Hawkwood hadn’t expected to wake. Ever. He could remember what happened well enough. The commotion at the party. A sharp stabbing sensation in his back. The attempt to call for help as his legs went weak. The shocked expression on Arkk’s face. Finally, the sudden rush of lightheadedness, akin to standing too fast except far, far more severe.

He knew then, as the darkness took him, that he was dead. His heart stabbed straight through.

Now, he could feel his heart hammering in his head, throbbing and aching, he was awake. He blinked bleary eyes up at a mural-covered ceiling that was familiar but one he couldn’t quite place. Not until he managed to look around. It still took him a long minute.

People were lying in neat rows. Bodies? Some were alive. Some… weren’t. An abbess rushed past a few, stopping at a man Hawkwood recognized. The leader of the Order of the Claymores. A golden, holy light dripped from the fingertips of the abbess. A healing spell and a fairly powerful one. Hawkwood recognized that as well. Behind the abbess, two alchemists, dressed in the typical garb of their profession with long beak-like masks and dark cloaks, mixed a thick, green-colored ungent. Another healing concoction.

Slowly, Hawkwood turned his head. This was the Duke’s entry hall. Large and crowded. It was filled with injured people. Healers of varying professions moved about by the dozens, tending to those injured. Guards stood at every door—and not just the ceremonial guards in shining armor that the Duke kept around for show, but more rugged guards clearly pulled from the garrison.

Pinching his eyes closed, Hawkwood ground his teeth together and pushed himself up. A pinching pain in his back kept him from getting fully on his feet. It was like someone had grasped hold of every scrap of loose skin and was pulling it tight. Sitting, he tried to feel around his back—someone had removed most of his clothing during his unconsciousness, leaving him with a thin white bandage wrapped around his chest—but he couldn’t quite reach the spot with the most pain.

“You shouldn’t be up. You need rest.”

Hawkwood turned to find a priest moving from one of the wounded to another. He didn’t stop to chat but did settle down not far from Hawkwood. “I’ll rest when I’m dead. What happened?”

“Don’t know the details,” the priest said, peeling back bandages to inspect a wound. “Heard that there was an attack. Several were outright killed before an explosion claimed and wounded many more. Excuse me,” he said, reaching into the folds of his robe. He withdrew a small talisman that he quickly slapped against the man’s chest, muttering a prayer as he did so.

Hawkwood didn’t disturb him any further, letting the man walk away to tend to the next victim. Taking a breath and using the wall as a support, he dragged himself to his feet. He needed to find someone who knew what was going on. Someone who wasn’t a healer. Hawkwood knew better than most that in a situation like this, it was always better to leave the healers to their duties.

He had a headache and a pinch in his back. Walking wasn’t all that difficult or taxing, however. His legs worked and his balance was good enough. This wasn’t the first time he had woken while wounded. In fact, out of all the injuries he had received, this affected him the least. Given that he had been sure he wouldn’t wake at all, that was saying something. The healers must have done good work.

Hawkwood started toward a guard captain, only to pause as he realized that it wasn’t just the Duke’s men present. The distinctive black chevron of White Company stood out among the blue and white striped shields. Once he realized that his company was present, it didn’t take long to pick out Field Captain Rurik. He was somewhat surprised that they hadn’t been at his side. Then again, sitting at the side of an unconscious man didn’t help anything.

While the Duke’s men and garrison guard stood watch at the main entrance and prowled through the injured, clearly looking for any threats, White Company took up position around the large doors to the throne room. As he approached, he heard a knocking on the door. A specific pattern. Rurik tensed at the first knock but quickly relaxed and motioned for the others to open the door. They did so, admitting another pair of White Company soldiers who were carrying a body between them. One that didn’t look particularly healthy. Hawkwood couldn’t even tell if she was alive. Half her face had been burned away and bits of stone stuck out of her chest.

Hawkwood was pleased to note that neither of the ones carrying the wounded—maybe dead—girl stopped to acknowledge him. Aid ran before all. Those of White Company who were not carrying a body, on the other hand, quickly saluted him as he stepped closer.

