“I feel like an impostor.”
“We are impostors,” Ilya said, fiddling with the sleeves of her dress. She grasped hold of long, dangling strips of cloth. “What are these for? Can’t I cut them off?”
Arkk looked over her. Madame Webb’s Fine Threads had come through. Last night, the day before the party, Arkk had received the delivery at the Cliff’s Edge. Clothes for himself, Ilya, Dakka, and Zullie.
Ilya’s dress was a long white gown that hugged her waist and left the tops of her shoulders bare, save for a single white strap on each keeping the dress up. Long sleeves looked relatively normal right up until they reached her wrists, at which point the cloth hung down for almost another arm’s length, drifting loosely in the wind. Down at her feet, her dress spread out over the floor of the carriage, leaving her feet hidden.
“And what’s with the tightness around the knees? I can barely walk.”
“The tailor assured us that this was current fashion,” Arkk said, forcing his eyes back to Ilya’s face. He had been somewhat skeptical as well. The bare shoulders especially. The bare shoulders with sleeves extra especially. He couldn’t fault the end result, however. “You look beautiful.”
Ilya glanced aside. Embarrassed? Her expression quickly switched to a flat look that she leveled at Arkk. “Like I can trust your opinion.”
“You’ll draw every eye there, I’m sure of it.”
Ilya put up one eyebrow. “Is that a good thing?”
“I… don’t know. I might get a bit jealous if too many good-looking young men approach you.”
Ilya pressed her lips together. He expected some admonishment about how who she interacted with would be her decision. “Frankly,” she said instead, “I don’t think I want anyone at one of these parties to approach me. I spoke with that Wolf guy’s daughter once or twice over the week. She had nothing good to say about anything.”
“If anyone bothers you, we can handle it. Though let’s try to avoid making too big of a scene.”
“And if the Duke bothers me?”
Arkk’s teeth clenched together, unable to keep his irritation at the thought from his face. “We’re not peasants. We have status and renown. He can’t just… steal you away.”
“If he does?”
“Then we switch to Plan D,” Arkk said, voice hard.
Ilya stiffened then, slowly, smiled as she nodded to herself. It was a small thing. A shy smile that made Arkk’s heart calm.
“What if he comes after me, boss?”
Arkk turned, pulling his eyes away from Ilya. He had almost forgotten that there were others in the carriage with them.
Dakka sat across from him, leaning against a wooden panel next to the carriage door. Bare shoulders were surprising on Ilya. Arkk wasn’t quite sure what to think about Dakka’s dress. Madame Webb had never designed for an orc before and, given the short notice with which they needed attire, had instead cobbled together a few different pieces that she had lying about. Madame Webb had claimed that she wished to show off the orc physique with her creation. Arkk was fairly certain that she simply didn’t have the time to sew together enough cloth.
The end result was bare arms and a bare midriff. Dark blue cloth, sprinkled with lighter blue highlights woven into the fabric, criss-crossed over Dakka’s chest, looping around her neck and the middle of her back. A light gray sash looped around her waist, underneath which long strips of the same blue cloth hung down to her ankles. Part of the lower dress was split, letting her walk a whole lot easier than Ilya while showing off one of her legs.
Dakka didn’t look bad. Quite the opposite. It was strange and unusual attire. If he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Dakka said that she came from some far-off kingdom where the weather was always warm. He was sure that the wealthy and elite would balk at the multitude of scars adorning her tan skin but Arkk thought they added a bit of character. They and her impressive muscles showed off that she was a warrior.
Arkk had thought she might balk at the dress. He had been right, though for the wrong reasons. Her main issue wasn’t in the attire itself but rather the lack of weapons at her side.
“Stare too much and the elf will get jealous,” Dakka said with a grin. Confident in her tone yet he could see the way her hand hovered where her axe should have been.
Ilya scoffed. “Hardly.”
“Oh? I saw you watching Arkk just now, looking for his reaction to me.”
“You misunderstand. I watched in the hopes that you would take this love-struck fool off my—”
“If you people are done with your primitive mating rituals,” Zullie cut in, looking irritated as she adjusted her glasses. “We’re crossing the drawbridge to the Duke’s Manor now.”
