Fortress Al-Mir

Arkk stood alone in a side hallway of the Duke’s manor. He wasn’t sure that he was supposed to be off on his own. In all the commotion of moving the guests around, no one had stopped him and right now, he just didn’t care.

Something about seeing Alya standing there behind the Duke ticked him off. He hadn’t meant to lash out. From Ilya’s account of their first visit to Cliff and the various people who had given him information on the Duke’s advisor, he knew that she wasn’t being held against her will. He thought he had been prepared to maintain a calm façade, carrying on the charade that was Company Al-Mir. Instead, he had lashed out, all but shouting at her for up and leaving without a word.

It was from seeing her. The way she stood behind the Duke like she was as trusted to that man as Ilya was to Arkk. Her clothing, a flowing dress with silk so fine that Arkk doubted anyone from Langleey had seen anything comparable. The dignified posture and slight smile on her face before she realized who he was…

All of it just stirred something inside him.

When he had left, Ilya had been talking to Alya. Arkk wasn’t sure what excuses Alya was coming up with but he hadn’t wanted to hear them. He made his excuses to the Duke and slipped away before he could say something he would end up regretting.

This party had been a bad idea. Not because it was a trap or because Vrox was present—though he wasn’t quite ruling that out yet despite Vrox’s words to the contrary—but just because this… everything disgusted Arkk. This party. The elites of society meandered about, feasting and celebrating nothing but themselves while, just a jaunt down the harbor, half the city lived in squalor. Non-humans were treated like trash while an elf ran about with such a fancy title as Vizier. The villages outside the city limits weren’t in much of a better state. High taxes forced villages like Langleey to overfarm, leaving little room for anything else, both physically and temporally.

On his first visit to the city, he hadn’t paid all that much attention. Fortress Al-Mir had been brand new at the time and he had other problems on his hands. The Duke living large and the people living small had just been how the world worked ever since he had been able to understand it. Maybe he could have done something then but he hadn’t been in the right mindset.

There was nothing that could be done about all those problems. He was a regular guy, not someone with the power and influence of the Duke. He couldn’t make large, sweeping changes that might affect thousands or tens of thousands.

He had been thinking too small.

Now, months down the line, he had stretched Fortress Al-Mir. Taken it out for a walk. He had defended villages, persuaded hostile beastmen to join his cause, defeated a contingent of inquisitors, and ridded the world of a blight of slavers. For the majority of those, he hadn’t even been in the vicinity of the actual fortress.

Early on, he had mentioned overthrowing the Duke to Vezta. He had been serious but he hadn’t really seen a way to do it, even with the supposed offerings Fortress Al-Mir could provide.

Now?

He was wondering why he had let the issue lie for months.

Not really. Obviously, there were issues. The number one of those being simple numbers. Twenty orcs, a few specialists, and, now, fresh recruits who might not even stick around if he started a war, wouldn’t be enough to take on armies. Even if he could somehow lure the armies to the fortress, the numbers alone would overwhelm him.

Although surely not his intention, Edvin’s actions that caused the recruitment spike might have been worth more than Arkk initially thought. Non-humans would likely jump at the chance to overthrow the Duke. Even humans, although treated better, might still be interested. Especially if they came from the most heavily taxed villages in the Duchy.

Then there were the promised allies from the Underworld.

He wouldn’t quite know what he had access to—or why people from an entirely different plane of reality might come to join him in a crusade unrelated to their current existence—until he completed the ritual. All he knew was what Vezta had told him. There would be magical beings interested in traversing the boundaries between worlds. They would likely wish to undo the Calamity as well, aligning themselves with that goal at the very least. As magical beings, they would require the support of the Heart to survive here. At least until the Calamity was reverted and magic could flow freely.

That was the real trick of it. Making sure everyone’s goals aligned.

The orcs would probably agree to anything. Theoretically, they didn’t have a choice if they didn’t want to be handed over to the Duke’s men given their raider pasts but… Arkk wasn’t quite so willing to hold that over their heads at this point. They had been through too much together. Arkk was fairly confident that they were entirely for a good—or at least successful—fight no matter who their opponents were.

The gorgon would be harder to convince. Arkk had enticed them to Fortress Al-Mir with promises of safety and security from an invading army. While a few of them were willing to help out with things like the slavers, he wasn’t sure how they might react to more. It would be something to think about and feel out a bit with Khan and Zharja.

Savren was a criminal and didn’t have a choice. Unlike the orcs… Arkk didn’t particularly like the man. Or perhaps it was easier to say that the man wasn’t a very likable person. Zullie, on the other hand, might have qualms. At the same time, if Arkk ended up fighting off the inquisitors and the Abbey of the Light as a whole, the freedom to research whatever she wanted would be an enticing reward for helping out.

As for the thieves, Arkk wondered if he could drag them into this. Lexa had jumped at the idea of riches. A gold piece a month was enough to buy her loyalty. At least for the moment. Would others jump at the opportunity—

“Master.”

