Fortress Al-Mir

“You received a letter as well?”

Darius Vrox looked up from a flimsy sheet of paper to find Sylvara Astra leaning against one of the old archive’s many shelves. Wearing just one glove, she held up a similarly thin piece of paper. On the backside, he could see the broken wax seal bearing the compass rose atop a maze-like background.

Without a word, Darius held out a hand. The inquisitrix shoved her shoulder against the shelf and stalked over, flipping the paper around as she moved. She placed it into his hand.

Darius set the letter down next to the one he had been reading and quickly scanned over the content.

Hope this letter finds you well…

… an encounter with the Heart of Gold’s avatar…

… successfully fended it off by removing the tattoos…

… defeated the body it was possessing…

I have been too lucky, I think. I doubt such tactics will work again. Unless this avatar is a complete fool, it will take measures to better protect its body doubles.

… in addition, a knight wearing golden armor…

… near invulnerable…

I don’t mean to pressure you, but I eagerly await word that you have discovered something usable against such a foe.

One other thing. A rather sensitive topic. I shall avoid using specifics in such an easily intercepted method of communication but I must ask whether or not you and your order have any information on a possible demon summoning that occurred within the province of Vaales roughly around the time of the rebellion. I don’t mean to heap additional pressures on you and Vrox, especially not pressures of such a depressing nature, but any information you have on that topic may have become uncomfortably relevant to modern problems.

… my researchers are attempting to find a better method of long-distance communication… related to planar magic used in the Duke’s ballroom…

… should you require assistance that I can provide, simply ask.

Arkk.

Darius took a breath, looking up from the two papers. “They’re nearly identical,” he said finally. “Aside from direct references to you or me.”

“You thought he would send two conflicting letters?” Sylvara cocked an eyebrow. “Lie to one of us even though we’re working together?”

“Perhaps not intentionally,” Darius said with a small scowl. He grumbled, more to himself than Sylvara, “It wouldn’t be the first time he has lied to me unintentionally. Another difference,” he continued, louder, “is that he offers you assistance while assuming I can handle things myself.”

Sylvara’s expression turned stormy. “He thinks I need help? And you don’t? Oh, that’s—”

“I should think it is more of a result of his friendlier nature with you. He calls me Vrox in the letter but refers to you as Sylvara.” Darius raised his eyes, scanning over Sylvara’s different-sized legs and her gloved hand before stopping at her face. “Unless something more occurred between the two of you during your interactions? Something you neglected to mention.”

“I didn’t lay with him, if that’s what you are implying,” Sylvara said, face completely blank. “From what I observed, I would think that he only has affection for non-humans.”

“Ah.” Darius looked back down to the letter. “Perhaps he is still cross with me for threatening the Horror from beyond… from the Stars.”

“Enough about our relationships. What of the actual content of the letter?”

Darius leaned back in his chair, looking upward. The ceiling of the Abbey of the Light’s main archives was a tall, vaulted panel covered in an intricate and ancient mural. That of the sun extending its rays of light across all the land, casting out shadow and darkness wherever it touched. Crops grew because of the light. Life flourished.

There was a metaphor up there. Light didn’t represent just actual light. Fitting in with the nature of the archives, light represented knowledge. Darkness was ignorance. The growth of crops and life was akin to intelligence and innovation progressing.

Yet, sitting here, surrounded by ancient scrolls and even stone tablets bearing runes that few could comprehend, he had hardly felt more ignorant.

He had uncovered things here, perusing through tomes long forgotten behind newer books, rolls of vellum covered in dust, and even an ancient tapestry bearing depictions of historical events. A history of the Abbey that he had never known. An alleged alliance, formed between beings blessed by the gods themselves before their departure from the world as they fought a long and bloody conflict against a far more devious alliance of evil. Gods that wanted nothing but destruction and darkness.

Except for one odd detail. That being the one blessed by the god of darkness fought alongside the warriors of Light in some previous conflict. They were allies.

Which was a strange notion for several reasons. Darius had never considered that a god of darkness might exist. The current stance of the Abbey of the Light was that other gods had existed in the long past, but they were gone now. Dead or departed, only the Light itself remained, casting its holy gaze over the world at the dawn of every morning. But if a god of darkness existed in the past, wouldn’t nightfall signify its continued existence?

