Fortress Al-Mir

“She didn’t even look at me. The moment she realized who I was, she turned away. Not once did she even pretend to glance back.”

“Did you expect her to start shouting and waving? Pointing out the elf on the rooftop about to attack the Duke?” Arkk said with a shake of his head. “I can’t believe you were about—”

Ilya cut him off. “I wasn’t.”

“What else were you grabbing your bow for?”

“I just… nothing,” she said through her teeth. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not unless we’re talking about how to get into one of the Duke’s parties.”

“Could always put Ilya up for auction,” Dakka said as they walked along one of the fancier roads in the city.

“No, no,” Arkk said, shooting the orc a look. Then he turned a glare on Ilya, who looked to be considering the possibility. “Getting in is only part of the problem. We have to get back out too, with Alya. From what you said, how close she seemed to the duke, it doesn’t sound like she is likely to be sold off at an auction.”

“So,” Ilya said, looking to Arkk, “how do we do it?”

“Magic. Maybe… I’m a bit wary about those magical defenses you said the manor had. If those interfere with Vezta’s teleportation circles, we’ll have to find another route.” Arkk shrugged. “I’ll ask her when we return. We’ve confirmed that Alya is safe and isn’t being harmed. That means we have time to figure it out. No need to rush in there without a plan. In any case, what we’re doing now may or may not help. Not sure. I was planning on doing this anyway.” Arkk glanced around, then dropped his voice to a lower register. “Let’s avoid discussing Alya for now.”

“What are we doing?” Dakka asked, looking around with a frown. “I don’t know about you two, but several people we’ve passed have been staring. I’m not sure I’m welcome in this section of the city.”

Arkk had noticed the stares as well. They were far from the only ones out and about. In contrast to the area around the Primrose, people here had a much more obvious wealth and a pampered air to them. They were also, by and large, human. The number of demihumans they had passed in the last ten minutes of walking could be counted on one hand. It was… odd. The Duke had a whole manor filled with demihumans and beastmen, yet in the wider city, they were treated poorly.

It made Arkk wonder what the three of them looked like walking down the street. He and Ilya both had their fine clothes on, but she wasn’t bothering to hide her ears at the moment. Dakka, lacking fancy clothes from the fortress tailor servant, had her normal metal armor on with her shield attached to her back and her axe slung against her hip. Would they look like two well-to-do sorts walking around with an orc bodyguard or could the people they were passing simply tell that they weren’t as affluent as they were pretending to be?

Unconsciously, Arkk rubbed at the back of his neck.

Luckily, they were almost there. Arkk turned through a small black-metal archway to a building that looked like it could have been a fortress of its own. Not like Fortress Al-Mir, but something akin to the garrison in the city. Strong, thick walls, a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron, and a long path between the gate and the building where people might rain arrows down on intruders.

Today, Arkk wasn’t an intruder but an invited guest. Though, being invited still meant he was asked to stand around outside while the men in white tabards with black chevrons went to fetch their commander. Expecting Arkk to arrive, it didn’t take long for Hawkwood to step outside with a smile on his face. He took in both Ilya and Dakka without losing that smile, then stepped forward with a hand extended.

“Mister Arkk, glad you made it.”

“Hawkwood,” Arkk said, taking his hand. He then motioned to his left and right. “This is Ilya, my… second in command? And Dakka. She’s the… uh… field commander for the orcs I mentioned having in my employ,” he said, faltering with introducing their duties. It wasn’t something he had thought about until this moment, but just introducing them as Dakka and Ilya felt lacking.

“You really are new to this, aren’t you?” Hawkwood said with a hearty laugh. Though his smile remained in place, his tone turned far more serious as he continued speaking. “It does make me wonder how you secured their loyalty.”

Arkk hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. He had deliberately avoided mentioning Fortress Al-Mir and its powers during his earlier explanation of events.

Dakka, however, came to his rescue with a casual shrug. “Most of us were already displeased with the way things were going. Arkk offered an alternative that kept our heads from a chopping block along with the possibility for meaningful jobs.” She shrugged again then looked down to Arkk. “Though if you have us farming again, you only have yourself to blame for desertions.”

Hawkwood clapped his hands together a few times, laughing all the while. “No farm work today,” he said, giving Dakka a companionable thwack against her armbrace. “Might not find it much more exciting, mind, but it isn’t farming.”

“Where are you taking us?” Arkk asked.

“One of those jobs you were looking at the other day was for tracking down a missing daughter. Remember that? Still interested?”

“That’s… part of the reason for that is that I know a tracking ritual. But I’m not sure that I should use it on anyone I don’t want harmed. It has a… dangerous component to it.”

