Fortress Al-Mir

Gert Freede, Baron of Langleey, made his home in the center of the village square, just across from the church. It wasn’t a particularly large manor. Arkk had been to other villages and burgs where their local lords of the land had miniature castles. Gert lived a simple life, not far elevated from the serfs employed to work the farms. The grounds were far more elaborate than the house, being one large garden tended to by Gert’s wife and a few others. The wide lanes of strawberries were a much-beloved treat during the times of the year when they grew in.

Rushing through that garden, Arkk reached the large wooden doors of the Baron’s home and started hammering the knocker.

It was the dead of night. Well before anyone would be awake. Arkk didn’t expect anyone to answer right away. It took a few minutes of hammering before the door creaked open.

A short, round man with rosy round cheeks and a round nose pulled open the door, standing with a small rushlight burning in his hands. The light from the miniature candle paled in comparison to the larger torch that Arkk still held. Gert raised a hand, blocking the light from the torch as he squinted into the darkness.

“What is the meaning of this? Have you any idea—”

“Sorry to wake you, sir. I thought you would want to know that orcs and goblins were spotted near the village.”

Gert sucked in a breath, free hand clutching at his pale yellow nightgown as the rushlight drifted to the ground. “Goblins? Here?”

“In the company of orcs,” Arkk said.

Goblins were by far the more alarming threat. Vicious little creatures, more akin to wild animals than proper beings. Orcs, on their own, were generally treated with suspicion but could be open for trade while passing through on whatever business orcs got up to. Orcs in the company of goblins, however, was bad news. Raiders and scavengers, the lot of them.

“How many? How far off?”

Arkk shook his head. “Not sure, exactly. Ilya and I spotted tracks. She counted at least four orcs. I’d guess maybe twice as many goblins. They always outnumber the orcs in these kinds of groups. As for how far off?” He didn’t have a proper answer for that. “I’d guess they could be here as early as dawn if they’re heading straight here.”

“You and Ilya?” Gert said, squinting his beady eyes. “Arkk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were hunting out west, beyond the Cursed Forest?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is Ilya?” Arkk hesitated. The brief pause made Gert grimace. “Oh, no… is she—”

“No, no. She should be safe. We took different routes back. Wanted to make sure that one of us made it just in case the horde got the other. She took a route that kept her closer to the orcs and goblins. I imagine her arrival will mean we’ve run out of time.”

Relief crossed Gert’s face. The fingers clenching his nightgown relaxed some. “Good. Very good. I understand. Rush to the church and sound the bells. Wake the village. We’ll gather everyone who can fight and hide the rest in my manor.”

Time being of the essence, Arkk didn’t bother saying anything else. He turned and rushed across the small plaza to the church.

In contrast to the Baron’s rather simple home, barely more affluent than any villager’s home, the church had opulence to it. It and the smithy were the only fully stone structures in the village. Where the smithy had a rugged design, the church was smooth and tall. High windows brought in natural light to the main chapel area. Whitewashed walls gleamed in the moonlight while the golden symbols inscribed on its bell tower sparkled with whatever light they could catch.

The door wasn’t locked. Although it had heavy bolts, it was never locked. The bell tower hung over the entrance, just before the main chapel. A door to the side let him into the bell room where, after dropping his torch on the stone floor, he set to pulling on the thick ropes.

Despite the gravity of the situation, pulling down on the ropes reminded him of when he was a boy, fighting with Ilya over who got to ring the bells before the Suun sermon. He had heard the bells ring in emergencies like this before, but had never done it himself. Still, he couldn’t help but smile when he heard that heavy bong.

Arkk didn’t know for how long he should ring the bell, so he kept going. The entire village didn’t need to wake up from the bell ringing, just enough people. Those who were awake could then wake their neighbors.

A few bongs turned into a few dozen before Arkk felt a hand resting on his shoulder. The Abbess stood behind him, wearing a grim smile that wrinkled her face more than usual.

“Thank you, Arkk. You can stop now.”

Arkk immediately let go of the rope. “Right. Enough people up?”

“The Baron is organizing everyone in the plaza now, repeating what you said.” Abbess Keena fiddled with her habit, smoothing out the wrinkles. Arkk was honestly surprised she was wearing it at a time like this. Pure white with elegant golden thread marking symbols into it, it was probably the single most opulent article of clothing in the entire village. Not even the Baron wore such expensive threads when viscounts or earls were visiting. “Are there really goblins approaching?” she asked.

