“On behalf of all of Company Al-Mir, I would like to thank you all for coming to pay tribute to our fallen brothers-in-arms.”
In the six and a half months that Fortress Al-Mir had been in operation under Arkk, there had only been one death. Kazz’ak, one of the original orcs, perished while fighting the slavers at Moonshine Burg. According to Rekk’ar, his death came about due to his own stupidity in treating the slavers as farmers subject to a raid rather than fellow raiders.
Arkk wasn’t completely sure that the explanation was true. He doubted Rekk’ar would downplay any failures he perceived in Arkk. Yet Arkk still felt that something he could have done to prevent the death. More training, for instance.
Now, Company Al-Mir lost four more.
“The actions we take are never easy. Company Al-Mir, since its inception, has stood for the people. We defended Darkwood Burg from malicious monsters.”
Farr’an. One of the original orcs. He had gone with Arkk to Darkwood Burg when they had been looking for Gretchen, the viscount’s daughter. He had fought the other Keeper of the Heart’s minions alongside Arkk. Arkk wouldn’t say that he knew him all that well. The orc was familiar enough that it twinged at his heart.
“We helped those who had nowhere else to live in safety and security, offering a home and shelter.”
Vezz. An orange-scaled gorgon—one of the few who had voted to kill Arkk back in the Silver City mines. Not that Arkk held that against them now. If any of the gorgon harbored resentment from his invasion of their one-time home, they didn’t show it. Vezz had been slightly more abrasive than others, disliking most non-gorgons, and yet he still volunteered for the mission in Gleeful Burg.
“We removed bandits and slavers who were terrorizing the small villages of the Duchy.”
Yatt’el. Another of the original group of orcs. This one hurt a little more. He hadn’t died in direct combat. While Arkk couldn’t claim to fully understand orcish culture, he did know that a warrior’s death was something respected. Dead was dead, in Arkk’s opinion, but not everyone saw it that way. Yatt’el had died in what was effectively an accident. He had the bad luck to have taken the full brunt of the flames from the bomb.
“Many of you decided to join us because of these virtuous acts. Helping those who couldn’t help themselves.”
Finally, Luc. Losing those who had been with Arkk for months hurt but losing someone new was a different sensation entirely. Luc was a beastman of an unknown type—he had feathers for hair but human hands and no wings—who had joined along with the majority of recruits before the Duke’s party. Losing someone so new felt like a betrayal. Arkk had a responsibility. It was his job and duty to see his employees safe at the end of every mission.
“And then the war began.”
He had failed.
Arkk stood at the center of a newly constructed room. One he had designed himself over the last three days. A fairly simple room. White stone walls with several columns standing in rows. The far wall held a simple blank slate. It wasn’t a large slate, though there was room for expansion if necessary.
He hoped it wouldn’t be.
“None of us expected it. None of us wanted it. And yet, when the call came for those willing to take on a dangerous mission to stymie the relentless advance of killers and raiders disguised as a nation’s army, you all stepped forward.”
Pressing his hand to the wall, Arkk engaged the only bit of magical architecture that he had included within this room. It wasn’t anything as fancy as popping an entire home out of the ground. Simple lettering carved itself into the slate.
“The act of willingly entering into a dangerous environment, knowing its danger well in advance, is by its very nature an act of heroic self-sacrifice for the sake of others. It is here where we honor those who paid a far greater sacrifice.”
The Cenotaph. An empty mausoleum dedicated toward those who had fallen. None of those who had died in Gleeful had their bodies recovered. Kazz’ak, though buried far in the east of the Duchy, had his name on the wall of the fallen as well.
About half of the permanent residents of Fortress Al-Mir stood inside the room with their faces grim, respectful, or simply neutral. There were no tears. Kia had spoken of Farr’an, stating that the warrior had saved the rest of her team with his sacrifice. Joanne had similar things to say about Luc and Vezz. Nobody else had all that much to say.
“Company Al-Mir has been made lesser in their absence. It will be felt in our halls, our minds, our hearts.”
These weren’t grieving widows or mournful children. All those who had a choice in signing up knew that this was a mercenary company. There was danger. With the war, it was impossible to keep everyone safe. Losses were expected.
“But I will not be one to lie down and accept our losses with a hung head. These men fought for something. Whether that be for a better duchy, honor, or distant family. Their sacrifice bought time. That time has been and will be used. It will not be in vain.”