Zullie wore something more akin to Ilya’s dress. Bare shoulders—though her black dress had three sets of straps over each shoulder, one vertical, one at an angle, and the last parallel to the ground. A crescent moon cutout on the front of her chest had some semi-transparent sheer cloth over the top. The same material adorned her waist, loose as it draped down to the floor. Some thicker cloth underneath covered her legs. Rather than sleeves, she wore long black gloves that stretched up above her elbows.
“You look good too, Zullie,” Arkk said with a smaller smile.
The woman just scoffed. “I can’t believe I’m here. I would rather be back at the stayover, reading through the books we stole. Ugh. I can’t believe Savren was right about the counter-clockwise magic collision problem. Where did he even learn about that? But I was right about the anti-magic seepage barrier. Planar magic is far more chaotic than mind—”
“Should we be talking about that here?” Ilya asked, looking around with obvious discomfort. As if someone might hear them talking.
Technically, their coachman wasn’t part of Company Al-Mir. Rather, someone in Hawkwood’s employ whom he had hired to take them to the manor. But the carriage was fully enclosed. Unless they raised their voices, they shouldn’t be heard that easily.
Despite Ilya’s concerns, Arkk leaned forward, interested. “Katja can provide ten spellcasters. With what you know now, is that enough? Do we need to find a few more?”
“That should be enough. The ritual should only need minor alterations at this point. I’ll know more once I get back and can do some proper calculations.”
“Good,” Arkk said, sitting back. As he did so, he felt something else move at his side.
The other member of their group had been leaning forward as well.
“Excited?”
Vezta hummed. She was the only one in the carriage who did not have fanciful attire on. She didn’t even have her heavy cloak. Vezta sat in her usual body, white and dark violet in parts that gave off the impression of clothing. A multitude of her golden eyes swiveled in their starfields to focus on him. “Breaching the Calamity and reaching the Underworld will be a great step toward undoing the Calamity in its entirety. I’m surprised at how close that task feels after a thousand years of stagnation.”
“I’m surprised you sat around in the fortress for a thousand years.”
“I could not leave the Heart,” she said simply, not using the [CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGE] for perhaps the first time. Arkk had specifically asked her not to do anything that might draw extra attention to them. While employees of Fortress Al-Mir seemed fine with hearing the language, anyone else got headaches, stabbing pains, or just feelings of deep discomfort. “The Heart is my responsibility. Abandoning that to languish without a master, even temporarily, would have been a severe dereliction of my duties.”
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“Even if you would have been able to find a new master sooner?”
“You came eventually. My patience was rewarded. I need no other Master.”
Arkk stared a moment, eyes lingering in Vezta’s burning suns. After a short moment, he nodded his head. “Well, I can’t say I’m upset that someone else didn’t steal the opportunity from me. Hopefully, I’m living up to your expectations.”
“Moving from a peasant to a proper Keeper of a Heart isn’t a simple jump. You are performing most adequately.”
“That’s good. I—”
Arkk cut himself off as he felt their carriage come to a stop. Looking away from Vezta, he gazed past Ilya and out the window of their carriage. Even though night had fallen, the Duke’s Manor was lit up to the point where he might have been confused about the time of day. Statues of lions flanked the entrance while rows of guards wearing gleaming silver armor stood up and down the path to the main entrance.
“Vezta,” Arkk said. The servant nodded and ripped herself into his shadow without a word. He looked to the other three. “Remember, if you need help, you can call to me. I’ll find you as fast as I can. Or Vezta will if the situation is dire enough. Hopefully, we won’t need that, though. Let’s just try to have some fun, talk to Alya, and get out of here in one piece.”
Their coachman, after tapping his knuckles against the door as a warning, pulled open the doors.
Ilya stepped out first. For the first time ever, Arkk watched as her natural grace failed her and she almost stumbled out of the carriage because of the tight dress around her knees. Arkk caught her by the arm, keeping her from falling outright. The coachman promptly mumbled an apology and held out a hand to help her out.
Arkk moved next, accepting the coachman’s help but not needing it. His attire wasn’t that difficult to move in.