None of the texts mentioned what happened to the god of darkness or its avatar. It was more like, they just stopped mentioning other gods at a point. More wars erupted. Alliances formed and were broken. There were only a few exceptions to the lack of other gods mentioned. Most notably being some kind of schism that erupted between a man armored in gold and the warrior blessed by the Light. That tidbit did not surprise Darius in the slightest, given the endless animosity that continued to this day between the Golden Order and the Abbey of the Light.

But that animosity just made it all the more suspicious when they had pushed for an alliance against Arkk.

That moon in the sky’s fissure… Had that been the god of darkness, once again looking down upon the world? Its very presence put pressure on two sides who hated one another to reforge their old alliance…

Except the darkness had been on the same side as the Light.

There were too many contradictions. Too much history missing. Too much inferred and implied rather than outright stated. And, on occasion, historians simply made things up because they didn’t know the truth. That was the crux of the issue.

Everything in the archives had been written by mortal hand. Perhaps gods of darkness, light, gold, and whatever else was out there were infallible. Perhaps not. But mortals certainly made mistakes.

Shoving all the gods out of the picture and looking only at mortal happenings that he could prove with his own eyes and ears, he could see two sides. On one side, Arkk was trying his best to do what he thought was right—he was possibly misguided… probably misguided in his other efforts, but overall, he was trying to help people. On the other side of things, the Golden Order had started a war, apparently unprovoked, that had killed thousands in just a few months. There was no valid reason in his eyes for the Abbey of the Light to try to ally with such an entity, even in the face of the fissure in the sky.

“It is good that Arkk was able to fend off the Golden Order,” Darius eventually said, pulling his eyes back down to Sylvara Astra. “I believe he is correct in his assertion that the avatar of gold will not be so easily dispatched in the future. He’ll need assistance.”

“You’ll go back then? Take what we’ve learned here and join him?”

Darius folded his hands together, looking down at the letters. Rather than answer, he asked, “Your intentions?”

“I’m already packing. Chronicler Qwol will join me.”

Darius nodded his head. “Then the two of you will have to suffice.”

“You aren’t coming,” Sylvara said. Her red eyes widened in genuine surprise.

“There is something here. Something going on that is bigger than a mere war. Perhaps it is mere corruption or, worse, infiltration of the Abbey’s higher echelons. Or… perhaps something even larger than that.” Grasping hold of his cane, he stood from the archivist’s desk he had borrowed for his research. The High Archivist had been incredibly helpful in their research, always knowing exactly where a book containing information they sought was and even reciting entire passages from her memory. “We are inquisitors,” he said with a small smile. “It is our duty to root out corruption. Whether that be corruption out in the wildlands… or corruption closer at home.”

“Dangerous words,” Sylvara said after a long moment of silence. Her expression belied no emotion.

“No more dangerous than what you are doing. I doubt the Ecclesiarch sanctioned your actions.”

“What I am about to do is not approved by the Abbey,” she confirmed with a slight nod of her head. “But I’m not going to be surrounded by the Abbey while I’m out.”

“True. Whatever is happening, I feel I can discover more here than I can afar. I’ll just have to tread carefully.”

Sylvara nodded slowly. “If you find yourself in trouble, get word to me. I’ll see what I can do.” She started to turn away, only to pause and look back. “What of the other issue he mentioned?”

“The demon?” Darius frowned down at the papers in his hand. After a thought, he handed Sylvara’s back to her. “Merely mentioning it has worrying implications. I’d hope that Arkk isn’t getting into more trouble but… my profile of the man suggests that he won’t be able to help himself. Not sure why he brought up Vaales. I’ll do some research and pass on what I find to you, hopefully before you arrive back in Mystakeen.”

“Good,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to delay any longer. The sooner we kill this avatar, the sooner we can get back to usual business.”

Darius looked after her, watching the swaying of her silver hair as she stalked out of the archives. “Usual business, huh?”

As he folded up the letter and slid it into his breast pocket, he shook his head. He didn’t begrudge her for her opinions or her single-minded drive against that avatar. Not after hearing what she went through following the fall of Elmshadow. But…

“I doubt things will return to usual so easily.”