“Sir, shouldn’t you—”

“One word about me needing rest and I’ll have you digging latrines next training run.”

Rurik snapped his jaw closed, though not without a slim smile touching the corners of his lips. “Good to see you up, sir. You didn’t look too injured but when we heard you were specifically targeted…”

Hawkwood closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “What happened? Report.”

“Assassins disguised as servants. Three, it seems, though we can only account for two at the moment.”

Rurik took his eyes off Hawkwood, looking slowly around the room as if he might be able to spot the third one now that he had mentioned it. Hawkwood did the same, though hopefully less obviously. He did reposition, making sure White Company was at his back and not the larger room.

“They targeted at least six individuals specifically before causing an explosion in the throne room that resulted in this,” Rurik said, continuing with a wave of his hand around the entry hall. “Of the six specifically targeted… it seems only you and Vizier Alya have survived.”

“How?”

“Not sure. At least in your case. Someone healed you. A few guards were going on about a glowing-eyed demon attacking you but not who helped you.”

“Demon?” Hawkwood said, narrowing his eyes as he cast yet another suspicious glance around the large hall. A demon certainly could have caused this. The fact that he was alive probably meant that it was an exaggeration, however. Stress and panic in a situation like what had happened would be far from unheard of. “Who else was targeted specifically?”

“General Yurt and General Josen of the Duke’s Grand Guard, Commander Rozen of the Red Rose Company, and Welkins Huntz of Huntz Trading Company.”

“Not Duke Woldair?”

“He may have been planned as a target but reports say that the Master Inquisitor Vrox made it to him and protected him just before the incident occurred.”

“They made it out then?”

Rurik looked around then dropped his tone to a near whisper. “Not exactly. Neither got a knife in the back like you did but they were at the center of the explosion. The Duke’s guards carried both away before we arrived. I presume they are somewhere else in the manor, somewhere less trafficked than here. I guess the Pontiff Bernardin arrived early on and was taken straight to them. Haven’t heard anything from them since. That would have been well over two hours ago now.”

Hawkwood pursed his lips in thought. Two generals of the Duke’s men, three mercenary company leaders, the elf advisor, and the head of a trading company. The last was a small outlier in the pattern until he recalled that Huntz Trading Company made its name during the war thirty years ago when they provided heavy logistical support to the soldiers.

“The Evestani Sultanate?”

“Sir?”

“Tensions have been high for a few months now. We figured war would begin in the spring when armies could march. Yet here they are trying to cripple the leadership of the armies and large mercenary companies…” Hawkwood swallowed, weight dragging his shoulders down. “Where is the Duke’s spymaster? How did we get caught so unaware?”

“Sorry. I don’t have any other information. Except…”

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Hawkwood frowned as Rurik went uncharacteristically silent. It wasn’t like him to be hesitant about reporting information. He, and all of White Company, knew that Hawkwood was not the type to get upset at messengers. Even if they were at fault for something, as long as they were genuinely sorry and attempted to make amends, he wouldn’t be too harsh. “Except?” Hawkwood had to prod.

“There is something else. A… situation inside the throne room. The reason we’re here instead of the manor guards.”

“I didn’t know you were so good at dancing, Rurik. You sat out at Piter’s wedding. If I had known you were this good, I’d have insisted you show us your talents.”

Rurik gave Hawkwood a flat look, rolling his eyes before glancing at the door. “I don’t know about demons… but there is something in there. It hasn’t attacked yet but…” Rurik shuddered. “The Duke’s men and spellcasters have sealed all the doors except this one and we had to insist, taking responsibility here, just to get injured out.”

“Now you’re starting to make me worried.”

“Maybe it is best if you see for yourself,” Rurik said, backing up to the door. At their approach, two more of White Company, Felix and Tavyn, pulled open the throne room doors. They started just a crack, the latter peering inside as if worried something might rush out. When nothing did, they opened the doors just wide enough to admit Hawkwood and Rurik.

Bodies were strewn everywhere. More toward the far end of the room than the front. Given that walls were scorched, stone had cracked, the ceiling had partially caved in, and two chandeliers were missing, Hawkwood assumed that was where the explosion had taken place. Far from where he had been standing with Arkk when he had been attacked.