“Huh.” Hawkwood crossed his arms.

“Sorry, I didn’t know—”

“No matter. The appointment has already been made. We’re meeting with Viscount Wesley now. He is waiting inside.”

“We’re, excuse me, we’re meeting with a viscount?” Ilya asked, startled out of her morose thoughts, bringing her into the conversation for the first time since Hawkwood walked out. “Arkk,” she hissed, turning toward him.

“Nothing to worry about. Viscount Wesley is a serious man who takes his duties to the Duchy with the utmost decorum expected of a man in his station. However, since his daughter’s disappearance, he has been increasingly disturbed. Someone, anyone, offering even the hope that they are looking for his daughter will go a great way toward helping him from his depression.”

“You haven’t offered to help?” Arkk asked Hawkwood. He tried not to sound accusatory, but if the situation was as dire as it sounded, surely he could offer assistance.

The knight shook his head. “White Company isn’t exactly that kind of mercenary group. We’re under a direct charter from the Duke himself, effectively acting as a supplementary army to the guards of the realm. A single individual going missing, while tragic, is outside the purview of our contracted duties. To be more accurate, we cannot take on other contracts without the express permission of Duke Woldair.”

“I see…”

“But nothing is preventing me from introducing the Viscount to an up-and-coming mercenary group like yours. Come along,” he said, turning back to the White Company headquarters. Right before he reached the door, he paused and looked back. “You never mentioned a name for your group. I presume you are not registered with the realm—I can help backdate that if you wish—but having a name is important. It grants legitimacy and helps to spread reputation among anyone interested in the services of mercenaries.”

Arkk hadn’t spent any more time considering what to call his group than he had what to call Ilya and Dakka. His first thought was of Fortress Al-Mir. He couldn’t call them Fortress Al-Mir, but perhaps Al-Mir? It sounded like it needed something more. From his earlier meeting with Hawkwood, he had heard of a few other mercenary groups. White Company, of course, and then there was the Veridian Guard, a smaller group that specialized in taking down nefarious spellcasters, the Flying Dragons, a group of beastmen—none of whom were dragons or even dragonkin according to Hawkwood—that primarily served as bodyguards to wealthy individuals who could afford their unique skills, and the Grand Company, soldiers leftover from the War of Kings who sold their services to the highest bidder. They all had two words in their names.

“Company Al-Mir?” Arkk wasn’t sure that felt right, but put on the spot like this?

“Al-Mir?” Hawkwood asked.

“It has meaning to us,” Arkk said, not wanting to divulge anything more about the fortress. Perhaps he shouldn’t have even mentioned the name.

Not that it looked like Hawkwood noticed. With a shrug and a quirk of his head, he opened the door and led the group through a short hallway before they arrived at a small conference room. It was a surprisingly grandiose affair. Thick, cushioned furniture, large portraits over the mantle above a fireplace, a small table set out with colored confections that Arkk had never seen before, and the man himself.

Viscount Wesley was every bit as opulent as Arkk would expect from a viscount. Arkk didn’t know exactly what viscounts did, but that they had a title at all meant they were people of importance. The man wore a slick black suit with red accents, far nicer than Arkk’s attire, and had perfectly styled white hair slicked back over his head. With gloved hands, he lifted an ornate teacup to his mouth and started to take a sip. He paused as soon as he noticed the door opening.

As Arkk entered, with Ilya and Dakka behind him, he noted Wesley’s nose wrinkle as if a foul stench had followed them into the room. Casting his gaze on the teacup, which received an undeserved look of disgust, he set the cup down on the table and placed his hands on the knee of his crossed legs.

“Viscount Wesley,” Hawkwood said, striding into the room with perfect confidence. He offered a slight bow then gestured back. “May I present Mister Arkk, Ilya, and Dakka of Company Al-Mir.”

Arkk ducked his head at his introduction, as did Ilya. Dakka didn’t. The Viscount simply sat still for a long moment before he nodded his head.

“Charmed,” he said, the word coming out in a slow drawl where he never quite parted his teeth.

“Good afternoon, Viscount,” Arkk said with a slightly more respectful bow. It felt gross doing so. Unnatural. Made all the worse by the fact that this certainly did not look like a man fearing for his lost daughter. “I understand you had a daughter go missing?”

“Missing?” Viscount Wesley ground his teeth together, clenching one of his hands into a fist. “She was kidnapped!”

“Kidnapped?” “Kidnapped?”

Arkk and Hawkwood spoke at the same time, glancing at each other immediately after. Deferring to his experience in mercenary endeavors, Arkk waited for him to speak first.

