Fortress Al-Mir

The tower could not move.

Currently, the tower was planted in the ground, nestled in the crook of the northern Elm mountain. As per Olatt’an’s idea, they settled down, opened doors, and burrowed deep into the mountain using lesser servants. Arkk wasn’t quite sure how the old orc knew, but the Walking Fortress could be used to create contiguous territory, capable of being claimed just like the land around Fortress Al-Mir. That had expanded Arkk’s awareness, allowed him to teleport troops and materials, and gave him the ability to rescue people who were in trouble by teleporting them out of danger.

It came at a cost. The tower could not move.

“The gold statues breached the western leg!”

Nothing was preventing him from sending the directive to the tower to raise its legs, physically speaking. The legs were intact and operational. But if he did, it would break the connection between the tower’s heart and the land around it. The tunnels would all revert to bare rock and dirt. And, likely, grow unstable without the reinforcing magic. Anyone caught inside might suffer a collapse. It would kill his awareness and severely limit his ability to move around his employees.

“Keep everyone away! Don’t get touched by their blades!”

Not to mention, it would completely cut off Hawkwood and his men—they were not employees of Company Al-Mir and thus could not be moved around like them—as well as the furthest of Arkk’s minions. The tower seemed to have a far smaller area in which he could teleport his minions around. Right now, with tunnels burrowed all the way to Elmshadow, everyone was within reach. But when it was just the tower? He would be lucky if he could recall those who were attacking the near side of the burg.

“The door is holding for now but it is only wood. They broke through one already. They’ll get through this one.”

So, when a horde of those golden statues managed to approach the tower unnoticed until they were already hammering on the doors of the tower’s legs, Arkk couldn’t simply lift the legs and walk away—or, better yet, crush them.

Most of his forces, including the heavy hitters like Agnete, Priscilla, and Dakka were at Elmshadow Burg. Most of the soldiers were out in the tunnels. His spellcasters were positioned throughout the burg, awaiting orders to begin their attacks. The tower, massive though it was, was practically deserted at the moment. And a good thing too. Those golden statues were tearing through the tower.

Arkk had relocated everyone to the upper levels.

Rekk’ar and Olatt’an had geared up, as had Richter. They were accompanied by about a dozen guards of varying species. One of the Protector’s bodies stood hunched in the tall chamber. Beyond them, they had several noncombatants. The scrying team, smiths, and cooks, mostly.

And poor Evelyn. The warrior had been bracing one of the doors with her shoulder when one of those golden blades jammed through a crack in the door. It only nicked her arm but that was enough. Were it not for Olatt’an’s quick reaction in chopping her arm off, she might have become another statue.

“S-Sir… The golden—” A heavy hammering on the command center’s door interrupted Luthor. Splinters of wood exploded inward as one of the planks cracked. “G-golden shield is up.”

“Protector,” Arkk said. “Tell Dakka and Hawkwood that it is time. And Lexa is to aim for the three priority targets.”

“Understood.”

“Great that we’re continuing but what about us?” Evelyn hissed. Even though Arkk had sealed her arm with the Flesh Weaving spell, she still clutched at the stump like she was trying to staunch bleeding. “We’re running out of floors to evacuate to.”

“I’m awa—” Another battering ram against the door broke part of the wood around the latch. Another good hit would shatter it completely. “I’m aware,” Arkk finished. “The situation is under control.”

Rekk’ar scoffed. Arkk paid him no mind.

“This is my territory. My domain. The audacity of that avatar trying to take me down with anything but a fully powered ray of gold is laughable.”

The battering ram slammed against the door once again, cracking wood and splaying chips across the room. The door swung on its hinges, crashing into the wall.

A golden figure stepped forward. It wasn’t a soldier. It didn’t have the armor of a soldier. It was a woman. Frumpy. Like old lady Emma back in Langleey Village. She wore a simple tunic with a long, handmade apron—all cast in gold. A civilian? One of the citizens of Elmshadow Burg? It had to be.

Arkk’s eyes blazed. “Incendiary Explosio.”

A tiny pinprick of light formed at the level of the statue’s chest. The statue didn’t seem to notice. It stepped forward.

The moment the pinprick of light touched the statue’s reflective gold surface, it exploded into a dazzling inferno. The heat was intense, even from across the room. Arkk and his companions had to shield their faces with their arms. He was able to keep watch, however, using his omnipresence of his own territory.

Despite the ferocity of the flames, the old magic spell he had learned from Priscilla was nothing compared to Agnete’s fire. But it didn’t need to be. He wasn’t trying to melt the statue. Whatever enchantments were in the gold had shrugged off Agnete’s flames when they had first encountered the statues.

They didn’t shrug off the physical effects of the spell. The concussive force of the spell knocked the statue backward. As a pile of heavy gold, it didn’t go far.

“Hold on!” Arkk shouted.