Not everyone could come. It was important that the crystal balls not be left unattended and the Underworld needed its constant posting of guards to make sure the Protector didn’t slip through the portal. Some had simply declined to attend. If the rest of the gorgon were mourning, he couldn’t see it. Orjja, the orc closest to Farr’an, was in her quarters, obviously morose about losing her friend. Most of the rest of the orcs didn’t seem to care all that much. Their raiding origins and the way their previous chieftain acted meant they weren’t all that friendly with one another in general.
“Company Al-Mir will strike back tenfold for their sakes and when we do, Evestani will cower. Today, however, we stop and take a moment to honor our dead,” Arkk said, finishing the speech that he had prepared. The words felt… hollow. Vapid and vacant. Like even he was doing this because he thought it was expected of him.
He had no real idea how to handle a situation like this. How did Hawkwood handle it? The man had lost a significant chunk of White Company. Hundreds so far. Did he have a memorial for each? Doubtful.
In fact, Arkk doubted Hawkwood had done anything similar thus far. He probably wouldn’t until the war was over and done with. They would then have some large event commemorating everyone who died throughout the war. Assuming Hawkwood survived. If he didn’t… Well, wouldn’t be his problem, would it?
Something like this… it wasn’t for the dead. Unless some necromancer invaded the fortress, they were dead and gone. Nothing would bring them back as they were.
A speech like this, a cenotaph, the gathering. It was for the living. Those who continued to serve Company Al-Mir needed reassurance that they wouldn’t just be tossed aside like a chunk of rotten meat. Their mission wasn’t futile. They wouldn’t be forgotten.
The curt, respectful nod from Joanne as she left the room assured Arkk of that more than anything else.
Arkk remained where he was, standing at the head of the room with a stony face as the last few in the room departed. Ilya, who stood to the side of the room during his speech, approached. She didn’t speak. Her elbow bumped into his and her knuckles brushed against his hand.
That was enough to get him to look to his side.
Ilya offered a wan smile. “You alright?”
“Fine. I took a knock or two. Got some scrapes and cuts. Between Flesh Weaving and Vezta’s ministrations, I’m as healed up as can be.”
Turning her smile to a small frown, Ilya said, “That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know.” Arkk drew in a breath and let it out, trying to force out his emotions at the same time. “I thought that maybe, with all our fancy magic and resources, we might get through a war without any real casualties.”
“Idealistic thinking has its place. But this is war.”
Arkk couldn’t help but snort. “No kidding.” He shook his head. “I think I need to take a walk around the fortress. Not teleport directly to who I need to speak with, just walk and see and be seen. Take in the general temperament of the employees.”
“That is probably not a bad idea. It might even be good to make it a regular thing. To walk around like a normal person, that is.” If Ilya’s earlier smile had been strained, the one she adopted now was positively brittle. “Not that I think all the changes are bad things but… you have changed since… inheriting this place. All that fancy magic might have gone to your head a bit.”
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“I’m glad you’re back. And not just because you help keep my head level,” Arkk said, flashing a smile of his own that he didn’t quite feel. “Is there anything I need to be aware of before going on a walk?”
Ilya shook her head. “The Underworld seems quite still. Eerie, if you ask me. One of the Protector things got a little closer but stopped and turned back when the guards readied weapons.”
“Maybe it wanted to talk?”
“Careful of that idealistic thinking,” Ilya chided. “Evestani sent out a small detachment to one of the neighboring villages.”
“As expected. I presume they found nothing?”
Ilya nodded. “It was one that we had already evacuated.”
“Good. Let’s keep a step ahead of them while we can.” Arkk cracked his neck back and forth. Standing for the entire memorial had put a small kink in his back. “I think it would be good to stop in on the refugees during my walk. They aren’t official employees but they live here for now.”
“Probably not a bad idea. Though…” Ilya waved a hand toward his eyes. “Might want to tone down the glow. Employees seeing that is bad enough. You’ll frighten anyone else.”
Arkk blinked, drew in a breath, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the color of Ilya’s face changed ever so slightly, lacking a red hue that he hadn’t even noticed. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“Good. Do you want me to go with you on your walk?”
“I always want you at my side,” Arkk said, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.
Ilya didn’t protest, though she did roll her eyes. “Your tone implies a ‘but’.”
