Fortress Al-Mir

Hale was fairly certain that she knew a great deal more than she should know. Things that were supposed to be secrets. Things that would probably get her in at least a mild amount of trouble, if not a lot of trouble.

So she kept her mouth shut. She might be one of the youngest actual employees, but she wasn’t an idiot. Best to keep her mouth firmly sealed and herself out of trouble.

In fairness to her, it wasn’t like she was snooping about the place, seeking out the secrets of the fortress. It was just that Hale tended to spend a lot of time inside the library. A location she frequently shared with the likes of Zullie. Zullie had never been one to hide her work. As a former instructor, it was more like she wanted to spread what she knew far and wide. Since being afflicted with blindness, that lax attitude had only intensified. She left books open, research notes scattered everywhere, and odd magical artifacts that she had fashioned lying about.

Hale didn’t snoop, but if a book was left open, that was just an invitation to read, wasn’t it?

It helped that Hale was the quiet sort. She didn’t speak unless spoken to. That made it exceedingly easy to sit down in a corner of the library, put her nose into a book, and simply allow the world around her to carry on as it would. Zullie, Savren, their assistants, and even Arkk would all have short impromptu meetings on occasion. Arkk was always more aware of her than anyone else and even he would talk about things in her presence that she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to hear.

For example, how many others in the entirety of the fortress knew that Arkk was dabbling in necromancy? Zullie, Savren, Vezta… and Hale. She doubted Arkk had told Ilya. That wasn’t the kind of thing Ilya would stand for.

Which was stupid. It wasn’t like avoiding necromancy would bring the dead back and it could only spare the lives of the living. They were dead bodies. Meat and bone with nothing inside them. Might as well use them.

There were things Hale was keeping secret as well. Things she would rather not have spread around, at least not before she was ready. In her case, however, she was a little more careful about where and when she worked on her projects.

Today, for instance, Hale found herself with her hand clasped around the icy claw of Al-Mir’s resident dragonoid, dragging her down to one of the lower-level test chambers leftover from one of Zullie’s experiments. Priscilla was a hard person to find. She often was out of the fortress, off on various tasks for Arkk.

So, Hale had simply asked Arkk to let her know the next time Priscilla was around so that she could perform a little check-up on some older healing. An easy enough excuse.

“I take it you aren’t dragging me around for healing,” Priscilla said with a hint of a growl in the back of her throat.

“You know a lot about these fortresses, right?” Hale asked, not stopping. “I heard you used to have a place like this a long time ago?”

“Who told you that?”

“Leda. She mentioned it while I was tending to some bruises she got while on your back.”

Priscilla clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“Arkk says he can tell when someone is injured. It’s how he gets people out of bad situations and into the infirmary. I want to know if there is a way to avoid that.”

“It isn’t about injury. It’s about pain. The more the pain, the more he notices.”

“So if I muddle my sense of pain, I could chop off my hand and he wouldn’t notice?”

Priscilla stopped abruptly. Hale, hand around her wrist, had to stop as well. No amount of effort or straining would let her move the dragonoid against her will.

“Why are you going to chop off your hand?” Priscilla asked. She didn’t sound accusing or worried. It was a simple curiosity. As if the subject wasn’t any more interesting than what breakfast was going to be served today.

“Well, I was thinking I would have you do it, actually. I figured you wouldn’t have a problem with that.” Hale cocked her head to one side, looking up at the iced-over eyes of the dragonoid. “Was I wrong?”

Priscilla scoffed. “I’m normally all for mutilating humans… but I think Arkk would be displeased with me, regardless of the reasons. And I still need him.”

“Still?” Hale said, frowning for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t want him to know either.”

“You think he wouldn’t notice your hand missing?”

“I’d replace it, obviously,” Hale said as she rolled her eyes. “I’ve been testing the Flesh Weaving spell on myself, but for the drastic changes I want to make, it would be easier to start from scratch.”

“Why remove it if you’re just going to replace it?”

“I want to make it better. Something more like your hand. Get rid of this weak human meat and—”

“My hand?”

“I’m not taking your hand, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

Priscilla curled her lip in a daring smile. “Like you could.”