Where was Arkk anyway? Hawkwood hadn’t inspected the entirety of the entry hall but hadn’t noticed the other company leader in any of his cursory glances.

While the chaos and carnage of the far end of the room drew his eyes initially, movement closer to him pulled his attention. He tensed, somewhat nervous from Rurik’s words, only to relax.

He didn’t know where Arkk was but recognized two of Arkk’s people working in the dark room. The orc that had joined him for dinner, Dakka, was at one of the chandelier winches, slowly lowering it to the ground.

“Slowly. Slowly.” The one introduced as a magical researcher stood between the orc and the wall, using the orc’s large body as a shield between herself and the chandelier.

“I know,” Dakka snapped.

“Almost there. Gently. Gently.”

“Will you shut up?”

“Three, two… Lock it in place.”

The orc slid a pin into the winch, keeping it from turning any further. She curled her lips back, baring her tusks at the researcher—who didn’t seem to notice or care—before realizing that they had an audience.

“Dakka, Zullie, was it? Is Mister Arkk—”

Hawkwood started forward only to be held back by a hand on his arm. Rurik gave him a sharp look before nodding back past the lowered chandelier and the two members of Company Al-Mir.

It took Hawkwood a moment to notice. That whole end of the room was dark with the missing light and there were plenty of bodies and scoring in the walls that drew the attention. Staring at it a second time, Hawkwood realized that one corner was just a bit too dark. Shadows churned against the walls, twisting and moving in ways that didn’t make sense given the stillness of other lights. Then there were the bright yellow orbs hanging in the darkness. Orbs that shifted, moved, and watched.

Hawkwood felt a sudden weakness in his knees. If not for Rurik keeping him steady, he might have fallen in shock. It didn’t help that he already felt somewhat unsteady from his headache and the pinch in his back. Seeing… something, as Rurik had put it, had his heart hammering in his chest.

“—some magical bombs made to explode when jostled,” Dakka was saying to him while the witch started circling the lowered chandeliers. “All the room’s chandeliers were made to explode but, whether due to flaws in construction or simple luck, only two did. We disarmed those two,” she said, throwing a thumb over her shoulder. “Not too keen on having them explode on us.”

“I would say it is luck they didn’t all go off in sequence when the first one did,” Zullie grumbled, not looking up. She reached out with a scoring knife and, with sweat dripping off her brow, made a few careful marks on the upper part of the chandelier.

“Exactly. Don’t know what else might set them off so she’s… what was it again? Dispersing the stored magic or something like that.”

“What…” Hawkwood said, “is that?”

Dakka, following his pointed finger, stared at the abyss. The abyss stared back but apparently not hard enough to warrant more than a casual shrug from the orc. “Oh, that? Just Vezta. She’s watching over Arkk. He took a bit of a knock in the explosion. Still alive and he has started to stir a bit. Hope he wakes up soon because I would really like to get out of here before some people get funny ideas.”

Hawkwood barely heard what Dakka said beyond the name. It was familiar. It didn’t take long to figure out where he heard it from. “The demihuman with a skin condition?”

Dakka looked back to the abyss again. “Uh. Yes. Her… uh… skin condition is quite bad today, as you can see. Another good reason to leave soon. I don’t suppose you can help with that? Arkk should have a few ways to get us out of here but he’s out. I doubt he wants us fighting our way out. I don’t favor that fight either. Too many against too few.” Dakka paused as Zullie grumbled something else. “Right. That too. I don’t suppose you know where Ilya is? They carted her off along with her mother.”

“I…”

Hawkwood didn’t know what to say. Though looking at that abyss against the far wall of the throne room, he did have a feeling that he knew how Arkk managed to get to the gorgon in Silver City without being petrified. Vezta. That… thing over there had been at his dinner table, looking odd but not like that.

What was she? A demon as the guard suspected? They had said someone with glowing eyes had been standing over him. He had been near Arkk. Vezta being associated with him… But Arkk hadn’t attacked him. He had been surprised. That shock on Arkk’s face was burned into Hawkwood’s mind. It was the last thing he saw before he passed out.