There was a slight panic as everyone scrambled. They had been warned in advance.

The entirety of the tower shifted. Without leaving the ground, half the legs of the tower lifted up. The other half sunk down. The entire fortress tilted. Magic normally kept the interior from feeling like it was moving. He had shut that bit off.

The heavy gold statue, unstable from the explosion, toppled with the tilted floor. Gravity dragged it down toward the wall of the tower. It crashed into another three statues on its way. Lesser servants, clinging to the exterior of the tower, destroyed a section of the wall just as the mass of golden statues hit it.

All four went flying out, sailing down toward the ground far below.

As soon as they were ejected, he ordered the tower to right itself. The jolt from the legs shifting must have been too much for poor Luthor. The chameleon let out a yelp as his grip slipped.

Before Arkk could even think to teleport him back to safety, the Protector reached out and grasped him by the back of his tunic. The fabric stretched and ripped but it stopped his fall long enough for the floor to level out. Luthor dropped to the floor with a nervous chuckle. “Th-thanks,” he mumbled.

Arkk gave the Protector a curt nod of his head before turning. “See? Under control.”

Rekk’ar scoffed again. Arkk, again, paid him no mind. He quickly scanned through all the forces in the field, checking for anything he had missed while busy. “Scrying team, back on the crystal balls,” he barked out as he teleported the bombardment team back into the tower. “Sorry about the delay,” he said, practically growling the words.

He wasn’t upset with the bombardment team. They had done their job well, even managing to defeat several armed knights before he had extracted them.

The problem was further in the city. Dakka’s team was in trouble. Too much trouble to handle? He wasn’t sure yet. Their shadow armor and scythes weren’t tested to their fullest extent.

Agnete was the closest person to them but Dakka was inside the golden dome, Agnete was outside it. The battlecasters were tearing through the streets on the other side of the burg, handling the divided yet larger army well enough. They almost seemed driven by a light of their own, bright against the backdrop of the golden dome. They would have to cross practically the entire city if they were to assist Dakka.

Lexa couldn’t be diverted. He had no method of contacting her now that she was away from her Protector. Hawkwood’s men were on their own, fighting hard against the bulk of Evestani’s army.

Could Dakka’s handle that gold-armored knight on their own?

Or did he need to teleport them out before things went too far?

Arkk bit his lip, watching a moment longer before moving to confer with his advisors.

Dakka let out a barking laugh as she swung her scythe. Awkward weapon to wield aside, it was amazing. Every swing cut through whatever it touched with little more resistance than a blade through a stream of water. It worked better in the darkness—the shadows between buildings and indoors—but even out in the direct light of the sun, it still cut into anything with almost no effort.

“Get back here you—”

Dakka jerked back as three crossbow bolts struck her in the chest, one after another.

She had been somewhat nervous about her mission. She and her relatively small team had effectively been asked to act as an entire division of an army while taking on an entire division of Evestani’s army. There were a dozen of the shadow-armored orcs and several hundred expected opponents. Technically speaking, they had the easier job, cleaning up the Evestani forces who had split off from the main defense to try to deal with Agnete and Priscilla.

Hawkwood was tasked with leading his seven hundred against the majority of the Evestani forces. They didn’t even have many tricks up their sleeves thanks to Arkk, just a few odd magical spells powered by glowstone wands and most of the gorgon for their petrification and venom. Richter’s battlecasters were backing Hawkwood up, using larger-scale magic to ensure that Hawkwood never had to face a sizable force all at once. Dakka didn’t envy their position.

That was the nature of war, she supposed. Nobody’s position was all that enviable.

Still, watching those crossbow bolts simply fall to the ground, leaving naught a mark on the shadow-like metal—metal-like shadow?—gave her a good laugh.

Dare she say it, but she was having fun.

The battle was pure chaos. They had emerged from a tunnel near the western side of the burg. A dozen knights cloaked in darkness ripped through the assembled army. Like scythes through a field of wheat. Her blood pumped. The adrenaline flowed.

Dakka hadn’t much enjoyed her time as a raider. The fights were generally pathetic—a mass of goblins was hard for most to overcome, leaving little for the orcs to actually do—their leader had been an utterly insane witch, and Dakka herself had been the runt of the group with little personal power. Now, clad in fancy armor, leading a team of specialists, and able to properly enjoy the fights?

Dakka charged forward, rearing back the scythe. The line of soldiers had long since broken. Most were attempting to make their way around the Shadow Knights, avoiding them as they tried to regroup in the center of the burg. It was Dakka’s job to ensure that didn’t happen.

That would only make Hawkwood’s job harder.

However, before Dakka could bring down her scythe, the three crossbowmen who had just shot at her locked up for a brief moment. The first, the one closest to Dakka, threw down his crossbow. Both others swiftly followed his example. She figured they were going for their swords—crossbows were easy to use yet difficult to reload—but instead, they dove for the muddy ground, each placing their hands on the backs of their heads.

