despite Company Al-Mir only existing for a few months. If those slavers had any friends angry at their elimination, he could have a huge target on his back. The Pious of the Golden Order came to mind as well, even if none had acted against him at Moonshine Burg.

“Something else wrong?” Hawkwood said, staring at him for a short moment.

Arkk flashed a quick smile. “No,” he lied. A bald servant was distributing tall glasses of amber liquid just a few paces away. He couldn’t say anything now even if Hawkwood was the best person he knew who might be able to help with the situation. “Just thinking about business. I honestly can’t say that these kinds of parties are for me. I think I prefer mercenary work.”

“I understand that completely,” Hawkwood said with a firm nod of his head. “But these kinds of things can be nice changes of pace. A field of roses might be astonishingly beautiful with the most wonderful fragrance but that won’t stop you from getting sick of it after staring at it for years. Sometimes you have to step through a patch of blighted fungus just to remind yourself of the splendor.”

“That… certainly is a metaphor,” Arkk said slowly, earning another hearty laugh from Hawkwood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Vrox finally making it to the Duke. The moment he leaned down to whisper into the Duke’s ear, a cry ran through the crowd. Arkk tensed, spells tingling at the tip of his tongue. His shadow curled around him with no glowing suns shining from within but ready to act nonetheless.

Vrox moved as well. From across the room, Arkk couldn’t hear his words. It was clear he managed a spell. A barrier, much like the one Zullie had demonstrated during Arkk’s first encounter with the witch, formed around Vrox and the Duke well before Arkk could have managed the same elongated spell.

But the cry hadn’t come from near the throne. Distress and alarm rippled through the crowd not far from where Dakka stood halfway through the long room. The crowd swayed and parted just enough for Arkk to see a man on the ground with a pool of blood slowly spreading out from him. Dakka had left the servant she had been harassing, clearly on the lookout for what went wrong. A contingent of guards were quickly making their way to the commotion.

But Arkk found himself scowling. Everyone was staring at the body, backing away like it was the problem. Who had done it? Had nobody seen? Arkk looked away, scanning the crowd again. Vrox, hidden behind the opaque barrier, would be useless here. Even with a body on the floor, Arkk was the only one who knew there was an assassin around.

It didn’t take long to spot something amiss. A man moving between the guests headed away from the body and toward the throne. No one seemed to notice him. They were too focused on the commotion to notice the servant slipping between them with steps far too sure considering the situation.

For a long moment, Arkk just watched as the bald man stepped with confidence toward the throne. Morbid curiosity held his hand. What was the man’s plan? Did he know what Zullie’s spell did? How was he going to get past it and Vrox? Vrox and the few guards that had gathered around Vrox’s barrier.

Arkk stepped forward, wanting to see what this assassin planned, only to be held back by a tight grip around his arm.

Licking his lips, Arkk half turned his head without taking his eyes off the bald man. “There’s a man,” he started to whisper toward Hawkwood. “I think—”

A sharp gasp of air cut Arkk off. Arkk’s eyes widened as he tore his gaze off the bald man. Hawkwood’s face, contorted and twisted in surprise and pain, slackened quickly. The grip on Arkk’s arm loosened as the man slumped forward, falling flat on the ground with a long handle sticking out from his back.

Half-pulled to the ground by the falling Hawkwood, Arkk caught sight of a servant’s shoes retreating through the crowd that had been around him and Hawkwood. There was more than one assassin? Already, more cries rang through the room. Some around Arkk. Others, more distant. Other attacks? Or people finally realizing that there was genuine danger nearby?

Arkk threw one last look after the bald man making his way toward the far end of the room, lips pressed together. “Assassins!” he called out. “Dressed as servants!” The bald man heard, changing directions as he did. So did others. Arkk didn’t chase after the man himself. He had done his part. If the assassin wanted to kill the Duke, it wasn’t Arkk’s job to protect the man.

Hawkwood, on the other hand, was a friend and mentor. Ducking down, Arkk looked over the mercenary leader with a heavy frown on his face. A dagger jutted out from the man’s back. Blood was quickly soaking into the man’s silk suit.

Focusing a hand over Hawkwood’s back, Arkk took a breath, visualized hands knitting a sweater, and spoke. “Tenun bebarengan otot lan daging lan balung, gabungke rong bagean sing kapisah kanggo nggawe siji wutuh.”