Plots and plans flew from Arkk’s mind as his bones leaped out of his skin. The familiar yet completely unexpected voice of Vezta at his back had his heart hammering in his chest. He turned, hand over his heart, expecting to find the servant standing in the otherwise deserted corridor. Instead, he found a stalk of oily, violet-hued flesh sticking out of an oily shadow that didn’t quite fit with the lighting in the hallway. An uncannily humanoid mouth topped the stalk, aimed in his direction.

For as used to Vezta as Arkk had grown, she really had a way of unsettling him every now and then.

“I don’t mean to disturb you—”

“Too late,” Arkk grumbled, looking around. He didn’t think Vezta would do this if anyone could see. It still felt dangerous.

“But,” she continued, undaunted. “I must inform you that I smell bodily fluids.”

Arkk frowned. He didn’t think she had startled him that much. Taking a whiff of the air, he wrinkled his nose. The fetid stench of a latrine filled his nostrils. Beyond the rank scent, a metallic undercurrent stung his senses. A familiar scent, both from his days as a hunter and his more recent job as a mercenary leader.

Blood.

“I smell it too,” he said, wondering how distracted he must have been to have missed it. “Hide again. We don’t know how many of the walls here have eyes.”

Whatever corridor he found himself in appeared deserted, that didn’t mean it actually was.

It was a servant’s hall, he assumed, something they used to travel around the manor unseen. It was far too narrow for a man like the Duke. Not in the sense that he was overweight, merely that his status inflated him beyond the need to travel through a poorly lit, cramped corridor. Arkk hadn’t been traveling through it. He was pacing back and forth as he worked out his mental frustrations over the situation.

Having delved so deeply into his thoughts, he wasn’t sure which direction to head nor which of the many doors along the walls would get him back to the party and the guards who would surely want to know about this.

That scent grew stronger as he picked a direction at random, forcing him to pull the corner of cloth from his breast pocket to hold over his mouth. It probably meant that he was heading the wrong way. Just as he was about to turn around, he spotted a door ajar not far ahead. Curiosity got the better of him and he approached, peeking inside.

Dim, worn glowstones embedded in the ceiling provided enough light to see by. It was some kind of storage room. Large tarps wrapped around old, unused furniture. Chairs were stacked up along one wall and a table with its legs removed sat against another. Shelves, boxes, and a tall armoire littered the rest of the room.

The armoire drew Arkk’s attention. It was hard not to, what with the arm dangling from its partially opened wardrobe door. The strong stench of a fresh latrine was coming from it as well. Stepping into the storage room, Arkk pulled open the armoire’s door.

A filth-covered man slumped out of the closet, falling to the ground hard enough to make Arkk wince. Not that the man felt a thing. His throat had been slit, leaving lifeless eyes staring up at Arkk.

Arkk wondered if he should have been more repulsed or panicked at seeing a dead body. As a hunter, he had seen his fair share of dead animals. Humans, however, should have been unnerving. Yet this was probably the hundredth body he had seen in the past month alone. Rather than disturbed, Arkk found himself more curious about why the body was entirely naked.

It was fresh. He could tell that much from experience, even if he wasn’t an expert. Within the last hour, he guessed. What had happened? A lover’s tryst gone wrong? That would explain the lack of attire. Except clothes would have been scattered about unless the man and his lover had traveled through the halls in the nude. There were no clothes anywhere in sight. Not to mention, a tryst going wrong feels like it would have been more of an impulsive kill. The surgical slash across the man’s neck looked far too… steady. Planned or, at least, practiced.

In fact, the slit across the man’s throat brought up memories of how Lexa had dispatched the slaver beastmasters.

He quickly checked on his stealthy employee, making sure that she wasn’t somewhere nearby. To Arkk’s relief, he found her in a tavern somewhere, casually lifting a coin purse off a man who was distracted by conversation with Edvin.

He… probably should have a chat with them about that later.

Shaking his head, Arkk backed away from the body. Guards could figure out why and how the man died. Being caught standing over it wouldn’t be a good look.

Turning, Arkk froze with a cold sweat dripping down his back.

Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox stood tall in the doorway, watching the situation with no sign of his vapid smile anywhere to be seen. “You didn’t think I would let you slip off on your own, did you?”

Arkk clenched his jaw, staring up at the tall man. “I had nothing—”

“Relax, Arkk,” Vrox said, tone serious as he swept into the room. Arkk tensed, doubly so as his shadow started roiling. However, Vrox merely stopped at his side, looking down at the body with a frown. “Not only was I following you, I told you that I studied you,” he said as he crouched down. He grasped the body’s head by the hair, looking at the man’s face before moving on to one of the man’s hands. “Murdering a random servant isn’t in my profile of you. Regardless of our… disagreements, you didn’t kill this man.”

Arkk let out a small breath. That… was good, right? Vrox could have used the situation to arrest him, he was sure. But instead, the man was inspecting the body.

“Servant?”

“His hair isn’t styled in the manner of the wealthy. It is grimy and unclean. Could be a guard but his hands aren’t calloused like those of someone who trains in martial combat.”

Arkk frowned down at the body. Hawkwood, during his first encounter with White Company’s leader, had pulled a similar trick, identifying Arkk as a peasant who recently came into wealth as easily as Arkk could spot the difference between a cow and a dog.