“There… is a chance they weren’t headed toward the village,” Arkk said slowly. “Ilya and I were on the other side of the Cursed Forest when we noticed them. They seemed to be following the forest’s edge. We couldn’t take the chance that they weren’t coming here.”

“Of course not,” the Abbess said, face turning grim. “I shall pray they pass us by, but will prepare my salves and prayers for healing.”

Before Keena could turn and leave, Arkk tugged up his tunic. “Could you take a look at this first?” he asked, wincing as he looked down at his wound for the first time. Long jagged lines of torn flesh ran from his hip to his ribs amid raw, red skin. It wasn’t bleeding, but thin streaks of blood showed that it had been when he received it. Seeing it made it start stinging all over again. “It looks worse than it is,” he said quickly, not sure if he was trying to reassure the frowning abbess or himself. “Took a bit of a tumble in my hurry to get back.”

“I can apply an ointment, but I need to keep my healing prayers ready for more grievous injuries.”

“Prayer would be more than I need,” he said, flashing a smile. “Just want to fight without distraction.”

The Abbess brought him through the chapel, sitting him down on one of the pews before disappearing through a door behind the altar. She returned in short order, carrying a small clay jar. Arkk wrinkled his nose at the fish-like smell when she pulled out the wax stopper but didn’t complain as she rolled up her sleeves and gently applied a thin layer of the freezing gel to his side.

“Abbess Keena?” Arkk said as she worked. “Might I ask a question of… religious nature?”

The older woman let out a soft laugh. “That is what I am here for.”

“I… What do demons look like?”

The Abbess jerked her hand, smacking into the clay pot. Arkk snapped his hand forward, catching it just before it rolled off the pew.

“Sorry… I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, that is what I’m here for,” she said again, far less humor in her voice this time. “Why do you ask?”

Arkk bit his lip. “I might have taken a shortcut through the Cursed Forest to warn the village faster,” he said, wincing at the way her eyebrows popped up and wrinkled her forehead. He continued, speaking faster and faster with every word to get his confession out of the way as quickly as possible. “There was something out there. A monster, I think. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I think it wanted me to agree to something—it didn’t exactly speak any proper language so it was a bit hard to tell. I said no,” he added, words spilling out of his mouth as fast as he could to deny agreeing to anything. “Then it just let me go. I wasn’t sure what to think of the encounter.”

To his surprise, Abbess Keena seemed to relax the more he talked. She even started moving again, hands rubbing the ointment into his side. “Doesn’t sound like a demon then,” she said slowly, thinking. “Demons typically look like people, at least when attempting to engage in such a conversation, to better deceive those with whom they would make deals. Something unlike anything you had ever seen would not be a demon.”

“Typically? But not always?”

Keena glanced up, brows scrunched together. “I don’t exactly have personal experience, Arkk.”

“No. No, of course not.”

“Apart from that,” she continued, “it is well-known that demons can speak any language with perfect fluency. Demons cannot lie while making deals. Garbling their deal with another language would violate that, I imagine. Therefore, it couldn’t have been a demon.” Pulling away from Arkk, Keena dried her fingers with a small cloth before recapping the jar of ointment. She stood, and paused. “What did it ask of you?”

“It wasn’t perfectly clear. I think it wanted three things,” Arkk said, straightening out his tunic. “First, it wanted help cleaning up some ruins I fell into.”

“Ruins? In the Cursed Forest?”

“Some old fortress. Looked really old. Maybe pre-Calamity. Frankly, I think the monster might have been pre-Calamity too. It looked like some kind of slimy, tentacle monstrosity with a few too many eyes.”

“A creature from before the Calamity?” the Abbess asked, actually sounding amused. “It has been over a millennium. Only dragons and elves live that long and this doesn’t sound like either.”

“I’m just saying,” Arkk mumbled, “it would fit the stories.”

“The other things it asked of you?”

“Well, there was some kind of large magical object in those ruins. A giant ball. I think it wanted me to take it.”

“Just give it to you?”

Arkk shrugged. “Finally, it kept calling itself a servant. And I think it wanted someone to serve.”

Keena pressed her lips together. “Peculiar.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar?”