With his free hand, Arkk grasped the hilt of the weapon left in Hawkwood’s back and swiftly pulled it out. It was a long, needle-like dagger. Jutting under the man’s ribcage at an angle, it could have easily pierced a kidney, lung, and even his heart all in one go. Not the kind of angle an amateur attacker would be able to pull off, especially while remaining unseen despite the distraction the other attack had caused.

The Flesh Weaving spell wasn’t meant for such deep wounds. It would work, but it forced Arkk to close his eyes and concentrate, shutting out all the surrounding shouts and cries for help and stomping of armored boots. Magic flooded into Hawkwood from the tips of Arkk’s fingers. He could picture clearly the weaving and knitting that the spell was doing inside the man. He had seen it on surface wounds often enough, melding and shaping flesh as it did. It had originally been designed for increasing muscle mass and mutating bodies in ways that weren’t natural—it had been a spell in that black book, after all—but it was doing an adequate job of sealing the wounds caused by the thin dagger. There wasn’t much flesh damaged, after all. Just a narrow puncture.

Unless the blade had been poisoned, Hawkwood should be in one piece when Arkk finished. If he was poisoned, this was useless. That didn’t mean Arkk wouldn’t try.

Arkk’s healing came to an abrupt stop. Starting from the inside and moving out, Hawkwood was hopefully out of immediate danger. He still had a hole in his back. But Arkk found his concentration disrupted as a spike of panic ran through him. A call he had only heard a handful of times before rang through his ears. One of his employees called for his attention.

Arkk, in a panic, quickly checked on those present. Dakka was trying to make her way towards him but a blockade of guards halted her progress. They weren’t attacking her—or even focused on her—they were just trying to gain control over the situation. Zullie, on the other hand, kept her back pressed up against the wall she had been leaning against while eyeing everyone nearby. Ilya stood with Alya, not far from the Duke’s throne and the bubble Vrox had created around himself and the Duke.

Yet the call wasn’t coming from any of them. It was someone afar. Further than the Primrose and the Cliff’s Edge. Further even than Fortress Al-Mir.

Far out on the western edge of the Duchy, an employee of Fortress Al-Mir that Arkk hadn’t even met properly stood on the edge of a plateau. The half-flopkin clutched a gold coin, holding it close to her chest like she was making a wish on it. Several other full-flopkins stood around, gazing off into the distance with fear-stricken faces. Unfortunately, Arkk couldn’t control his perspective while observing his employees. It was always a top-down view of their immediate surroundings and nothing more.

Something was happening. More slavers? Being able to respond to possible slaver threats was the whole reason Arkk had asked Ilya to head up to the flopkin village in the first place.

Concerning, but it wasn’t here. They weren’t fleeing in terror. Whatever was going on, it could wait until he had a moment to grab a crystal ball and examine the situation properly.

Although blood stained Hawkwood’s clothes—and Arkk’s own—the bleeding had mostly stopped. A quick repeat of the incantation let him pinch together the last of the wound. Hawkwood’s breathing was shallow and his pale pallor didn’t bode well, but at least he was breathing. Arkk didn’t think there was anything else he could do for the man.

Arkk tried to stand when a second cry for help struck him through the employee link. This one joined by an immediate sensation of pain and fear. It wasn’t the flopkin.

Ilya clutched her chest, looking down at far too much blood. The bald assassin shoved her aside, pulling out a dagger from her stomach before advancing on Alya. The older elf, fear on her face, stepped back from the assassin. Her step carried her outside Arkk’s perspective.

Arkk sat in shock for what felt like an eternity. The gears in his mind ground against each other. This was his fault. He had ignored the assassin, assuming his target to be the Duke. What had happened? Had the assassin gone after Alya when Ilya jumped in the way? Or what if the assassin didn’t know what his target looked like, only that it was an elf with silver hair. He might have decided to attack both. Or…

Or…

Fists clenched, Arkk stood, only to freeze as he found himself looking down the edge of a sword. A contingent of knights, bearing the emblem of the Duke on their ceremonial armor coverings, looked like they weren’t sure if they wanted to attack or flee from his presence. He had a feeling he knew why. The guards wore shiny, polished armor that looked like it had never seen proper combat. Ceremonial, likely. That shiny polish made the suits reflective.

Each of the soldiers had twin red lights gleaming off their armor. Even their tabards and the stone floor gleamed with bright red light. Brighter than Arkk had ever seen it before.

A man hunched over a bloody Hawkwood, casting spells with glowing red eyes, probably hadn’t been the best for optics. Arkk didn’t care. Certainly not now. He didn’t have time to try to explain away the misunderstanding.

He spoke one single word.

“Vezta.”