He wore a light brown jacket over a white, ruffled shirt. The jacket wasn’t closed or buttoned together. A thin pair of varnished leather bands kept it from fluttering open in the chill breeze but it was otherwise open to display the fancy shirt underneath. Intricate designs were woven into the jacket up and down the edges and a white cloth poked out of a breast pocket. His trousers were far simpler than any of the dresses, barely being anything different than what he might normally wear except in terms of how fine the cloth was.
The coachman didn’t help Dakka out of the carriage. Arkk offered his arm instead. She placed a hand on his arm but didn’t put any weight on him, not needing the help to get out. Zullie, the last one out, scowled at the coachman and then at Arkk before hopping out on her own.
“Try to smile,” Arkk said, forcing his face into a casually pleased look.
“I’d rather be back at the stayover.”
“Yes. You said that. Just imagine what kind of magical protections the manor has. Doesn’t that sound interesting? Maybe you can get a tour of that tower,” Arkk said with a wink.
Zullie just scoffed. “More interesting than planar—”
“Ilya’s right. No talking about work while we’re here.”
Her violet eyes glowered behind her rectangular glasses.
Arkk just forced himself to smile a little more.
“Sir. Ladies,” a newcomer said, dressed in fine attire yet nothing flashing. One of the manor’s servants. “If you would be so kind as to follow me.”
Leaving the coach behind, Arkk walked alongside Ilya with Dakka and Zullie a step behind. He had to frown as they passed the guards outside the entrance. It was a soft noise but he could hear metal rattling. Given the cold air, he had to imagine they were shivering something fierce inside their armor. Even with a thick gambeson under their armor, being made to stand around in the cold as they were was a fairly cruel posting. Had they upset a superior to be assigned here or did they draw straws? Whatever the case, they surely could have performed guard duty from a slightly warmer locale.
They were here to show off. Their gleaming, polished armor was evidence enough of that.
Arkk wasn’t wearing as much as he would have liked either. Hawkwood, Wolf, and even Madame Webb had all said that it would be warm inside, however, so he just steeled himself until a pair of guards pulled open overlarge doors, admitting them into the manor proper.
And what a manor it was. In his travels, he had seen a few keeps and manors for the various barons that ran the Duchy. He hadn’t been inside too many of them. Just the Moonshine Burg keep while reporting on his efforts against the slavers and Edvin’s former crew. Most were fairly modest affairs, even the large keeps. The smaller village barons had small homes with only a few rooms. Maybe a second floor or maybe not.
The entryway alone to this manor could have held three stories. A mural adorned the high, vaulted ceiling depicting a cloudy sky with a few figures engaged in revelry. A dozen men poured what he had to assume was fine wine into each other’s glasses, toasting the skies and feasting on a lavish spread of meats and fruits. Magical rituals had been carved into the stone columns holding up the ceiling, providing enough illumination to see everything. Enough illumination that the large shadow underneath his feet should probably have been a lot smaller. People didn’t notice that sort of thing, luckily.
While there were a few others, guests judging by their attire, standing about the large room, the valet led them through to the large glass-roofed ballroom just off the main entrance. Although lit in the same way, Arkk felt like the mural was a bit more impressive than the glass. Perhaps a bit too gaudy though. A bit too on-the-nose with regards to the Duke’s greedy taxes. In that respect, Arkk preferred the peaked glass.
They came to a stop just inside the ballroom. One well-dressed valet swiftly approached and held out a hand. “Invitations, please?”
Arkk tried not to look nervous as the moment of truth arrived. Would Edvin’s forgeries be enough? They had passed Hawkwood’s examinations but there was always the chance that these people were trained to spot such forgeries. Reaching into his jacket, Arkk withdrew the folded piece of paper.
The valet skimmed over it with half-lidded eyes before turning to the room at large. “Company Al-Mir has arrived,” he announced.
And then he walked back to his post. No one came to stop them. No one looked twice at the unfamiliar announcement. In fact, of the packed room—there had to be at least two hundred people present if not more—only those closest to the door looked over at the announcement and they all quickly went back to what they were doing.