“Surrender! Surrender!” they cried, the words heavily accented.

Dakka clicked her tongue in annoyance. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Dakka didn’t exactly blame them. If she had to face herself, she might have been tempted to throw down her arms too.

“Zharja!” Dakka called out. “Three more here.”

The shadows against one of the nearby buildings rippled as a gorgon slithered out into the light. Zharja, wrapped in one of the shadowy cloaks made with the ceremonial dagger, simply formed in their midst. It was a bit disconcerting to watch.

Zharja grasped the sides of one of the crossbowmen’s heads and wrenched him up to meet her gaze. The soldier locked in place as his skin, previously a light tan color, turned to a marble white. They didn’t exactly have a better method of taking prisoners at the moment. Fortress Al-Mir had a fairly sizable prison wing, recently built, but the tower didn’t have more than a few rooms with bars on them.

Predictably, the other soldiers immediately started panicking at the sight of the first being turned to stone. At least, that was presumably what their sudden babble was about. Dakka didn’t speak a word of Evestani.

Dakka swept her scythe down, slashing its black blade through the crossbows, slicing them in clean halves. “You turn to stone or you get cut in half. Which will it be?” She leaned forward, grinning. They couldn’t see her tusks behind her helmet but they should be able to hear her smile. “Don’t worry. We won’t forget to unpetrify you after we’ve taken control of the burg. Probably.”

It took another moment before Zharja was ready, but she grasped the second crossbowman and petrified him.

Taking prisoners would have been faster if they had more gorgon assigned to them, but only Zharja was here. The rest were assisting Hawkwood. Zharja would have been with that group were it not for the injury the gorgon had sustained fighting that man in the golden armor. The bottom portion of her tail had been torn completely off. While Hale had healed her, it wasn’t quite perfect.

It was more like one of Vezta’s tendrils than a proper gorgon tail. It couldn’t form eyes and mouths like Vezta but its prehensility was unmatched. Unfortunately, that came at a slight cost of mobility. Hence her being here with that cloak than in the thick of a proper battle.

“You got the last one?” Dakka asked, already looking around for more targets. She didn’t want to sit around while waiting for the gorgon’s petrification to work again.

Zharja offered a nod. “Yess.”

“Good. I’ll be—”

Something slammed into Dakka’s helmet just as she turned away. It wasn’t anything light, like an arrow. It carried enough force to pick her up and off her feet. Dazed, Dakka flew back, sailing over the downed crossbowmen until her shoulder clipped the corner of a building. Stone and timber splintered with the impact, showering around her as she crashed into the muddy ground.

Rattled and shook, Dakka nonetheless forced herself up, grasping the haft of her scythe as she moved. To remain still was to die. She swung the scythe as she stood, half hoping to randomly catch whatever hit her.

Her head ached. Her eyes felt crossed. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and forced herself to focus.

Zharja was nowhere to be seen. Presumably, she was back in the shadows.

In Zharja’s place, standing on the other side of the downed crossbowmen, a familiar figure glared. A man in bulky, golden armor. He carried no weapon but Dakka knew from experience that he didn’t need one to be a threat.

The golden knight stepped forward. His foot came down on the spine of one of the marble statues. He didn’t even glance down as the petrified person shattered. He just stepped forward completely focused on his target.

“Come for a rematch, have you?” Dakka spat out along with a small globule of blood. It splattered against the inside of her helmet. Ignoring the metallic smell, she grasped her scythe with both hands. She leveled the scythe, bringing it down such that a swing might just cut his head off. “Well… bring it on.”

Lexa swept through Elmshadow Burg, wiping blood from her dagger with a small cloth.

She had to hurry.

The fuse was already lit.

As the guards slumped into puddles of their own blood, Lexa pushed the doors open to the old, ruined church near the keep wall of Elmshadow Burg. A dozen frightened eyes turned toward her. But, with the cloak on, the children’s eyes didn’t fully focus on Lexa. Their eyes went hazy as if they were trying to see through her but couldn’t quite manage.

Lexa threw off the cloak’s hood. “Quickly, children. Gather around,” she hissed, eyes darting back and forth. More guards could show up at any moment. Or, worse, that avatar could make an appearance.

Company Al-Mir didn’t have the ability to handle that avatar at the moment. Arkk had managed a lucky shot on it in Gleeful Burg but everyone doubted it would let its guard down like that again. Not without a significant distraction. Thus, it was her job to ensure that they had to handle that avatar as little as possible.

The children, terrified as they were, did not gather around. Lexa fully expected that. Lacking the time to explain, she just grabbed the nearest child. A young girl. No older than Hale. “This will hurt,” she said, “but it is better than the alternative.”

With that, she uttered the Flesh Weaving spell, pressing her fingers to the crown of the child’s head right where those box-like tattoos had been etched into her skin.

The child started screaming a moment later.