“I am hardly a walking index of monsters, Arkk. I’m just a remote village’s religious guide. I dare say that the mercenaries who pass through on occasion would be of better assistance in identifying your mysterious creature. A magical artifact is more concerning. It could be what is causing the corruption in the Cursed Forest.” She hummed. “I should prepare a cleansing ritual for you later. Getting so close to this artifact… If it is what is causing the corruption, removing or destroying it might be a worthy endeavor. If we could reclaim the Cursed Forest, Langleey might enter into a new age of prosperity.”

“The creature called the artifact a defensive and offensive tool, though it wasn’t more clear than that.”

Keena furrowed her brow, squinting as she stared off into one of the large glass windows of the chapel. “That… sounds familiar.” She tapped the jar of ointment against her chin a few times before shaking her head. “I can’t recall. After our current crisis is over, I shall delve through the Holy Tome and see if I’m imagining familiarity or if I’ve heard of that before.”

“Current crisis,” Arkk mumbled, closing his eyes and wishing he could forget about that. His eyelids were heavy enough that he couldn’t quite open them right away. The Baron would take care of things right now. He didn’t have anything else to say about the goblins and orcs. There was still much he could do, but trying to put effort into his legs just didn’t quite work. Exhaustion kept him still.

A short rest would help him fight all the more.

He hoped Ilya was alright.

The warm light from the morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the church, stirring Arkk from his rest. The warmth felt nice, peaceful, and serene. Too peaceful, even. Like he was missing something.

Snapping his eyes open, Arkk jolted to his feet, remembering what daylight meant. He was still in the chapel. Abbess Keena must have left him to rest. While thankful for the brief respite, Arkk wished she wouldn’t have let him sleep quite this long. Rushing out to the square, Arkk set about learning what was going on.

The village had assembled. Of the seventy people in their village, twelve men and eight women had taken up arms. Six teens strong enough to carry bows had been recruited as well, positioned atop roofs to act as lookouts. Their eyes were on the west, toward the Cursed Forest. The large fields of corn would obstruct the sightlines, unfortunately, with it being so close to harvest. The church and manor up on the hill would hopefully provide enough elevation to spot unnatural rustling to give an early warning.

“Where is Ilya?” Arkk called out, running through the assembled defenders. She was supposed to arrive by dawn… unless she had taken to her fallback plan of distracting the orcs and goblins so that Arkk would have a chance to arrive first. Unnecessary now, but she didn’t know that. “Has anyone seen Ilya?”

A hand grasped hold of the back of his tunic as he slowed, jerking him to a stop.

“Quiet down, boy. You’ll cause a panic.”

The man holding onto Arkk gave him a dark look as he spun him around. An older man with thin clouds of white hair might not have intimidated a young man like Arkk, but this was John, the village carpenter. Wearing a worn gambeson with a heavy lumber axe strapped to his side and a powerful longbow slung over his shoulder, he was probably the most intimidating man in the village.

“Have you seen Ilya? Did she make it back?”

“No one has seen the lass. I’m sure you’d be the first to know.” John took a deep breath, softening his expression. “Now what’s all this about goblins?”

“Didn’t the Baron—”

“I want to hear it from you, boy.”

“Ilya and I found a handful of orcs and goblins, we were—”

“Hey! Arkk!”

Fighting the grimace off his face, Arkk turned toward the new voice. “Jorgen. Hurtt,” he said to the two approaching him. Both were burly men with arms thicker than tree trunks. Neither had a pleasant look on their face.

“Got any magic for us today?” Jorgen said.

“No, I—”

“Course he doesn’t,” Hurtt said with an ugly scoff. “The one time explosions might be useful and he doesn’t have anything.”

“Oi, shove off,” John said. “You got time to flap your lips, you got time to keep a lookout.”

The two laughed as they turned away. Arkk followed them with his eyes, watching the way they kept their smiles and seeming amusement only until they were a short distance away, at which point they dropped the act entirely, shooting each other glances.

“They’re just nervous,” Arkk said.

“We all are. Waking us up so early in the night?” John gave a tired shake of his head then let out a mighty yawn. “Could have slept in for another few hours.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Besides, you’ll show them up. Hit a few goblins between the eyes. Who needs unreliable magic and chanting when you’ve got…” John blinked, frowning as he looked over Arkk. “Where’s your gear, boy? You can’t fight like that.”