“Is… she dangerous?”

“Only if you want to harm Arkk,” Dakka said with another casual shrug. “Told your men she wouldn’t be an issue. Didn’t stop them from tiptoeing around though. Really, I would be more worried about this.” Dakka waved a hand to where Zullie was making another scoring line on the main shaft of the chandelier.

A loud hissing noise came from the metal. Both of them jumped back. Zullie lost her grip on the scoring knife, leading to a loud clatter as it hit the floor. Rurik tried to pull Hawkwood back but his efforts were unnecessary. As quickly as it started, the hissing stopped. Everything went silent save for the tense breathing of the four people.

“That didn’t happen on the other ones,” Dakka said, taking another wary step back.

“I think it is a good sign,” Zullie said, also taking another step back.

“You think?”

“Well it didn’t explode, did it? Just a harsh dispersal. Nothing to be worried about.”

“That why you jumped out of your boots? Your tool is over there, right next to the stupid thing. Why not pick it up?”

“Why not shut up?”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Hawkwood watched the byplay between the two, slowly relaxing. If either were concerned with an imminent explosion, he presumed they would have turned tail and run in the opposite direction. He found his gaze wandering beyond them to that abyss against the back wall. No matter what Dakka said, he found that far more worrying.

Although he had been more or less confined to a desk for the better part of the last five years, Hawkwood considered himself a well-traveled man. He had been a part of several mercenary organizations in his time, fighting everything from simple bandits to foreign armies, delving into ancient tombs and climbing to the highest mountains, sailing the seas, and crossing the volcanic planes of the Dead Isle. With all he had seen, very little surprised him.

This, he didn’t recognize. He had written the book—or at least several chapters—on tactics against beings with unusual abilities. It, this Vezta, was monstrous to the point where his mind could only jump back to ancient myths and legends. A pre-Calamity monster.

Where had Arkk dug up something like this?

It was little wonder that the throne room had been sealed off by the Duke’s spellcasters. Even if there truly was no danger, Hawkwood couldn’t help but feel a tingle of pride at his men braving this room to recover any survivors who had been left behind. They were a gallant crew, better than he deserved.

The problem was, what happened now? Even if it was only the guard and his men, something Hawkwood doubted given the situation, people would talk. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if the only reason the Duke’s men hadn’t charged in was because this incident had shaken their organizational structure. Who was calling the shots? It sounded like the Duke was incapacitated and two generals were dead. There was a hierarchy but some captain who had been woken up in the last hour with no clue as to what was going on couldn’t command effectively.

The inquisitors… were already harassing Arkk. Probably because of this monster. Master Inquisitor Vrox had been incapacitated as well. That might be the only reason half the church wasn’t bearing down on this room as well. That wouldn’t last, however. There were other inquisitors. Other officials. Like with the Duke’s men, it would take some time but they would get organized eventually. Likely sooner than anyone would like.

What of him? Hawkwood considered himself and his men. White Company was large. Per their contract, only the Duke could order them around. Still, if a threat befell the city, White Company would act even without orders. Throwing them against a pre-Calamity monster that they knew nothing about wasn’t something he aspired toward. It was clearly strong. Arkk hadn’t mentioned it before but it did fill in a few gaps of just how Arkk managed to convince a bunch of raiders to take up a more noble profession, not to mention his other seemingly unlikely feats.

Trying to attack the creature was, at the moment, unnecessary. It wasn’t doing anything but guarding Arkk. If the Duke or the Abbey of the Light decided to act, however, it would be a disaster. Another tragedy on top of an already trying evening.

The Evestani Sultanate had attacked, clearly aiming to weaken those in command. Send the Duchy into disarray. They didn’t need more good men dying against something that wasn’t even an enemy.

Was it the right thing to do? Hawkwood wasn’t sure. He wasn’t a cleric and knew nothing of such beings. Perhaps this would end with the inquisition harassing him. Nevertheless, he stepped forward, brushing off Rurik’s hand in the process, certain that a fight with Company Al-Mir was not in anyone’s interests.

“We have to get you out of here.”