Fortress Al-Mir

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

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

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

“So what now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The human? He’s a boy. A peasant.”

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

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

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

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

“Eyes?”

“When his woman cried out.”

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

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

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

And glowing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Arkk’s eyes.

“No! Hale!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

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

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

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

Hale jumped out of her seat, hiding behind Arkk.

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

“Bad orcs?”

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

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

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

“Empty place.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

“Mhmm…”

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

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

Hale liked this orc much better than the other one.

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

“Where are we?” the green orc asked.

“The middle of the Cursed Forest.”

“The Deadlands?”

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

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

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

“No! I can be good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And where would we spend our pay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just did what felt natural.”

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

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

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

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

She scowled the entire time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that the oaf minded.

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

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

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

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

Turning her head, she narrowed her eyes.

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

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

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

So, he couldn’t get a good hit in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The pick must have gotten stuck in the shield.

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

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

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

“What is going on here?” he hissed.

She had been right. He was angry.

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

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

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

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

“Not a scratch.”

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

They both disappeared, popping out of the corridor.

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

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

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

Dakka wouldn’t be a runt again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Holiness!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He flipped it open and began to read.

Every word turned worry into dread.