“It’s out in the Cursed Forest,” Arkk said with a groan, running a hand down his face. “They were too heavy and I needed to run.”

“You left your lady-friend’s bow in the Cursed Forest? I take it back. You’re going to be dead the moment she walks up.”

“I remember where it is!” I hope. “I can get it back after we fight off the attack.”

John looked off into the distance, then snapped his eyes back to Arkk. “Not going to be fighting off anything like that. Run down to my shop. There should be two bows hanging on the rack near the wheel. Neither will be as good as an elf’s bow, but at least you won’t be useless.”

“Sorry,” Arkk said, starting away. He paused and glanced back. “Thanks!”

John just threw his hand in a dismissive motion.

Hurrying down the hill, back to the side of the river, Arkk threw open the door to John’s workshop. A pair of wagon wheels leaned against one wall. The start of a bedframe sat atop the main workbench, surrounded by all manner of metal tools. The opposite wall from the door had what Arkk was looking for. Two bows hung next to the door out to the lumber saw and the waterwheel. One was missing its string. Not knowing where John kept bowstrings, Arkk picked up the other and tested its weight.

It was quite a bit heavier than Ilya’s bow, but it would work. Of course, a bow wouldn’t do much on its own. John had to have some arrows around somewhere. Arkk started pulling open workbench drawers and searching shelves.

Arkk felt a rush of wind and a thunk at his back. Whirling, he found an arrow, end vibrating, sticking out from a cabinet along the wall.

“That one,” a voice whispered.

“Hale?” Arkk said, looking to the door to find a young lady hanging upside-down from the roof. Her twin-tailed hair hung down, giving her the comical appearance of a giant beetle, but her piercing green eyes betrayed her seriousness. A much smaller bow hung from her arms. “What are you doing?”

“You were looking for arrows,” she said, unblinking. “Headed and fletched arrows are in that cupboard.”

The arrow sticking out of the cupboard bit into it right along the grain. Grabbing hold of it, he wrenched it from the door. In doing so, half the door fell to the floor with a clatter. She was right, there were completed arrows inside, but… “How are you going to explain this to John?”

Her eyes went wide. They darted left, then right, then back to Arkk. “Goblins did it.”

“They aren’t even here yet.”

“Goblins did it,” she said again, voice firm. Reaching up to whatever she was hanging from, she started to pull herself up, only to let out a small, “Ah!” before falling straight down onto her back.

She was on her feet before Arkk could get over to her, but he still grabbed her arms to help steady her. In contrast to her steady voice, her arms were trembling. “Why are you out here? Everyone else is up near the plaza.”

“Guarding the shop,” she answered, yanking her arms from Arkk’s hands.

“It’s dangerous on your own. Did John tell you to do this? I’ll—”

“No! I have to stay here. Master is too old. If the goblins burn this place down—”

“Then the whole village will help rebuild it. You think John cares more about a few planks of wood than his apprentice?” Arkk flicked her forehead between her brows. “Can you even draw that bow back?”

Rubbing between her eyes, Hale scowled. “I hit the cupboard door right where I was aiming, while upside down.”

Arkk glanced back, then to the arrow still in his hand. “So you did. Maybe you can help then, but with everyone else. Not out here on your own.”

After gathering up a number of the arrows into a sack that Hale found for him—they didn’t have a proper quiver handy and he had left everything with his other equipment—Arkk started dragging Hale out of the workshop.

“Wait!” Hale said, stopping abruptly. The little girl grabbed his hand and pulled. “I remembered. I wanted you to see something.”

“You wanted me to see something?”

“You know magic, right?” she asked, dragging him around the shop. Arkk didn’t have a good answer for her, affirmative or negative, so he kept his mouth shut. “What’s this?”

Arkk blinked, looking where she was pointing. There was a magic circle burned into the ground, the same one Vezta had drawn out in the library. The one that had brought him here. Intricate and complex, and yet, it was perfectly clear right there in the dirt. “Do… do you have a sheet of paper handy?” he asked. “And something to scrawl with?”

He didn’t know if it would survive the coming battle and he so desperately wanted to figure out how that worked. Magic that moved people great distances? It was too good to be true. If they could move from the village past the Cursed Forest without having to walk or ride the distance, they would be able to hunt and forage and chop lumber so much easier than they could now.