“But…” Arkk dropped his arms to his sides. “I think I want to be seen on my own for the time being. I don’t want to give the impression that someone is forcing me to be one of you normal people,” he said, making sure the teasing was apparent in his tone.
Besides that… Even though it had been three days, something about the memorial just made it a little more real that he had lost people. He felt like being left alone to his thoughts for at least a little while.
“Fair enough,” Ilya said, walking off. “I’ll head back to the scrying team and keep an eye on things for you. I’ll let you know if something crops up.”
Arkk watched her go, eyes drawn to the swishing of her hair. He waited a long few moments, letting her get further away. He was headed in the same direction, after all. Walking out now, following after her, would just make things awkward after having already said their goodbyes.
Though, as he waited, he looked down at himself. With a thought, Arkk teleported to his private chambers and removed his clothes, switching the finest black threads he had for a casual earthy green tunic. Although nicer than most anything he had worn before Fortress Al-Mir simply on account of having been made by the lesser servant who acted as a tailor, it was much more akin to something he would have worn back in the village.
He stayed in his room for a long while, deciding to let everyone who had been at the memorial settle into wherever they were going to be afterward. Some had duties to attend to. Others were free for the time being. Arkk occupied his time reading over troop movement reports on his desk. The largest concentration of Evestani was positioned at Gleeful at the moment but they weren’t the only invading force, just the spearhead.
If he let himself, he would have spent the entire day hunched over his desk. Forcing himself to stop, Arkk headed out for a walk on his own two feet.
He casually meandered, venturing through the library where a fairy was scowling over one of Zullie’s books on magical theory. For those who hadn’t been able to wield magic before contracting with Al-Mir, even a single lightning bolt was exhausting. She was trying to figure out why and maybe find a few other spells that she could cast. Arkk wished her luck and asked to be informed if she figured out good spells. Anything that could increase the abilities of those who could use magic would be invaluable in combat.
The smithy was a flurry of activity. Both contracted employees and uncontracted refugees hammered away at the anvils, repairing armor damaged in Gleeful as well as building new armor for anyone who, as of yet, had none. A lot of refugees were plenty pleased to help out in the war effort in any way they could. Most every village had at least one blacksmith, so with all the villages he had evacuated, they had a fairly sizable workforce sweating away in the warm chambers.
Agnete worked as well. Not just as fuel in the furnace, but working on her own project.
Her work wasn’t armor. She was making thin tubes with more tubes able to slide inside them.
Upon asking about the project, she paused, stared off toward the main forge, and shrugged. “Ever since we opened the portal, I’ve been having odd dreams. I decided to try to make something from the dream.”
“Dreams?”
“Nothing bad. At least, I don’t think so. It feels good, even. Something I can do to right some wrongs.”
“So… what is it?” Arkk asked, looking at the pile of wheels.
“I’d rather not get hopes up,” she said, speaking softly as she continued filing away. “If it works, I’ll let you know. It might be nothing more than a dream.”
“If you need any help…”
“Some of the smiths are helping me in their spare time, teaching me techniques and the like. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
“Very well,” Arkk said, clasping his hands behind his back. Before leaving the smithy, he chatted with Perr’ok and a few of the refugees, making sure that they had everything they needed as well. A few requested a larger smithy, if possible. Enough skilled people were working now that it was starting to get crowded.
One thing Fortress Al-Mir was not lacking was space. The lesser servants in the gold mine were having to go farther and deeper lately. He might have to figure out alternate or additional sources of income before long. An expansion to the smithy still sounded like a worthwhile expenditure.
Fortress Al-Mir had several areas that were usually in a state of activity. Training rooms, the canteen, and the fight pits were perpetually bustling. Arkk visited each, chatting with his employees about various things they might need or how they were handling themselves. He tried to not focus on just those close advisors of his—he saw them every day.
The orcs, recruited thieves, and even some of Katja’s men who weren’t proper employees had set up various gambling games in the area around the fight pits. Dakka, Arkk knew, was a frequent visitor and victor of both the pits as well as the occasional round of cards.
They weren’t quite so busy today. A contingent of guards were stationed over in the underworld and most of those who had gone to Gleeful were still resting up after their ordeals there. The pits were completely empty, though Arkk did find Dakka and Raff’el seated with a pair of Katja’s men at one of the card tables.