Agnete let out a short puff of air, blowing off metal shavings she had just filed away. She removed the toothed cog from its clamp and looked over the quality of her work. Her finger ran along the ridges and the valleys, feeling for obvious imperfections.

She paused with a grimace, looking down at her hand. The skin, blackened and charred, didn’t hurt. She still had full range of movement. But she couldn’t feel. During the fight with the avatar, she had deflected one of those thin beams of gold with flames wrapped around her hands. Either her flames hadn’t been intense enough or… they had been too intense. She wasn’t sure. Either way, it left her with an injury that she didn’t know how to fix.

Hale hadn’t been able to help her. The young woman had tried. Something about the injury—possibly the source being magic derived from gods, whether that was the Heart of Gold or the Burning Forge—resisted the effects of the Flesh Weaving spell. Since it didn’t hurt, Agnete had taken to ignoring it. Often wrapping it in a wreath of fire, which did have a slight soothing effect.

But she couldn’t do that without ruining her project.

Examining the cog with her other hand, Agnete nodded to herself. Finding the cog satisfactory, she turned around.

Katt’am sat in his wheelchair, watching her without particular emotion. He was either very good at hiding his emotions or he genuinely wasn’t upset.

Were their positions reversed, Agnete wasn’t sure that she would be able to contain herself. She had taken his legs, destroyed his ability to fight, and sentenced him to carry out the remainder of his life bound to that wheeled chair. It was true that they had been enemies at the time, with her having been under Inquisitor Vrox’s command and Katt’am under Arkk’s, but they were allies now. He was the one she had harmed the most.

It was why she had built the chair.

But now…

“Let’s try this,” Agnete said, voice soft as she crouched down near the wheelchair.

Today, she wasn’t performing upgrades or maintenance on the chair itself.

Katt’am sat with the stumps of his legs held out. Rather than ending in misshapen lumps of scorched flesh, his legs were capped with metal plates covered in arcane ritual lines that Agnete didn’t fully comprehend. The idea had come to her in a dream. A vision? She had been having a few of those since the encounter with the avatar… Since burning her hand. With Savren’s help, she had brought that dream into reality. With Hale’s help, she had attached the metal to his legs.

She was a little surprised that Katt’am had rejected Hale’s offer to heal his legs. Then again, it wasn’t exactly uncommon among the lightly wounded to reject her ministrations. Seeing others walk around with monstrous and mutated parts of their bodies had a way of making others shy away.

And now, after locking the cog into place, she carefully slotted the thick metal limb onto the anchor points of Katt’am’s leg. The ritual circle on the plates lined up with ritual circles on the mechanical limb. Light pulsed from the inscription before fading to a dull glow.

Katt’am let out a grunt as she twisted the leg, locking it into place.

“Pain?” she asked.

“No. Or… Yes? It’s strange. I haven’t had legs for months, yet I can still feel them. My eyes confirm the lack of leg, but an irritating itch still gnaws at me where I have no skin to scratch. But now…” He looked down at the prosthetic.

The surface of the legs was smooth metal, akin to that of plate armor, designed to conceal and protect the intricate mechanics within. Everything stemmed from the connection of the ritual circles scrawled into the plates of his legs and the top end of the prosthetic, they connected to his mind to read his intentions, magically operating spinning gears and stretching pistons to articulate the knee, ankle, feet, and even toes.

“I can feel these,” he said, lightly scratching at the armored cover. “Even that. I know I’m touching metal. Maybe it is my imagination. But it’s like I can feel a sensation there that has been nothing but a scratching itch ever since… Since I lost my legs.”

“The ritual circle,” Agnete said, pointing to the connection. “It is mind magic designed by Savren. I don’t fully understand it.” Standing, she crossed over to his other side. “If there is no problem, we can try attaching the other leg.”

Katt’am nodded his head, letting Agnete get to work. It was just a quick twist and clamp. The legs were designed to be removed and attached with relative ease. Given their heft, she imagined he wouldn’t prefer to sleep with them on. It also made maintenance, modification, and cleaning far easier.

He grunted in that same pained and surprised noise. But he didn’t complain.

She stepped back, watching his legs for problems as he started rolling his ankles and flexing his toes.

“This feels… strange.”