“But I would like to examine your hand a bit and then replicate it on my arm. Eventually, I’ll replace the whole arm. Legs. Body. And even my head, if I can figure out a way without killing myself.”

Priscilla looked down, staring with her icy eyes even though she was supposedly blind. “How would you manage that?”

Hale shrugged. “Still in the research phase. I asked Arkk if I could practice some unusual healing on prisoners but he doesn’t like causing unneeded distress…”

Priscilla hummed, folding her arms. The ice coating her fingertip clicked lightly as she tapped against the crook of her elbow. “I could get you practice subjects if you can get yourself reassigned to Leda’s tower.”

“Really?” Hale perked up. “You’ll help me.”

“So long as we keep your mutilations hidden from Arkk. How sure are you that you can replace your hand properly? And with a claw-like mine? He’ll notice.”

“Well… I…”

Priscilla leaned forward, putting her face right in Hale’s face as she widened a sharp-toothed grin. “Why don’t I rip off something less obvious? Like your leg?”

Hale didn’t move save to bring a finger to her chin as she gave the proposal serious consideration. It was probably just the dragonoid trying to frighten her off, but it wasn’t a bad idea. Legs were easier to hide underneath clothing than hands were. It would give her a proper target to practice on—herself—and she could retry as many times as she wanted.

Taking her gaze off the dragonoid’s face, she looked down. Priscilla didn’t wear clothing. Just jagged sheets of ice concentrated on her hands and feet. The rest of her was mostly humanoid, except covered in thick white scales. Hale followed the contours of her body down her legs where they terminated in three large toes in the front, tipped with sharp blades of ice, and a single talon in the back. Would feet like that fit into standard boots?

Perhaps she could make some small modifications. If all else failed, as long as she didn’t delay too long, she could always reattach her own leg.

“Very well. I accept.”

“What.”

“I accept. Come help me remove my leg. I’ve got a whole room set up already with medicinal potions, a clean place to work, and everything else I need.”

The grin slowly slipped from Priscilla’s lips as Hale grasped her hand once again. She tugged at the dragonoid’s arm. Priscilla didn’t protest this time, she allowed herself to be pulled away, muttering under her breath as she went.

“Not as fun when they aren’t scared…”

Vezta dipped forward at the waist, hands clasped together. She bowed, righted herself, and turned to carry out her newly assigned tasks.

No matter how many recruits Arkk scouted, no matter how many powerful beings like avatars and dragonoids came to his side, no matter how many spells he learned, Vezta was and always would remain one of only two people who could command the lesser servants. Others could direct them, but only if Arkk already gave commands to follow the orders of others, and only within the bounds of what he ordered them to do. That took foresight and planning. He could give them mental commands from afar, but he wouldn’t know to command them unless he was actively watching the goings on around them. As other matters occupied his attention, he frequently felt it necessary to delegate responsibility for the servants to Vezta.

It wasn’t that she was afraid of being replaced. No matter what, she would always have a role as caretaker of Fortress Al-Mir. But sometimes she did desire more what a simple lesser servant would tend to on its own.

It felt good to have a proper role, to be used, and to offer her services. Even if that role was simply to oversee construction projects. That was what Vezta was best at, after all. She never had considered herself much of a combatant. Leave the warring and the battles to others. Hers was a logistical duty.

Vezta walked through the halls of Fortress Al-Mir, languid and peaceful. Today’s task was to venture out to Elmshadow to construct barracks for the soon-to-be-arriving King’s army. There was no rush. Neither she nor lesser servants tired and they could work all night. Based on the projected arrival time of the army and her intimate knowledge of how fast servants could work, she estimated that the construction would finish three days before the army reached the burg’s walls. Those three days allowed leeway in both additional constructions, if necessary, and changes in the army’s marching pace.

It would go faster if they could build underground, but Arkk wanted above-ground dwellings for the army.

The farms below the burg, connected to the tower’s [HEART], had already been expanded to feed the prisoners they once held. Food supplies wouldn’t be a problem, though it would further strain their income. She would have to request her own scouting expedition, accompanied by a number of lesser servants, to locate additional gold, silver, or gemstone veins. Keeping the fortress funded was one of her self-imposed duties, after all.