“The notice posted on the garrison said—”

“I know what it says. The—” Wesley’s eyes flicked to Ilya then back to Hawkwood. “—person taking my statement did not comprehend what I was saying. Gretchen is not so clumsy as to fail to find her way back home, nor would she simply abandon her comfortable life in the manor. The girl was kidnapped. Stolen.”

“Do you have suspects or leads? Any news of ransoms or…” Hawkwood curled his lip in disgust. “Or marriages?”

“No. No to all three questions,” Wesley said. He pressed his thumb and middle finger to either side of his eyebrows, shading his eyes as he sighed. “It has been eight days. I have not seen hide nor hair of Gretchen or her abductors. I commissioned the Jarman Guild with seeking her out, but I’ve not heard from them either. I know not whether they perished or simply took my down payment and fled.”

Arkk made a note to ask Hawkwood about this Jarman Guild later on. Hawkwood would know if they were reputable or if they were the kinds of people to take advantage of a viscount.

“We won’t require any kind of down payment, Sir,” Arkk said, taking over during the moment of silence.

“No down payment?” Wesley asked, lowering his hand to show off slightly watery eyes. He was at least a little broken up about his daughter being gone. “It offends me that you think I need charity.”

Arkk mentally retracted his assumption that the man was broken up. “You’ll pay in full when you have your daughter back,” Arkk said, voice firm. “Until then, why not start with a description of your daughter?”

Wesley narrowed his eyes. After a brief glance to Hawkwood, who nodded his head, the Viscount sighed. “Dark skin, dark eyes… face similar to my own without the beard. Her hair is white as well, though a bit curly. The color runs in the family. The curls came from her mother.” The man took a deep, slightly trembly breath, then added, “She has a fondness for the color green. I believe she was wearing green the night she was taken. More went missing along with her. A silver broach, in particular, with a large emerald embedded in the front.”

Appreciating Hawkwood correcting his lack of foresight by handing over a paper and inkwell, Arkk scribbled down everything Wesley said. He almost asked the Viscount if he knew where his daughter might be, but stopped himself at the last moment. While he thought the intended meaning would be obvious, the Viscount’s temperament was already volatile. It wouldn’t surprise Arkk to hear him grouse about pedantry.

Instead, Arkk asked, “Do you have any starting places for where a search might commence?”

“Three days after she was gone, when I realized she was missing, I sought a spellcaster from the academy. This isn’t the first time Gretchen has been kidnapped. Previously, the spellcasters were able to help locate her through arcane means, but this time it failed. It seems as if she traveled too far away.”

“They tried a tracking ritual?” Arkk asked with a wince. Hawkwood shot him a sympathetic look.

“I am no spellcaster, nor do I care to be one, Mister Arkk. I don’t know what they did, only what the results were.”

Arkk sighed. Scratch one plan before it could even start. At least he didn’t have to begin the awkward task of asking the man for a piece of his missing daughter.

“The only real clue I have is what the Jarman Guild reported to me before they stopped sending missives. Someone matching the description of my daughter was spotted in some backwater called Darkwood.”

“Darkwood?” Arkk asked, frowning. The name sounded familiar. There was only one place he would have heard the name before and that was from people passing through Langleey. Mercenaries and bounty hunters.

“A burg to the east,” Hawkwood said. “Not a very reputable place. It exports rare wood but always has some necromancer or sorcerer with delusions of grandeur trying to make trouble in the woods.”

Arkk nodded his head as he wrote the name down on the piece of paper. “Any other information you might think pertinent?”

The Viscount stared a long moment before standing. “Mister Hawkwood. Thank you for the tea. It was… passible.” With that, he strode right past Arkk, Ilya, and Dakka without looking at any of them and left the room.

Arkk drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. He looked away from the closed door, meeting Ilya’s eyes. He could easily see the exasperation in her gaze, the same exasperation he felt. Looking back to Hawkwood, finding the man smiling as if nothing about that confrontation had bothered him, Arkk tried to think of something diplomatically polite to say.

“If that man is upset about losing his daughter, I’ll eat my axe,” Dakka said before Arkk could speak.

Hawkwood laughed, but it seemed more forced than his earlier displays of humor. “It isn’t the first time Gretchen has, pardon me for saying, run away. There have been three instances in the past, all of which he claimed were abductions, one of which seemed to be an abduction. Whatever the case is this time, he is at least somewhat numb to the frequent occurrences.

“Rest assured, to someone who knows him, he is acting unusual. Worried and frightened in his own way.”

Arkk nodded, deciding to avoid asking what the man was worried about. Instead, he took the top sheet of paper, left the rest on the table, then stood. “Well, whatever his feelings are, his daughter is missing. I don’t know if we’ll be able to do anything about it, but we can certainly try.”