“I’ve seen kills like this before,” Arkk said, making a snap decision to assist Vrox. Not only would it hopefully keep Vrox from changing his mind about trying to have him arrested, a rather selfish aim, but it would hopefully help bring some solace to the man’s family if justice was done. Disgust with the Duke aside, the Duke’s household staff were probably innocent. “Professional, clean cut.”

“As have I,” Vrox said, looking up to the armoire. “The body was sloppily hidden.”

“Bodies are heavy,” Arkk said, again from experience. “Picking it up off the ground to shove into the armoire’s closet would have been a good amount of work for someone. Especially if they were in a hurry or…” Arkk blinked twice. “Or didn’t need it to be hidden for long. His clothes are missing. A servant’s clothes are missing.”

If this wasn’t a tryst gone wrong… if this was fully planned by someone who knew what they were doing…

“Assassin,” Vrox said, standing abruptly.

It would have been easy. Slip in during a crowded night and take a servant’s clothes. How many people knew the faces of every servant? The Duke and Alya didn’t, that much Arkk already knew from their reactions to the tall tale Zullie had spun. The majordomo might have known. Maybe a few other servants. In all the commotion of the evening, especially after all the guests had to move across the manor…

Arkk blinked in realization. Zullie had said that she hadn’t touched the lights. Even when Vrox had left and before the Duke arrived, she had said that it wasn’t her. He had thought she was just covering for herself but there was no need to lie to him. He wouldn’t care if she blew up the Duke’s manor. He might even give her a bonus.

“Zullie wasn’t lying about it not being her.”

“Excuse me?”

“The lights. They blew up. It wasn’t Zullie. She was telling the truth about the overload.”

Vrox’s eyes widened behind his glasses ever so slightly. “To get the guests to move. They must have needed a different room for some reason.” He turned toward the door but paused. “Why do you sound so surprised about her words?”

“Did you believe her when she said it wasn’t her?”

Vrox considered then shook his head.

Arkk just shrugged. “Same.”

Vrox didn’t say a word in response. He turned back to the hall. Arkk, figuring he knew which way to get back to the party, hurried alongside him.

“I trust you, Arkk.”

Arkk blinked at the sudden vote of confidence. “What?”

“Let me rephrase,” Vrox said without a pause in his steps. “I trust in my profile of you, Arkk. All of your actions demonstrate a need to help those less fortunate than you, those who find themselves in danger, and those whom you have personally impacted. You play the role of an idealistic hero. Do not betray that trust.”

“Don’t betray the… trust you have in your profile.”

Vrox half-turned his head, a vacant smile in place. “Now you’re getting it.”

Arkk disagreed. He wasn’t quite sure how Vrox could say that he trusted him even in such a roundabout way. If a fight broke out, Arkk doubted he could ever trust Vrox at his back. Even if they had a common enemy, he could just imagine that man waiting for the opportune moment to slip a dagger into his back. But then, perhaps that was just what the inquisitor was saying. Arkk didn’t think he was the kind of person to do that. At least not to Vrox. Assault on the fortress aside, they really hadn’t had poor interactions. Disagreements, as Vrox had put it, but nothing overtly hostile. Even the assault was the inquisitor carrying out his misguided duty to either rid the world of Vezta or control her.

Vrox paused in front of a door near the end of the corridor, hand on the handle. “Act as naturally as possible. If our assassin realizes that he has been discovered, he may take drastic and catastrophic action.”

“Right.”

Vrox threw open the door and immediately clamped a firm hand around Arkk’s shoulder. A spike of panic shot through Arkk, fearing he had been lulled into a false sense of security. That panic faded as he realized this was natural. The inquisitor ushered him into the large throne room where most of the guests had assembled.

That firm hand stayed on Arkk’s shoulder until they walked a few paces from the walls. Vrox didn’t handle him roughly. Sternly, yes. Arkk doubted his suit would even be wrinkled.

“Leave the gathering again at your own peril,” Vrox said, tone harsh.

“Just got lost,” Arkk grumbled, catching on quickly. “I clearly don’t know my way around as well as you. I’m surprised the Abbey sends you here often enough that you’ve learned its layout.”

“My duties carry me to a great many places. Some pleasant, some I’d rather not visit if at all possible.”

Arkk raised an eyebrow, wondering what the inquisitor was referring to. The Duke’s party? Or maybe the fortress? Or maybe they were just empty words for the charade they were putting on. Whatever the case, Vrox didn’t elaborate. He let go of Arkk’s shoulder.

“I’m looking out for anything suspicious,” he said, making deliberate eye contact. “This is your only warning.” Without waiting for Arkk to respond, he turned away, scanning the room once before making his way through the nearby onlookers.

Arkk shuffled his shoulders, straightening out his suit. A good dozen people, some of whom he had been introduced to even if he failed to recall their names, were watching him with expressions ranging from disapproval to moderated curiosity. Arkk didn’t find himself all that concerned with their stares. It was hard to feel self-conscious at the moment.

Not while there was an assassin somewhere in the crowd.