Besides, it wouldn’t do for Arkk to find yet another [HEART] and be unable to utilize it because of a lack of wealth.

As Vezta continued down the corridors, trying to think back to how her former master had located the rich source of gold below Fortress Al-Mir, she had to pause as a stout human walked up to her. With his thick arms, hair coated in a dusting of soot, and the thick black apron he wore, it didn’t take long to recognize him as one of the fortress smiths. A refugee-turned-employee, if Vezta recalled correctly.

“David?” she said, plucking the name from the aether. “Was there something you needed?”

“Ah.” He flinched when she turned to face him despite having been the one to walk up to her. Possibly because of the way she had turned around, melding her body to the other side rather than simply rotating in place. “Sorry to bother you,” he said as he took a step back, having apparently decided he got too close for comfort. “But I’m glad I caught you. The raw iron in the stockroom is running low.”

“I see,” Vezta said, lips quirking into a frown. Fortress Al-Mir could consume gold to produce raw materials such as bolts of cloth, chunks of iron, and both crops and livestock. Arkk was burning through it all as of late. She mentally bumped up the priority of finding additional gold sources.

That fairy had a tower out in the middle of nowhere at the moment with servants that Vezta couldn’t direct, being minions of the shadow goddess rather than servants of the [STARS] pulled to this world by Xel’atriss. She would have to propose that Arkk speak to the fairy regarding the fairy’s idleness. She could frame it as getting the fairy experience in directing those minions about, scouring the land around that distant tower for any valuable resources.

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I will ensure you are restocked by morning.”

“Appreciate it,” David said before practically fleeing from her presence.

She watched him go with a mild smile before turning around to continue her trek.

Only to make it a mere five paces before being interrupted once again.

“Vezta! Vezta!”

A young elf slammed into her side hard enough to almost disturb her current form. Vezta manipulated the side of her dress to carefully push the child away from her. “Yavin,” she said, crossing her arms and giving a disappointed look. “What have I said about running in the corridors?”

The elf sheepishly scratched at his left ear, which had been clipped at some point before his initial arrival in Fortress Al-Mir. He was far more animated these days, even smiling. Vezta wasn’t sure what she had done to earn his adoration.

“I thought I heard your voice. I wanted to see you!”

Behind the young boy, another elf slowly approached. Nyala’s footsteps were completely silent and the way she moved was designed to disturb as little air as possible. In contrast to the young boy, the girl had drawn in on herself even more in her time at Fortress Al-Mir. Not that she had ever been open or happy, but she had somehow lost even that little part of herself. It was like Yavin had absorbed every scrap of elation the two could produce.

“Lexa back yet?” Nyala said, her voice surprisingly deep for her size. “The stupid gremlin promised to teach me some of her hiding spells two weeks ago and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Perhaps locating her is a challenge and you are unworthy until such time as you manage to catch her.”

The corners of Nyala’s lips twitched into a frown. “Is she even in the fortress?”

“No,” Vezta said simply, smiling at the deepening scowl on the small elf’s face. “Arkk has her out on a special assignment.”

The scowl vanished as a spark of interest crossed Nyala’s eyes. “Assassination?”

“I don’t believe the details of the operation need to be made available to those uninvolved.”

Nyala huffed, folding her arms. “She’ll tell me later, she always does.”

“That’s her prerogative.” Vezta gave a light pat to Yavin’s head, earning a bright smile from the young elf. “Run along now.”

“You said not to run!”

“And you well know what I mean,” Vezta said as she turned from the two elves. Their minder, John the carpenter, was nowhere in sight. They had probably slipped away from him while he was working on a project. They weren’t trouble. Yet, anyway.

Perhaps soon.

Nyala had been hanging around those two dark elves when Lexa wasn’t around. Something she was certain that Ilya, Arkk, and most reasonable beings would find objectionable. Vezta, frankly, did not care. If the child wanted to become a more effective combatant, it was something to be encouraged, so long as she was their combatant.