“Bad?”

“No. Just strange.”

Agnete hummed. “I don’t see any issues. Everything is working the way it is designed to.”

“Can I try walking?”

In lieu of an answer, Agnete made sure that she was running cool and then held out her hand. Her good hand. He clasped his hand with hers without hesitation, pulling himself to his new feet in the process. Using a bit too much gusto in his movements, he almost threw himself straight forward. Agnete had to plant a hand on his chest to keep him from falling flat on his face.

“Careful.”

After a few initial wobbles, he steadied himself out. For a long few moments, he simply stood, adjusting his position ever so slightly. His weight shifted from hip to hip and his legs and feet adjusted to compensate. After growing comfortable with simply standing, he took a step. Then another.

Agnete kept hold of his hand the entire time. She occasionally felt him putting weight on her hand when his balance went askew. With every step, he kept his balance better and better. To the point where he felt comfortable letting go.

Remaining in place, Agnete watched as he walked around the workshop. Her eyes honed in on the metal prosthetics, watching and observing for any fault in the construction. Some sixth sense for structural integrity and her own work—perhaps a gift from the Burning Forge?—let her simply know if there was a problem.

There wasn’t all that much room for him to stretch his new legs. Certainly not enough to break into a run, but that was probably for the best. As he tried to pick up the pace, he got clumsy. One toe scraped along the ground, dragging just enough to send him off balance. He tumbled forward, arms swinging around to try to keep his balance. But his efforts were for naught.

He hit the ground with a heavy thud and a hearty grunt.

“Are you alright?” Agnete asked.

In response, she got a laugh. “This is… amazing,” he said as he rolled over to his back. “I—”

Agnete felt that twist and pull of being moved through space. In the blink of an eye, she stood not in the workshop, but in front of Arkk within the main transportation hub of Fortress Al-Mir.

She felt the heat start to rise. The flames in her chest always roiled around Arkk. Even more so when something like this happened. Unannounced teleportation usually meant something was wrong. If something was wrong, that usually meant that she would get to unleash her flames. She stared into his glowing red eyes, starting to get excited, until she noticed the relatively relaxed and calm posture he had.

“Sorry for interrupting you,” Arkk said, losing any air of imposing dread as he ducked his head in an apologetic gesture. “I’ll send you back in a moment. But I have a small job for you in about an hour over at Elmshadow and I didn’t want you to get started on any big projects.”

Agnete let out a breath, trying to expel some of that heat as she did so. It wasn’t easy, but she managed. It was easier now than it had been with the inquisitors. She didn’t enjoy cooling down and it was probably unnecessary in Arkk’s presence. He wasn’t going to pull out the Binding Agent if it got a little hot in the room. Still, it was the polite thing to do.

“Did something happen?” she asked in that same breath.

“The… Well, Evestani followed through on their agreement. A crate of precious metals and gemstones was left out in the wilderness. I’m surprised they got it here this quickly. A little suspicious too, actually. The…” He trailed off again, sighing. “The undead are hauling it back toward Evestani.”

Agnete felt her lips quirk into a frown before she could school her expression. Perhaps it was lingering values left behind from her time with the Abbey of the Light but undead? Really, Arkk. If she couldn’t see how much it bothered him, she might have had more vocal complaints.

“Anyway,” he said, quickly moving on without lingering on the topic, “I’m wary of traps so I thought it would be a good idea for you to melt it all. Your flames destroy most magic, so the gold should be clean afterward. And if you can’t melt it like you can’t melt those golden statues, then we know that Evestani is up to something involving the avatar’s magic. Your flames combined with the lesser servants eating it and turning it into regular gold coins should hopefully clean the gold enough that we don’t have to worry about traps.”

“Reasonable,” she said, nodding. “I can certainly assist.”

“Good. Be at Elmshadow in an hour then. I’ll send you…” Arkk paused, thought, and then asked, “How is Katt’am doing?”

“When you teleported me, he was laughing.”

Arkk clasped a friendly hand on her shoulder, donning a smile that seemed at odds with his ominous glowing eyes. “No one asked you to do that. But you did anyway. I’m proud of you.”

Agnete sucked in a slight breath, feeling the heat rise with it.

“Thanks,” she whispered.