People mingled about, all wearing attire roughly in the same vein as theirs. Tables were set out along the sides of the room but the central area was left free for people to stand. Off to one side, atop a small wooden platform, a few minstrels provided music using windpipes and stringed instruments. They played quietly enough that conversations wouldn’t be disrupted but loud enough that awkward silences wouldn’t be completely silent. A set of stairs at the far end of the room led to a dais with a statue set on top. It wasn’t the Duke, which Arkk would have expected of the man, but rather something that looked vaguely similar to the statues in Fortress Al-Mir’s temple room.
It was a tall man with a strong jaw and a mask hiding his upper face, holding onto a spear in one hand and a staff in the other. A long cape made from brass spread out behind him while a golden heart-shaped emblem stood proud on his armor. A sort of mixture of the three statues Vezta had pointed out as traitors.
Arkk wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Vezta noticed, though he wasn’t quite sure how as he couldn’t see any eyes in his shadow. Still, he saw the way the edges of the shadow twisted and churned in agitation.
“It will be alright,” Arkk said softly, stepping further into the room. He didn’t want to block the entrance if there were more guests on their way. More importantly, he didn’t want to stand around gawking like a peasant. Although he had no fondness for the Duke, some of the people present could be valuable contacts for information or even goods that Fortress Al-Mir couldn’t produce.
Ilya, tall at his side, scanned the room from one end to the other. “I don’t see Mother.”
Arkk looked around and frowned. Most of the attendees were human, as he expected. A few weren’t. There was a scattering of elves throughout the room that looked dressed in a way that Arkk would presume meant they were guests. However, there were several nonhumans mixed into the crowd. Some danced on their own, separate from the guests, while others carried around small trays of food and drink. A few, Arkk noted with his frown deepening further, weren’t dressed too dissimilarly to Dakka.
If Madame Webb thought that Dakka was entertainment rather than a proper member of their team, she wouldn’t be receiving his business again in the future.
“It’s the start of what I am sure is going to be a long night,” Arkk said, whispering as he took a flute of amber liquid from a passing dark elf. Elves and orcs stood out easily because of their height. He didn’t see Alya either. “I’m sure there will be time to find her. If it is getting toward the end of the night and still no sign of her… we’ll see what we can do.”
Ilya opened her mouth but didn’t get to speak before a boisterous voice called out. “Arkk! You made it.”
Hawkwood approached with a bright smile. He looked much better than he had the last time Arkk saw the man. There were still hints of fatigue around his eyes. Arkk wasn’t sure if he was faking his enthusiasm or if he had genuinely gotten some rest recently. Either way, Arkk put on a smile of his own.
“Hawkwood.”
“Come, come. We’ve some time before the meal begins. Would you like an introduction to some of the other mercenary leaders around?”
“I think that would be excellent,” Arkk said, looking back to the others.
Dakka was standing a little closer to him than he might have expected, looking like a bodyguard despite her attire. It was her eyes and the way they scanned the room. Not for familiar faces as Ilya had done. Rather, she was on the lookout for threats. Her fingers kept close to her side where she normally kept her axe.
Zullie, on the other hand, had drifted away and was frowning up at one of the supporting pillars, eyes looking over the ritual circle inscribed in its side. Arkk didn’t see anything special about the magic used for lighting—he was educated enough to recognize it for what it was now—but perhaps she noticed something he had missed?
“I’d like to look around for a minute,” Ilya said, taking a step away from Arkk.
Arkk held out a hand, lightly touching her elbow. “Careful,” he whispered. “Remember, if you get in trouble and need help—”
“I know, I know. I’m not going to do anything. Just see who I can talk to around here. Maybe some of the other elves.”
Arkk nodded and turned back to Hawkwood with a smile. “Well then, I suppose it is just Dakka and myself.”
“Wonderful. I must say, you’ve been garnering some notoriety,” Hawkwood said, walking away while half turned to speak to Arkk. “The current commander of the Order of the Claymores has been asking about you.”
“Uh oh.”
“Hm?”
“I… uh… might have poached a few of her people.”
Hawkwood’s grin spread wider. He gave Arkk a hearty clap on his back. “Don’t worry. Happens all the time. It’ll be fine. No one is here to be enemies.”
“If you say so,” Arkk said, not so sure at all about the truth of that statement.
He was still waiting for the inquisitors to drop down on his head. They or the Duke… Or even Alya herself.
There was a lot that could go wrong. He just had to smile and hope for the best.
While planning for the worst.