Leaving the two behind, and glad that Nyala was dragging Yavin away from her, Vezta continued toward the teleportation chambers. Along the way, she ended up stopped by no less than ten others, including Lyssa the werecat, Orjja the orc, Larry the butcher, Kia the dark elf—who was looking for Nyala—and Ivan the slime creature.

Vezta wasn’t honestly sure when or how that last one joined up with Arkk. It just oozed out of the walls one day, leaving a terrible mess behind, and continued leaving a mess everywhere it went. It was followed by a lesser servant who never left its side, having been assigned to keep the area around the slime tidy. Naturally, the slime had come to her to complain about its environment being too tidy.

She ignored it.

Let Arkk deal with it.

In the final corridor before the teleportation chamber, Vezta found herself slowing her pace once again.

This time, it was not because one of the myriad denizens of the fortress wanted something from her.

She felt something. A presence. One that shouldn’t be in the fortress.

Eyes surrounding her body narrowed as she slowly turned in place. Was the hallway brighter than normal? The glowstones in the walls and floor looked normal, but the maze-like pattern of the floor tiles gleamed. It only lasted a moment. A trick of the light in her eyes or…

Vezta turned away from the teleportation room. She hurried through the corridors, moving just under a run, as she made her way to the temple room. Arkk had barred the entrance following the failed ritual that inadvertently drew Xel’atriss’ gaze, but that couldn’t stop something like her. Vezta’s body oozed between the bars, flowing over and around them until she reshaped properly on the other side.

Several pedestals now contained statues. Something Vezta was certain was a good sign.

The molten, chained form of the Burning Forge stood proudly atop an anvil. The Eternal Silence rested in a peaceful slumber. The Heart of Gold, head held high, looked as proud as always. The Almighty Glory maintained the same majestic pose. Xel’atriss, Lock and Key, stood in front of a now opened door, which was the same as it had been since the ritual was completed. The Jailer of the Void still confused Vezta with its presence. The Cloak of Shadows was barely visible atop the darkened pedestal.

There were two changes from the last time Vezta had been in the room. The first was a new statue atop a pedestal in the far corner of the room. A tall man in a fine suit. He had a thin body, thin enough that a human could touch fingers and thumbs together if they used both hands at the waist. His chin was sharp and pointed with equally sharp eyes and a short tuft of black hair. Aside from his unnatural thinness, the most striking feature was his mouth. He lacked lips entirely. His teeth, flat molars all, were clearly visible. They stretched from ear to ear. If he opened his mouth, the entire top half of his head would tip backward.

The Laughing Prince. Lord of undeath, elation, festivals, and children.

The others, minus the Jailer of the Void, were understandable. The traitor gods existed because they had never left this plane. Xel’atriss, Lock and Key, could ignore boundaries and barriers. The Eternal Silence, the Cloak of Shadows, and the Burning Forge all had their worlds visited, opened via the portals.

Now, the Laughing Prince had appeared. It had to be a consequence of Arkk’s actions with the Evestani army. Even with the Calamity, the Laughing Prince had seen the death and undeath and had… approved? Concerning, but nothing to get too worked up about. Occupied pedestals were good, in Vezta’s eyes.

The other change in the room had her scowling.

The Holy Light, still masked in rays of blinding white, now had a hand held forward. In its hand, it held a rolled-up piece of parchment.

Vezta stepped closer, reaching for the parchment.

A flash of light blinded her. Rather than blink away the blindness, she simply formed new eyes deep within her core and allowed them to bubble forth. Just in time to watch her outstretched hand slop to the ground, severed at the wrist. Lacking cohesion with the rest of her body, it deformed and spread out into a thin pool of violet sludge. Stretching a thin tendril along the ground, she made contact and pulled the mass back into her body.

Vezta scowled as her hand reformed. It was painful. Draining. She could feel the load it put on the [HEART] of Fortress Al-Mir. Much like when the inquisitors had injured her during their invasion, though to a far lesser extent.

“Vezta!”

She felt her current master pop into existence behind her. Whether he detected her sudden spike of pain or noticed the drain on the [HEART] didn’t matter. He was here now.

Vezta turned slowly, keeping the statue in full view of her swiftly reforming eyes. “Master,” she said, unable to stop a frown. “It appears we had a visitor.”