Every single person at the table was cheating in some way or another. Observing the game for a few moments, Arkk was fairly certain that his orcs had allied against the two bandits. He kept noticing subtle cues passed back and forth.
He then noticed the bandits doing the same thing when one turned to sneeze, passing a card to one another in the process. If the look shared between Dakka and Raff’el was anything to go by, they noticed. But they weren’t calling them out on it.
What was it? A game of who could cheat better?
“Mind if I sit in for a hand or two?”
Dakka jolted, almost knocking over her drink as she stood to salute. Arkk did not miss the card slipping to Raff’el as she did so. “Boss? Didn’t know you knew how to play.”
“I don’t,” he said, pulling up a chair. They had games in Langleey Village. Nothing like this, however. “Go on, finish your hand then deal me in.”
“Uh…” Raff’el shot a pointed look at the two bandits. “Not sure this is the kind of game you want to get into.”
Arkk reached into an empty pocket, pulling several gold pieces from the treasury straight to his hand. He stacked them up on the table. “Come now, I can handle it. I’m a quick study.”
“Let him!” One of the two bandits said, eying the gold. Arkk didn’t know either by name. Just one of the few dozen people Katja had brought over from Porcupine Hill.
“We’ll go easy,” the other said.
The group finished up their hand, explaining the rules to Arkk at the same time. It was a kind of matching game where certain cards were worth more than other cards. You could make matches through drawing from the stack or off other players via a trade or the discard pile. It was important to not accidentally give away anything more valuable than you were getting. A complication when one didn’t know exactly what cards someone else might have. The game ended when someone knocked, indicating they thought they had the highest value hand at the table, at which point every other player would have one more turn before it was time to lay the cards down.
“So,” one of the bandits asked as Arkk got dealt his first hand. “Any idea how long this war thing is going to last? Not going to lie, I’ve been missing the sun.”
He was probably asking only as a distraction. Arkk felt no need to ignore the question. “Evestani is pushed in deep. Rooting them out at this point is not going to be simple.”
Arkk played a few hands normally, just getting a feel for things. The two bandits were clearly trying to bait out increases in the bet from him while Dakka and Raff’el looked like they were trying to help him out through discards or trades without actually involving him in their cheating. It was a nice sentiment that they would do so with money on the line, but entirely unnecessary.
Talk continued throughout the games. For every word on a mundane topic, three were exchanged on the topic of the war.
It quickly became apparent that the bandits were focusing their attentions more on Dakka and Raff’el, not viewing him as any kind of threat as they tried to block or steal the various discards that the two orcs made. Which, to be fair, wouldn’t be a challenge at all under normal circumstances.
These weren’t normal circumstances. This was Fortress Al-Mir and Arkk was the undisputed master of the fortress.
“Hypothetically speaking,” Arkk said in as conversational a tone as he could manage at the end of one hand, “what is the highest value hand possible?”
“Three emperors, three kings, and a wildcard to make four emperors,” Dakka said. “But the odds of that are so low…” She trailed off, narrowing her eyes.
She was right to be suspicious. Especially because the hand was literally impossible with the way things currently were. Dakka had an emperor card under the leather vambrace she wore on her left arm. One of the bandits had another hidden under a fold of his jacket. Arkk could see everything in the fortress. He owned everything in the fortress.
He waited for a few more hands to pass, letting the comment fade somewhat into people’s memories.
Then, on the next hand’s shuffle, Arkk did a little shuffling of his own. Swap a card here. Swap a card there. Like he could move people, crystal balls, and gold coins, he moved cards. He let one round go by to get some extra bets in, drawing and discarding a queen—which was quickly nabbed up by one of the bandits, much to Dakka’s consternation—before he slid in his heap of gold coins, knocking on the table in the process.
“Got something good there?” one of the bandits asked with an easy chuckle.
“I think so,” Arkk said, looking down at his hand with a small smile.
The two bandits looked at each other. One shrugged and gave the other a nudge. Surprisingly enough, that wasn’t cover for passing a card around. It was a genuine nudge.
One of them folded his cards. The other met his stack of coins with the pile in front of him. Raff’el looked like he was about to push in his stack as well, only for Dakka to shake her head. Both folded.
“I think,” Arkk said, laying down three kings, three emperors, and a wild card. “I think I am done playing fair.”