Hale returned, bringing with her a rough piece of pulpy paper and a thin stick of charcoal. Not ideal, but it would work. “Keep an eye out for goblins or orcs. And Ilya too.”

“Why Ilya? She’s right there?”

“Yes, keep an eye—” Registering what Hale said, Arkk snapped his head up.

A lithe elf ran along the bank of the river, eyes up on the church. She looked worn, covered in far more grime than when Arkk had last seen her. It was as if she had crawled through a pit of mud on her stomach.

“Ilya!” Arkk called, waving the paper.

He could see her eyes widening even from the distance. The silver in them gleamed in the morning light. Seeing him must have given her a new wind. Her pace picked up as she headed straight toward him.

“What are you doing here?” she shouted, voice rough and scratchy. Sweat dripped from her face and stained her clothes in all the places where the mud wasn’t caked on. “Did you… Did you go through the Cursed Forest? After I said…” She trailed off as she got closer, shooting a wary glare at the magic circle on the ground. “What is that?”

“It’s, uh…”

“Never mind,” she snapped, shaking her head and sending her knife-like ears bouncing. “We need to go.”

“Go where? I already warned the village. Including the youth, we have just under thirty people ready to fight.”

“Not enough,” Ilya said, shaking her head. “It isn’t just a handful. There is a whole army out there. Maybe an hour behind me at most. I could have been here sooner, but I wanted to see what we were dealing with. Good thing too. That group that attacked the stag was just a small scouting group. The larger force has thirty to fifty orcs, with a half-dozen goblins to each. No idea how many other scouting groups there might have been.”

Arkk staggered back. “What? That’s… about two hundred? Minimum. How are they wandering in such a large group without the Duke hunting them down?”

“I don’t know, but we can’t be here.”

“But… where?”

“I don’t know,” she said again, grinding her teeth together. “The monsters will see the village, or their scouts will. It won’t be long before they come down on it. Pillaging it will buy us time to move, but only if we start now.”

“It’s almost harvest,” Arkk said, leaning against the carpentry wall. “They’ll burn whatever crops they don’t want. Loot the storehouse. Slaughter the livestock they don’t take… How are we—”

Something hard smacked into the side of Arkk’s face. “Pull yourself together! Everything is already lost. If we don’t want to die with the village, we need to go.” She stepped past him, looking around the wall of the carpentry up toward the church. “We’ll flee to the Duke. He will have to take action against these monsters. Then… we just have to hope he takes pity on us and opens Cliff’s storehouses.”

“Flee to the Duke? You can’t go to the Duke. You can’t go to the Duke, Ilya. He’ll—”

“What other option do we have?” she snapped. “If it is for the village, I can make sacrifices. Just as my mother did.” Teeth clenched, she took off, running toward the church.

Arkk had never met the Duke before. As far as he knew, the Duke didn’t visit the various villages in his fiefdom. He did send collectors for tax and tribute. Every year, they wanted money, food, livestock… and rarely women. Ilya’s mother. Though ancient by human standards, she appeared beautiful and young. At least, that was what Arkk remembered. He had been a mere boy when she had volunteered herself as tribute during a year of poor harvest.

Volunteered herself to save Ilya from that fate.

She had never returned to Langleey. Arkk didn’t even know for sure if she was still alive.

With all the other tax the Duke collected, his storehouses should be plentiful, if not overflowing. Theoretically, he had more than enough to give to displaced refugees.

Arkk clenched his teeth.

“What are you doing?” a trembling, frightened voice asked.

Arkk stepped forward, standing in the center of the circle burned into the ground. With a smile, he reached out and ran a hand between Hale’s twin ponytails, messing up her hair. “I’m going to get help?”

“Help?”

“It’s okay,” Arkk said, drawing in a shaky breath. He spoke more to himself than to the young carpenter’s apprentice. “The Abbess said it wasn’t a demon. It’s not a demon.”

Hale jolted, alarm obvious on her young face.

“Stay with Ilya. Don’t try to protect the shop all on your own. If they leave, you leave with them.”

Giving her a light shove to make sure the young girl was clear of the circle, Arkk knelt and pushed just a touch of his magic into its channels and pathways.

The circle flashed and Arkk found himself plunged into total darkness.